#(like ripping a door off its hinges lmao)

[chaoticspacefam]

*rips a door off its hinges, immediately needs to sit down*

#swtor #elven's swtor screenshots #swtor oc: aria saal #ds! jedi consular #jedi consular (sith assassin) #jedi consular storyline #taris #yes this is slightly a joke #altho canonically ''i need to sit down'' *would* be true for aria #which i have talked about in one of the ask games before #i think the commander one?? #if i'm remembering right #anyways she's got a lot of force *power* #but not much *endurance* for how to pace herself with said power anymore #so one or two ''big'' feats of force manipulation are pretty exhausting for ari #(like ripping a door off its hinges lmao)

[loveandplanet]

Miss Americana

Now playing: You’re On Your Own, Kid

C/W: Mentions of abuse, violence, ellusions to rape, Marshal is a perv, misogyny/sexism, angst, Goose has no idea how to Scottish slang. As always, italics in “” depict Norwegian.

A/N: Things are getting juicy! I’m really falling in love with Evelyne’s story now, and I’m the one writing it lmao. Constructive criticism is always welcomed in a positive way. I’m sensitive.

It’s dark; the house is quiet. Evelyne squints into the darkness. Her clock says it’s 3am. It’s only been a few hours since her fight with her father. She rolls out of her bed and makes her way down the hall. Andrews door is shut, when she tries the handle, it’s locked. “Lorris?” She calls out to him, hopefully the nickname will make him open the door.

To her luck, he does. The door practically rips off its hinges from his anger. Andrew glares at her, the same look, she realizes, that he gives their dad.

“The fuck you want, Evelyne?”

“Are…are you okay? I know Marshall was pretty harsh this time.” Her cheek still stings from the slap she received, and she can only imagine how her brother feels. He huffs, rolling his eyes at her.

“You’ve taken it too far with this Scottish boy, Evelyne. I’m not covering for you anymore.” “But you said-”

“Doesn’t matter! This is your problem, not mine!”

He turns to go back into his room, leaving Evelyne there in shock. Andrew stops and looks at her one last time.

“Oh, and another thing, Marshall knows there isn’t a ‘Malic Greene’ in your class.” Then the door slams in her face, making her flinch.

“You’re on your own, kid. You always have been.”

“Lass?”

Evelyne blinks at him, her curls matted to her face from the rain. She barely remembers how she got here. She’s still in her pajamas; an old nirvana shirt and cotton sleep shorts. She didn’t even put on shoes in her desperation to get to him. Falling into his arms, she sobs out a single word. “Johnny,”

He pulls her into the house. She’s never done this; shown up at his Aunts house at the crack-ass of dawn. John bombards her with questions. What happened? Are you okay, lass? Evelyne doesn’t respond to any, only sobs. God, she feels so stupid. The more she gets Johnny involved with her, the more she puts him at risk of Marshal’s wrath. The roses were bad enough. It’s not until John pulls her away from his shoulder, tucking stray curls behind her ears with a gentleness she’s never felt, that Evelyne realizes what she has to do. She stares into the sea of blue that is her boys’ eyes. “I can’t keep doing this, Johnny.”

“Doing wha’?”

She shakes her head. Please, she begs, don’t make me say this. Evelyne thinks that God may just be on her side when Johnny’s eyes widen. The pair stare at each other for a beat in silence. And then-

“Come with me.” “What?”

“To Scotland. Come back home with me, to Scotland.”

“John you know I can’t do that! What- what about Nellie and Claire? I can’t just leave them alone. With him!”

“So yer just gonna let him beat ya to death?”

“To protect them? Yes!”

Johnny purses his lips, thinking. “Just, just try, for me lass. I leave tomorrow night; come with me,” He grabs her hands, bringing them up to his chest. “Please.”

Holy hell. When did he have the time to pick up Norwegian? Evelyne sighs, looking up at him.

“Okay,”

His face lights up.

“Really?”

“Really,”

Johnny’s kisses were always passionate, as was everything the boy did, but Evelyne felt like she was on fire when their lips met. Her hands went to his poorly done buzz cut as his went to her waist. If this is what she was giving London up for, it was worth it. “I’ll run away,”

London airport is bustling, people rushing to their terminal, to their loved ones, or to a taxi. Evelyne clutches her carry on bag to her chest as walks in the building. Johnny was in Gate C9, where he and his family were waiting for her. She feels nauseous; she’s really doing this. Leaving her family, her childhood, her sisters, behind. She ignores the constant buzzing of her phone in favor of rushing through the airport.

“From sprinklers splashes to fireplace ashes,”

Evelyne confirms for the fifth time that she is, in fact, at Gate C9. The problem? Johnny’s not here. There’s no terrible haircut, no loud Scottish slang. Evelyne’s vision blurs as tears form in her eyes; again.

“I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this.”

Three hours later, the plane is long gone, and it’s dark outside. Evelyne gathers her bags and makes her way outside. So much for coming home.

“Where that fuck have you been, girl?!”

“I went for a walk,”

Evelyne makes it two steps before her curls are roughly grabbed. She yelps before falling back. “You don’t do shit without my permission, you hear?!”

She looks at her father. His dark skin has a slight yellow tint to it. His liver must be failing. She can practically taste the shitty beer he drinks. “Yes, sir.”

Marshal looks shocked for a half a second before he smiles and his eyes roam. Evelyne wants to puke. “Good girl. It’s about time you learned.”

He releases his grip on her hair, allowing her to cower away. Evelyne lugs her bags up the stairs and into her room.

“You’re on your own kid,”

The panic starts before she can stop it.

“Yeah you can face this,”

Evelyne rips her stained sheets off her bed, shoving them into her closet.

“You’re on your own kid,”

“You always have been.”

@going-to-ikea-for-the-fries 👀👀

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod #oc rp #oc #original character #cod soap #modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #cod modern warfare #oc backstory #cod angst

[radicalredrasp]

How the Entites handle their alcohol.

Light

I don't think he drinks, much or at all.

But when he does drink hes.. a sad drunk, his speach gets slurred and he cries.

Not full on sobbing but just silenty crying in a corner

Dark

Hes loud.

Playing music, ungodly, loud volume.

He can’t stand up straight for his life he’ll be falling this way that way against the wall, and is most likely the one to smack his face against the pavement

Sleep

downs shots like their water.

this lady when drunk has the energy of collage frat house.

she'll rip off the pub door from its hinges, and turn around and be like "my bad. lmao."

im gonna write some for the others later if yall want me to do OC's ask in the comments dheheh

#orion and the dark #oatd

[cherryjuiceblues]

omg okay that ask you just posted has me thinking…. I desperately need to see mbrry just be a WHORE for his girl. Like I need a little bit from his perspective. I’m imagining him working in his office and leaving her tied up or something but the whole time he’s supposed to be working, he’s just LOSING HIS MIND listening to her moaning and he’s ripping his hair out trying to last a few more minutes to make the punishment actually meaningful 😭 AM I MAKING SENSE like he wants to be all big and bad but really he can’t even stand to be away from her even when he’s punishing her. And then afterwards she’s pouting because he left her and he’s like baby you don’t even KNOW‼️ lmao I love to see strong powerful men be absolute sluts and softies for their girls

you are CRUEL. i am in love with you.

no. NO. because because because he tells her to be a good girl for him whilst he goes and does big sexy boss man duties. and she’s all pouty begging him not to go. and he doesn’t want to, of course he doesn’t (even though he pretends like there’s no way in hell he’d ever stay). but such is life.

and he leaves the doors open a smidge so the vibrations travel, and her soft whimpers hit his ears 🤕 and harry keeps shutting his eyes like trying to compose himself. but then y/n will moan. like a really long pathetic noise. “ohhhhhhhhh! haaaarry. ha—harry, uh—uhhhh,” and he can picture her sad face all 😣😣😣 and he’s TRYING to work but his hand migrates down to his lap where he starts giving gentle squeezes 🤕 and his head keeps falling back on his neck and he keeps grunting out of frustration because he’s been composing the first line of an email for 5 minutes.

and like he sacks off even trying to work after about 10. because he was kidding himself in the first place even attempting to get anything done. it was all fake, all a silly punishment that is definitely hurting him more than y/n. even if she sounds like she’s crying. and he’s shushing her under his breath, like praying she’ll calm down so he can too. but her orgasm starts to build and her noises get louder and more frantic.

and then he caves, storming back to her, looking far too disheveled. the door swings on its hinges and he’s unbuckling his belt before y/n can even register he’s back. “fuck, baby. can’t. need this pretty pussy too bad. m’sorry. forgive me? i’ll worship you, i promise.” 🤕

#big sexy men crumbling is like the hottest thing i see you bestie #dom men getting a lil subby when they’re desperate ???? yes pls #they still have the upperhand but their talk gets all whiny and they’re begging unnecessarily #explodingromancandles #mutually beneficial #concept

[whump-captain]

- Day 24 -

Prompt: Earth (Environmental Whump)

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

---

so! it took me a looooong time to come with an idea for this bc i really wanted to keep it in an urban setting and i. just could Not for the life of me think of anything lmao. it ended with explosions in the end and a side dish of blood loss but that's par for the course in my writing lol

---

CN: caught in an explosion, fire, smoke inhalation, impaled by debris, blood loss

---

It's a race. Against time for now, but the air grows thicker with every second and Cutter can smell the ozone gathering. His breath comes heavy and his bad leg is killing him but he keeps running. There are more than fifty air vents in the building. Each of them houses danger.

The thing in the vents, the wispy, half-alive being of air that sings in hisses, is angry. Elaine was halfway done banishing it when it noticed her presence and turned its swirling fury against the building it haunts. Every window Cutter passes is broken. The remains of glass shatter spontaneously, turning themselves into dust. The walls shudder. Something inside them is trying to get out.

Two more vents on this floor. In Cutter's hand there are five more cards, each bearing a hand-drawn expulsion circle: tight sigils and crossing lines around a downwards-pointing star. Most of Elaine's explanation of how they work has been beyond his knowledge but as long as it's her, he believes it.

The rest of the cards are with Joy, on the second floor. Elaine has tried to keep her out of this, pleading with her to stay in the lobby, where the expulsion is centered and where it's safe. Of course, there is no force on Earth that could keep Joy from helping. And time is short.

Cutter finds one of the vents in the boiler room. Heat crashes into him the second he opens the door and he staggers back. The air feels like wet cotton. The noise of machinery hums in his ears as he squeezes past the pipes to the square grate on the far wall. He slips a card through the slats. He can swear the smell of ozone gets worse.

He can tell the air-being is still occupied, locked in a battle of wills in the lobby. The awareness is almost physical, as if its attention was a persistent ache in the base of his neck, ready to flare up into burning if he's noticed. But there's only one more vent left. There won't be time for anything to go wrong.

It's just ahead, in a tight maintenance corridor outside the boiler room. Pipes enclose on it, disappearing around a corner, and a fuse box clings to the wall, rattling metallically with the walls' trembling. The vent is behind it, at waist height, obscured by a pile of collapsed plastic containers.

Cutter pushes away the first one when he hears a crack. Metal bending. He looks at the fuse box.

The boiler room explodes. The force rips the door off of its hinges and the walls erupt out. Cutter feels heat, then something slams into his chest. Then he's weightless. The shockwave throws him five metres back, the impact is like a flash of light. Then like darkness.

For what feels like forever, he can't move. He wants to cry out but he can't breathe, something white hot binds his ribcage. He's conscious, he sees the ceiling swaying and blackening above him, but it's like all thought has been knocked out of him along with the air from his lungs. The ringing in his ears is so loud it hurts. Everything else is impossibly distant.

His body reacts on its own. He convulses with the force of the first, involuntary gasp and reality snaps back around him. The air burns, the deafening roar of flames drowns out the shrill noise of breaking metal tanks. He barely hears his radio crack to life.

"Joy to Cutter, what the hell was that?!" Joy yells among the distortion. "Where-"

Elaine's voice cuts her off, pitched down by an electronic drone:

“It saw you. Hurry!”

"Shit," Cutter breathes, trying to get his splayed limbs together. The cards are gone. Panic lurches through him, he pushes up but his arm gives straight away. The floor burns his hands when he feels around it blindly, desperately.

The cards lay scattered only a few feet away. With a pained noise of effort, Cutter rolls onto his side and grabs for them. The paper has begun to curl. The air is so thick now he can barely breathe. It's like a thunderstorm contained within a single room.

There's no time to try and stand. He manages to get his elbows under him and, grabbing at the pipes for balance, he crawls towards the vent. Something stings his side with every motion but adrenaline burns the thought away. Smoke scratches his throat. He coughs, almost collapses again. It's right there. Arm's length.

The plastic boxes warp under his weight when he clambers up them, reaching. The vent's grate bends in his grip. He tears it off with a desperate yell and throws the cards inside.

There's a sound like a razor on glass and then the air pops. The ozone evaporates in an instant. It's replaced by the stench of smoke.

Cutter collapses, heaving painful breaths against the floor. His head reels from the noise, from the sudden change, and from whatever damage the explosion has done. He feels the heat now, hears the cracking of flames encroaching. He still needs to get out of there. The adrenaline has dissipated too, leaving his limbs heavy. He pushes himself up.

A stab of searing pain stops him and forces a short scream out of him. It spreads in waves, in time with his shivering, from a line of living fire in his side.

When he sees it, his stomach turns. A shard of bent metal, as big as his hand, is buried in his flesh, just below the last rib. His shirt is soaked through with blood and ripped to shreds where smaller pieces of debris have cut and stabbed it and opened more wounds. In a daze, Cutter sees the trail of blood smeared across the floor, where he has crawled. His own blood.

"Oh," he says shakily.

It's on his hands, on the boxes, everywhere. With the adrenaline gone, the pain is horrifying, it tears through him with every tiny motion. He can't help a raspy whimper as he curls around the injury, trembling fingers hovering over the metal shard. Instinct begs him to pull it out, to rid his body of this intrusion. Instead, he presses his hand tightly around it, onto the wound. The noise of the fire drowns out his long, shuddering groan.

He has to get out. Has to keep moving. There's no way he can stand up, it hurts too much. He grits his teeth and turns onto his back, gasping as the shard in his side shifts and cuts into muscle. With one hand, he heaves himself up to half-sitting. His head spins. He has to pause, shivering, as the pain builds, seizing his lungs until he's fighting to breathe. The smoke is suffocating.

He pushes with his legs, crawling backwards. His arm barely holds his weight. The fire has spilled from the boiler room now; deadly golden ribbons lick the walls, curling paint and scorching plastic. There's a door just around the corner, where the pipes lead. Cutter just has to make it there. Quiet, ragged sounds of pain keep escaping him on every exhale, every monstrous effort of gaining a foot away from the blaze. He feels the blood trickling between his fingers.

"We almost have it!" Joy's voice cracks through the radio. "Cutter, where are you?"

It takes him two tries to get a proper grip on the device. His hands are too slick with blood, sweat, and melted ink. He's let go of the wound, leaving the metal to jolt and twist through his flesh. He can't let himself collapse. He has to keep moving.

"Boiler room," he rasps into the microphone. "There's, ah- there's a fire."

His voice falters. A small impact shakes him, only a bump against a wall but enough to stoke the pain into an inferno again. He's at the corner. Only a few more meters.

"Shit, what happened?" Joy answers, as if from miles away. "Are you okay? Cutter?"

He can't respond. The radio hangs from his belt loop, scraping on the floor as he drags himself back. Everything is swaying now. The heat is like pressure on his skin, constricting.

When his arm buckles, he doesn't feel the fall. Just the blinding pain again that he has no more strength left to voice.

The corridor seems to darken. His vision goes next.

Then his consciousness.

The fire advances.

#wij23day24 #whumpmasinjuly2023 #whump #whump writing #whump ocs #oc whump #whump blog #whump community #caught in an explosion #fire #blood loss #captain's stuff #captain's ocs #ghost ambulance #i had more ideas w/ a boiler room but decided on this one #it's kinda rushed again but. im mad busy recently djdhdkfbd im just really happy i finished it

[narrators-journal]

Sexual healing

I hope this has enough spanking in it, I’m never too sure how to make spanking HOT enough lol. I at least had a fun time writing it? I know it’s not particularly LOVING, but tbh I always got the vibe from Machi that she was a lesbian, so I mayyyy have made a colder bitch than Illumi lmao. Other than that, just another Ao3 ask!

Kinktober prompt list: Here

Kinktober Masterlist: Here

CW: Spanking, Hisoka gets pegged, handcuffs are included. I may not have focused on the prompt, but it is spicy regardless!

Feitan and Uvogin? Healed. Dinner? Had. The members of the phantom troupe? Accounted for, and in one piece. All around, Machi Komacine considered her night free to herself. After all, her usual thorns in the side were either drunkenly passed out, or dealt with after that day’s mission. Plus! Hisoka Morrow, the painted, colorful bastard, wasn’t included in this job! She was free of him and his mind games.

So, taking down her light pink hair from its usual fluffy ponytail, Machi slipped into her sleeping bag, letting out a content sigh when the blissful comfort of a mattress seemed to turn her bones into jelly. After so long af sleeping in abandoned buildings or stolen cars, the healer didn’t care about the creaky, cheap mattress. It was a mattress.

Yet, an early bedtime wasn’t in the cards. Judging from the sickly familiar pattern of knocks at her door. Grimacing, the healer rolled over so that her back was to the door. Firmly ignoring it, only for the bastard to sing, “Macha~ Be a dear and let me in~”

So, with a mix of a sigh and a groan, Machi unzipped her sleeping bag and basically threw herself from the cheap hotel bed to stomp over and rip the door nearly off the hinges. “What the fuck do you want, Morrow? Why are you even here?” She spat, sapphire eyes narrowing darkly as she glared into those snake-yellow, smug eyes staring down at her. “I missed you! So, I came to find you.” Was the sappy response Hisoka gave, batting his lashes at her, jesus christ she’d kill for lashes that thick, and playing sweet. But, the sugar made Machi’s stomach churn. “Fuck off.” she spat again, trying to slam the door in the clown’s face. However, he was quicker, and got his foot in the door before she could entirely shut him out. ”Oh come on, Machi! Let me in, I’ll make my visit quick.” He promised, unbothered by the woman throwing her weight into the door to try and force his foot out of the way. Until, finally, she gave another groan and just caved, going back to the bed to pack up her sleeping bag. And, when she turned around, sure enough, the tall psychopath had followed her in.

The silence of his movements brought a shudder, but the healer bottled it up, knowing that any sign of how much Hisoka scared her would draw out whatever game he wanted to play, or demand he had for her. So, she turned her attention to tying her long hair back into its usual style. “Alright. What do you need sewn up.” She said coolly, ignoring how close he was to trapping her between the bed and his well-muscled body as she walked over to her duffle bag to dig out the pin cushion she kept her needles in. Making a conscious choice to crouch down instead of bend when she did. “Nothing,” He hummed, his syrupy tone dropped in favor of a more bored one. A glance over her shoulder revealing that the clown had gone from flirtatious, to more casual. Which, only meant one thing. “God damn it, Hisoka. Don’t you have a boytoy or something?! Some poor bitch you’ve baby trapped?” She snapped, standing up to glare at him again, her hands on her hips like an annoyed mother. Yet, her harsh tone didn’t seem to phase the pink-haired man, barely getting him to lift his yellow eyes from some mystery stain on his outfit. “No, everyone else is so boring. And Illumi said that if I try to bargain for sex a second time, he’d put a needle in my urethra.” He sighed, pouting at her like he wanted her sympathy for that.

Which, Machi did show. After all, while the phantom troupe were a ballsy pack of villains, even they were scared of crossing the Zoldyck family. And, personally, Illumi Zoldyck was Machi’s personal nightmare. With bottomless, soulless pits for eyes, suffocating nen that he used for a terrifying ability, and such a clinical, almost robotic personality, Machi would sooner face the devil than that man.

Though, on some level, maybe the devil was a far more likely encounter than people normally had. After all, he currently sat on her bed, giving her puppy dog eyes.

So, with a long sigh, Machi pinched the bridge of her nose, gritting her teeth in pure annoyance. “Fine. But I’m gagging you.” She told the tall man, getting a thousand watt smile that would’ve been charming if it was from anyone else. But, that aside, the healer simply turned back to her dufflebag to fish out some handcuffs, ball gag, and a vibrantly purple strap on that she kept for a more desirable partner.

By the time she turned back to Hisoka, he was already naked. His vest and pants were torn off as if he was some bachelorette stripper rather than a murderous psycho, but she didn’t bother questioning his speed or skill with stripping down. “Get on the bed. Face down, and put your hands out like usual.” she ordered, watching the scarred man eagerly climb onto the cheap, creaky bed, his ass already in the air. Machi coming over to cuff his wrists together once he was in position. “Open.” she added, a little perturbed by how readily Hisoka opened his mouth to let her put the thick rubber ball in his mouth and secure it around his head. Or, maybe it was the glitter of lust sparkling in his yellow eyes, either way, she didn’t know how to feel.

Regardless of that, though, she just went about the usual steps of their ‘hook ups’, as Hisoka called these meetings. Strolling down to the foot of the bed to kick off her sleep shorts and pull on the base of her sex toy, ensuring the silicone dildo was secure before moving to stand behind him, staring down at the round rump eagerly awaiting whatever she was going to do.

It wasn’t a surprise that Hisoka was so horny for whatever sex he could get, but it still somewhat annoyed the healer that he was so okay with being pegged, and, even after her setting such a firm rule on that being her only form of sexual contact with him, him asking for it.

"You really need to find someone else to 'scratch your itch'." Machi huffed, slapping the homicidal clown's ass, knowing well enough that he couldn't answer through the gag she'd tied in his mouth. "Like a prostitute."

Despite her complaints, though, the woman gave another slap to Hisoka's ass. At least enjoying the chance to cause the annoying bastard some pain for all of the healing he demands of her, and his general flirty pestering. If he got some sense of pleasure out of her strikes, that was up to him, but for her, the sight of the powerful man on his belly, handcuffed to the bed posts with a ball gag keeping him silent was more cathartic than arousing. But, if it kept him from dragging himself to her for free healing, she was willing to tolerate his sexual appetite.

So, she grabbed the bottle of lube and stroked a thin layer of it onto the pink silicone strap on she wore. Then, she simply lined herself up and pushed into Hisoka, thanking whatever god there was that he had been gagged when he let out a pornographic moan.

But, she ignored his theatrics and simply grabbed onto his hips when he pushed back against her and began moving. Tuning out each lustful noise and letting the pink-haired man push his ass back to meet her thrusts eagerly, only focusing on humping into him and pacing herself. After all, the last time she’d rushed one of their ‘hook up’, Hisoka had whined and purposely increased her work load to spite her. So, she made sure her thrusts alternated between slow, deep movements, and quicker ones.

Plunging the pink toy into Hisoka, clawing into his scarred skin, and sprinkling in a few harsh slaps to the meat of his ass, Machi still found no pleasure in her companion, but she did feel a small seed of pride and power sprout in her chest. After all, while Hisoka Morrow was far too annoying and deranged for her to consider dating him, he was still insanely powerful. He almost never stopped training and pushing himself, which the pink-haired woman would’ve respected far more if he wasn’t so...indescriminate with that drive. So, while she did hold a bit of respect for his fighting abilities, and maybe a little for his sadistic joy, there were simply too many factors for the woman to get more than an ego boost out of the sexual aspect of their meetings.

Finally pulling herself out of that rabbit hole, Machi let out a slow breath and focused back in on the man she had tied down on the hotel bed. Noting his dishevelled pink hair, sweat-beaded skin, and muffled, needy moans as she lifted her hand and landed another severe blow to his, surely sore by that point, ass again, getting a more emphatic moan in response. Which, she took as a good sign and switched to a faster pace. The mulling over of Hisoka’s ambiguous, confusing signals could be pushed off for the time being. For now, she focused on the joy she got out of leaving an angry patch of red on the scarred man’s ass as she fucked him.

#Hunter x hunter #Hisoka x Machi #hxh #kinktober #Kinktober 2023 #Hisoka Morrow #Machi #prompt #Ao3 ask #spicy #lemon #not sfw

[taechnological]

bts as types of workers at a supermarket? i would love to know about it lmao

— rofl anon

hello rofl anon i see u had a field day in my inbox haha ♡

bts as supermarket employees

seokjin: store manager

roams around the store leisurely looking for trouble so someone can ask him "can i talk to the manager" and he can pull out the "u are talking to him" card with a proud smirk; randomly tells customers dad jokes while they're shopping; loves roasting rude customers and getting paid for it

yoongi: cashier

works part time, only applied for this job bc it seemed to require minimum verbal conversations (sigh) and also bc he is good with handling money, is good at his job but can be lowkey sadistic, if ur mum disappears right before it's ur turn at the cash counter, he would 10/10 start scanning ur stuff faster just to cause u more anxiety lmao

hoseok: stock person

in charge of arranging all the stock on the shelves, arranges all the items super neatly in height and color order, is lowkey anal about it tho 💀 will rearrange the whole shelf if u shift even one item just by a centimeter, very helpful, would definitely return ur child to u safely if u lose them in the store

namjoon: floor supervisor

is Done with everyone's shit; arrives in a good mood every morning only to leave work in shambles in the evening; God Of Destruction, has to give away almost half of his salary every month bc of the stuff he accidentally breaks on the daily; somehow dislocated his whole office door from its hinges once??; is the only sane one in the store (or is he?)

jimin: HR

THE sexiest person in the store; has the most friendly smile and also the most killer fashion sense; gives bomb advice but don't get on his wrong side bc no one knows has ever seen him outside work; will not hesitate to rip u a new one if necessary; hates karens, loves kittens; everyone fangirls over jimin

taehyung: custodian

works the night shift; often gets distracted or dozes off while mopping the floor or restocking the shelves; is an actual child magnet no cap; looks too unreal to be working in a supermarket; keeps doing shit that could get him fired but everyone adores him a but too much to actually have that happen (and also bc he's besties with the HR)

jungkook: bagger

self-proclaimed fastest bagger in the history of all baggers; is a total muscle bunny hence he's the most suitable person for this job; easily carries unrealistic amount of heavy bags to customers' cars like they weigh nothing; is the reason behind most of the crowd at the store bc all the kids (and their moms) adore him

#sorry i almost dozed off sjsjksks #bts headcanons #ask sae #ask taechnological #rofl anon

[aurumacadicus]

Pairing: Phil/Clint/Tony or Tony/Phil

Title: Fearfully & Wonderfully Made

(don’t hate me)

As long as you don't hate me lmao

IT GETS REAL DARK FRIENDS I'M SORRY MIND THE TAGS

Fearfully & Wonderfully Made

"We can't go on like this," Phil said as he carefully stitched the wound on Clint's arm closed.

"We aren't killing Tony," Clint answered immediately, face a blank mask.

Phil took a deep breath, then let it back out slowly. "Clint. It's only a matter of time before it's not a cut or a sprained ankle or a bruised jaw. One day, someone is going to get killed."

"We can save him," Clint insisted.

Phil took another deep breath. He did that a lot lately. It felt like all he could do, sometimes, breathing in and out, concentrating on his lungs expanding, the blood pounding in his ears. He wondered if that was why he was only ever the handler of the Avengers, before--they all seemed to have hope that they could save Tony, even after all these years. Phil couldn't say the same, even though he desperately wished he could have the same optimism they did.

Maybe that had been because Tony had stabbed him through the gut when he'd confronted him at the beginning, though.

Clint finally looked down at his hands. There was blood dried under his nails. Not his, thank God, but it was more the exception than the norm. "It's not fair," he whispered, beginning to pick at his nails, digging the blood out from under them.

"It's not," Phil agreed quietly before he leaned in and used his teeth to cut the thread he'd been using to stitch him up. "Any other injuries?"

"Nothing that needs stitches," Clint admitted, getting to his feet. He paused, frowning, then looked down at Phil. "You really don't think we can save him, do you?"

Phil worked his jaw, considering. Even if he lied, Clint would see right through it. He always had. "I wish we could," he finally said, which wasn't a yes or a no, and he knew it.

Clint knew it too, frown deepening until it seemed like his entire body radiated dismay. "Let's eat and get some sleep," he said gruffly, turning to head out of their makeshift medical wing. "Steve's gonna wanna talk about what happened today."

"Clint," Phil began.

Clint paused in the doorway but didn't look back at him, only doing him the courtesy of turning his head to show he was listening. "What?"

Phil swallowed thickly. "I don't want Tony to die. You know I wouldn't be suggesting it unless I thought there was another way."

Clint said nothing for several minutes, but finally, he croaked out, "Yeah, I know," and kept walking.

.-.

All at once, the monsters stopped coming.

"...That's not good," Steve said after the second week, which would have been laughable, because they needed the respite.

But the monsters had been coming every third day like clockwork for the last two years, so the fact that they'd stopped... it couldn't be trusted. So they prepared for an onslaught, waiting for the other shoe to drop, twitchy and anxious and angry. They wouldn't be caught off-guard, wouldn't give him the upper-hand by getting complacent.

And then Phil left the compound. He was armed, of course, and he'd left a note telling everyone where he was going and the vain order not to follow him, but he'd barely made it half a mile before Clint fell into step beside him.

Stark Tower was a shell of its former glory, floors gutted and stained with ash. There were claw marks on the walls, scuffs from scales on the floor. Doors were torn off hinges or ripped out of walls. There were gaps in the staircases where Clint had to use his grapple arrows to get them across.

Cameras still whirred as they passed by. They chose not to think about it.

The workshop was quiet, dark. Somehow, that was more unnerving than the lack of monsters the past few weeks--even when Tony hadn't been there, it had been aglow with experiments. There were no doors left, safety glass shattered and scattered all over the floor. No movement, no monsters crawling out to gnash teeth or display claws or flash venom glands before they spat at them.

Phil drew his gun, and Clint nocked his bow, and they carefully stepped into the workshop to sweep it.

"Tony," Clint choked out when they finally found him, bile rising in the back of his throat.

Tony blinked up at them slowly, holding his arc reactor carefully in his lap. His clothes hung on him, and his fingers were blistered and bloody. His lips were cracked, and his eyes were red and swollen, and he did not acknowledge that he'd even heard them, gaze dropping back down to the arc reactor he was holding.

The light from the reactor was red.

"Tony," Phil said, forcing himself not to reach out. He could still see the line going from the reactor into Tony's chest. He didn't want to disturb it.

Tony lifted his head again, pupils wide and sightless. After a moment, he forced his dry lips apart, and Clint and Phil held their breaths in preparation of what he'd say.

"Kill me," he begged, voice shaking. "Before I put this back in and start hurting everyone again. It hurts," he croaked, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Please kill me."

"No," Clint choked out, reaching out to put his hand over one of Tony's. "Don't ask us to do that, Tony. You have to have another plan. You're the numbers guy. You've saved your own life so many times. Please, just one more time, and then we'll take care of you."

"I'm sorry," Tony whispered, dropping his head again. "They'll come back when they realize I stopped stitching together monsters. Kill me or go. You can't stay here."

Clint looked up at Phil desperately. "What if we got one of your old reactors, huh? What if we put in an old one. One they can't control."

"Just kill me," Tony whimpered. "Please, I'm so tired. I don't want to hurt anyone anymore."

"Tony," Clint whispered, pulling him into his arms. Tony went, limp as a doll, focus solely on holding his arc reactor steady. "We're not leaving you like this. We'll figure it out." He looked up at Phil again, eyes red and watery. "Won't we, Phil?"

Phil opened his mouth to reply, but even he wasn't sure what he was going to say. Then he heard the clack of metal on tile and turned, opening fire without hesitation.

#aurumacadicus answers #ask meme #fic title meme #phil/tony/clint #tw: suicide #tw: suicidal thoughts #tw: murder #no actual death but it is mentioned and tony wants it

[dnfshield]

okay im posting my first and most important syndicate!dream propaganda !! if people are interested ill def post the rest

and because I'm delusional all of this hinges on that I want dream to actually be upset and brocken 💔🥀 and desperately needing help and not wanting to let anyone help him because connections bad blah blah but I know cc dream doesn't have the range and is also a coward so I have to do everything for him 

its under a read more bc its 1.4k words lmao

I think it takes dream a while to process being out of prison even though he should be taking advantage of his new freedom and new space. he spends a lot of time in his room just laying in his blankets or curled up under his bed or memorizing all the shelves of stuff techno left in the spare room. And philza and techno silently agree to make sure dream is getting socialization - knowing that he desperately needs the connection but is unsure how to go back to being ALLOWED to be around others. So they take turns going to his room at night and just finding literally anything to do in his presence. Phil likes to read the old books techno left in there. And when he sees dream peeking over he'll mutter something about how ""reading it out helps me think"" and will quietly read allowed to dream. Or he'll go sit at the desk with a creaky chair and write letters to the woman he loves, gushing over memories and sharing snippets of stories to dream. Phil sits there with a dopey smile and blushy cheeks and dream sits there letting his words sink in - knowing too late that he should never have convinced himself that pushing everyone he loved would somehow save him. 

Technos more pacey- he likes to go in there and ""reorganize"" the miscellaneous objects he left in what was supposed to be a storage space turned bedroom. Sometimes it's stacks of pages ripped from old journals sometimes it's failed blueprints and plans sometimes it's old potion bottles that definitely got left a little too long and should NOT be opened - but whatever it is techno will grab it and ramble on about what he was thinking what he was planning why it didn't work and scramble to find an excuse as to why he's chosen to hoard whatever the object is rather than throw it away like a normal person. But dream just sits there and listens and asks questions or asks to hold whatever it is - honestly whatever he can do to keep techno from going to bed and leaving him in his room alone. 

Lol okay the actual real important one that started all this is that dream eventually starts outwardly showing signs of distress when alone. At first he reeled when others would try to be around him. He still dealt with the conditioning of never being allowed to have regular visitors and being told everyone he ever knew wanted him dead. But once he realized Phil and techno were not only safe to be around but were happy to be around him he couldn't get enough of them. Dream lingers in the kitchen while philza cooks them all breakfast. He follows techno around while he haphazardly goes through chests looking for a specific enchanting book. He cracks his window so he can hear techno and philza laughing together while they sharpen their weapons on the porch :*) . And on especially bad days where something reminds him of the scorching lava flow or he gets turned around in a space too suffocatingly small he waits up because he knows philza or techno will come and wait with him at night. 

And it's the evening that sam knocks on their door that sends dream into overdrive. The second techno opens the door and philzas eyes fall on Sam's armour Phil places a gentle hand on dreams back and ushers him to his room. Techno stands with his frame in the door physically keeping a barrier in-between sam and their home and eventually gets Sam to begrudgingly leave. But when philza goes to check on dream before bed it's obvious dream sat there listening to techno and Sam yell and threaten each other over his life. So Phil skips whatever ploy to keep dream company that he had planned and just sits on his bed with him. He doesn't even say anything besides the classic "it's alright please don't be scared" and "he's not taking you away from here" and "you're safe here, with us, you're safe with me and techno" and blah blah and with every passing whisper dream just drifts closer and lets philza be there with him and philza let's dream lean against him because he knows how badly dream needs the comfort and he's more than happy to be there for him ( -sobs- can philza become a better dad in canon we could've have had it all ) . God okay and finally the important part all of this had been leading up to 

And after sitting there and letting dream lean on his shoulder and dodging dreams pleas to tell him how techno got sam off their property dream eventually quiets down. Every time dream stirs to break the silence philza squeezes his arm and let's him settle closer. Dream can barely keep his eyes open but when Phil tries to say goodnight and shift to stand up dreams eyes shoot open and asks if Phil's actually going to leave for the night because a million things are running through his mind. What if Sam only left to not cause a scene and plans to return after the others go to bed and take him with no one there to protect him. What if Sam only left to tell everyone where he is and return with a mob filled with the people dream himself made hate him. What if techno made a deal with sam - to return with diamonds or precious items in exchange to step aside and let dream he hauled away. But Phil only smiles softly and tells him that he's just gonna move to a new spot and dream just sits there and watches Phil settle at the headboard. Dreams eyes follow Phil's hand as he pats his stomach to becken dream to come lay down. Like okay guys please hear me out so dream settles with his head on philzas stomach kinda surrounded by Phil's legs like a little nest :-( while Phil just tells dream to relax and get some sleep. Phil's hand is a weight on his back and dreams just kinda melts. And as dream finally let's himself wind down he thanks Phil for being there with him. philza takes in a breath and whispers "of course" and after a silent beat as if saying it out loud would bring him back in time he tells dream "me and wilbur used to do this when he was younger"

And dream just tells him that he's sorry and that if he "could go back and change it he'd give anything, sorry for letting it go so far with wilbur" and philza tells him that he "knows wilbur is sorry too" and he knows how mentally unwell wilbur got and that he "wished he'd checked up after the letters stopped sooner" and dream doesn't want philzas to blame himself there's nothing he could have done to stop what wilbur and dream had started between each other but there's nothing dream could say to make philza understand that. So he just tangles a fist in philzas shirt and hopes a "none of this is your fault" in an exasperated voice will convey that enough. He gives philzas one more thank you for being here and with philzas hand tracing little movements on his back dream finally feels safe enough to drift off. Lol lol lol ooooooo okay

:*) Loool what if techno used to have a weekly routine of weapon care like just keeping them clean and sharpened and polished. but after he rescues dream from his isolation and torment from quackity, technos sitting in the living room and goes to grab his axe and dream starts panicking and immediately goes to apologizing and begging techno to tell him what he did wrong and promises he'll try better next time (even tho he didn't do anything :-( ) and techno does his best to assure him he didn't do anything, that he's doing perfectly fine and even if something came up his first instinct would not in fact be to pull an axe out on him and techno puts his stuff away and they just sit together :-( after philza gets home he and techno talk and agree it would be best they keep the weapons out of site unless it's absolutely necessary.

theyre sitting like this L

#syndicate!dream #dsmp #dream smp #dreamwastaken #philza #technoblade #okay that should be it in case ppl have those blocked #my posts #literally all i crave is hurt/comfort lol #feel free to add on i love attention

[eclecticxdetour]

It's the spooky month but there is a severe lack of the WHITE WOLF in werewolf form art /fics

Have a little something~

On AO3 rating: PG-13 (language) word count: 1284   warnings: established relationship, AU - canon divergence, bipedal werewolf, incredibly sappy werewolf actions lmao summary: It’s Halloween night and something’s broken into the house.

Frowning, Steve walks through the open gate. The back door is missing, hinges hanging off of the splintered jamb. Their alarm isn't trilling and it doesn't seem like their neighbors have noticed anything's amiss. It's late, though, the Sinclairs next door already in bed and incredibly hard of hearing.

He sets his duffle by the fence and cautiously makes his way up to the house, footsteps light on the creaky deck. The door crashed into the dining table with enough force to knock it askew and tip over two of the chairs. Whoever got in had meant to get into their house.

The only light is from the fridge, upper doors flung open, freezer drawer pulled nearly all the way free. A jar of pickles lays shattered on the tiles, bottles of condiments and sundries tossed haphazardly either side of the open freezer. Shreds of plastic wrapping and yellow and white styrofoam make a trail toward the stairs. O-kay, whoever got in was also apparently very hungry...

Steve quietly makes his way up the carpeted steps. The house smells. Sure, he and Buck don't keep the place in Open House condition, but it's never smelled like this. It's weird. Nothing nauseating like rot or decay. He inhales deeply. Something like petrichor and hot sidewalk. Except it hasn't rained in two weeks despite the overcast skies. Tonight's so clear the moon looms huge and yellow like a cat's eye.

Bigger chunks of styrofoam litter the upstairs hall. It's quiet and dark. Still. Maybe whoever blew through the house came and went.

He pauses. There are marks in the carpet. Steve looks back upon his own path, soles of his shoes leaving obvious impressions in the fibers. These marks are not that. Whatever had come before him left no foot- or shoe-prints. Bits of shag are pulled up around the clustered slashes.

“Shit,” he breathes, taking another deep breath and following the slashes and styrofoam into his and Bucky's bedroom.

It's a goddamn mess. The comforter's been ripped off the bed, sheets all twisted, and his pillow's missing. Only his pillow. Bucky's side of the bed is as undisturbed as it can be considering the state of Steve's.

The dresser's been ransacked, socks unballed, underwear, workout gear, and pajamas strewn about the floor. Steve crouches down and picks up a pair of his lounge pants. There's...fur on them. And is that, he prods a pink blob...meat?

He brings his finger up to his face, and as he leans in to sniff the cool mysterious substance, a low rumble draws Steve's attention to the en-suite. The pajamas fall out of his hand. He puts his back against the wall and edges toward the bathroom.

Their laundry hamper's tipped over in the bathroom doorway, white plastic split down one side, dirty clothes conspicuously absent. He braces himself and leans around the jamb.

Steve's jaw drops.

Upon the pile of missing laundry rests the source of the stink, a huge white mass. A beast, really. Body heaving as it breathes. His pillow's there, in the thing's maw. His eyes flit across the tiled floor, more styrofoam and hunks of meat are scattered among the clothes. All Bucky's clothes, 'cuz the beast apparently had taken a liking to Steve's. Dragged all his dirty shirts, pants, and underwear into its own personal hoard.

He lets himself catalog the beast's features. It's wolf-like yet entirely unlike any wolf he's ever seen. It's massive. The ears are relatively small compared to the size of its head and body. Its neck and shoulders are thick. Steve takes a step closer without even thinking to, kicking the broken hamper into the bathroom counter, plastic clattering loudly against the wood.

The beast's eyes snap open. strikingly blue even in the dark of the bathroom. It shakes its head as it yawns, dropping the pillow and revealing the sharp points of its enormous teeth.

“Oh fuck,” whispers Steve, creeping backward as the beast rises from its slumber. Rises, and rises, and rises, easily filling the generous space of the en-suite. He reaches into his jacket for a weapon that isn't there. The beast—wolf—thing prowls toward him, head tipping, snout scrunching. Its seen him, clearly, but as it leaves the, the nest its created for itself, it scents the air and lets out a soft howl.

He scurries further backward, backs of his knees smashing into the edge of the bed, and the beast is on him. That odd smell surrounds him as he's caged in on his back, slightly wet nose of the Werewolf nudging at the underside of his jaw.

Steve twists his head away from the Were's muzzle and his eyes widen, lighting upon a familiar metal arm. “Bucky?!”

The beast—Werewolf—Bucky, howls—practically a coo, it’s so soft—then drags his tongue along the column of Steve's throat.

He tentatively lifts his hand up to the Were's—Bucky's face, fingers petting the smooth white fur on his snout. “Buck, what the hell happened to you?”

Bucky nuzzles his palm, slimy tongue sliding up his wrist and over his fingers.

Steve grimaces and smears the slobber up Bucky's furry forehead. He's not going to get any answers from Bucky like this, a soft whine Bucky's only response as he strokes Bucky's fuzzy ear. Bucky clambers up onto the bed, mattress sinking under Bucky's ridiculous weight. He wriggles so Bucky won't crush him, Bucky huffing and curling around him in the middle of the bed. Bucky's tail thumps against his calf.

“Hell, Buck, if you're like this, here, what happened to Sam?”

Bucky coos again and licks the top of his head twice.

“Does that mean he's alright?” asks Steve, trying to push Bucky back only to give up when Bucky drags him closer and continues grooming his hair. “I can't imagine you'd leave him...and you got yourself home while you're like this...”

Bucky stops licking his head and huffs, burying his snout in Steve's armpit, massive, furry arm, and smaller metal one winding around his waist.

Bucky's chest is plenty hairy when he's a human, but it's nothing compared to the thick fur covering Bucky's new form. In seconds Steve starts to sweat, Bucky radiating heat, fur trapping it all between them. “You really fucked up our house, ya know?” Claws drag over the back of his jacket, and he shivers. “Racoons are going to get in.”

If a conscious werewolf wasn't going to give him any intelligible answers, an unconscious one wouldn't either, Bucky's eyes shuttered, limbs slack.

He should at least shut the fridge; there's not much he can do about their back door in the middle of the night. Steve shifts, Bucky's arms tightening around him, soft growl tickling his flank and armpit. He squishes his arm around Bucky's snout, and Bucky's tail wags. “Weirdo,” he mumbles, falling asleep with Bucky wrapped around him.

~*~

Loud pops and cracks startle him awake. Bucky yowls and Steve hurries to clamp his hands around Bucky's muzzle, muffling Bucky's groans as Bucky shrinks and transforms before his eyes. White fur and limbs shorten as Bucky twitches and convulses. He loses his grip on Bucky's snout as it flattens and reshapes into a human nose and mouth. It looks horrific and painful, but Bucky grits his teeth and keeps his eyes tightly closed; he's been through worse.

It seems like a lifetime until he's naked and all man, spread sideways across their bed at Steve's side, gasping for breath in the bands of the morning sun.

“Buck,” whispers Steve, leaning up on his elbow and palming Bucky's cheek, “what the hell was that?”

Bucky pries his eyes open, that same incredible blue, and casually shrugs, lips quirked, “I, uh, Happy Halloween?”

#Happy Halloween #werewolf #stucky #stucky ficlet #mcu fic #exd prompt #exd fic #Anonymous

[arcanegummi]

Self Betrayal (Part Three)

Here's the third part of Self Betrayal, one more and we'll be done! You guys are the best, thank you for reading it means a lot!

Same tags as before, sickness, angst, PTSD

Julian x Quinn

(Also please pretend that they understand sickness much more than they really did back then, suspend your disbelief please lmao)

Quinn wasnt sure who had their hands on them. Pasha said they were a doctor.. but this didnt.. feel like a doctor. They felt cold and distant, like they would pass right through their body. Was Quinn dreaming? Who knows.. certainly not them. They couldn't see anyone, everything was hazy and purple. Like the gates between realms. Like they were looking through fog.

A voice. Felt like nails on a chalkboard. "They're definitely sick with a bad cold. It should pass soon, just have them sleep through it."

"Are you sure? I've had the sniffles before but Quinn seems totally out of it." A twinkling star spoke next. Very bright in a comfy way.

"Yes yes, I'm sure. Everything will be fine if you just let them rest. Now.. give them this tea every few hours and have them sleep as much as possible. The fever should go down soon as well."

Pasha nodded, taking the small box of loose tea from the doctor. "Alright.. Thank you, doctor." She watched as they left, before turning to Quinn, who, to be honest, looked high as a cloud. Glossy eyes red from tears and breathing irregular...

This certainly didnt feel like a cold, Quinn thought. In fact they were very very... very hot.

"Dont worry Quinn. I'll make sure you get better!" Pasha was never good at lying, but this felt nearly convincing. "Who needs him anyway?"

Him? Oh right. Right him. Himmm...

"What about him?"

Oh. Did they say that out loud?

"Miss him.."

Pasha sighed. "Yeah.. I get it. But.. if he really did hurt you like that..." she shook her head. It still felt too.. insane. Julian would never hurt someone he loved so much like that.

"I want.." what did they want? They didnt have a chance to think about it before a noise brought them from the misty purple haze in their head and into.. what was probably the real world.

Julian practically ripped the door off its hinges as he ran inside, clutching onto Quinn's abandoned walking cane. "Pasha! Pasha have you seen Quinn, they're incredibly sick and vulnerable, I need-"

He was cut off by a very loud slap to the cheek. "Ilyushka Devorak! You- you.... do you have any idea how much grief you've put poor Quinn through! You have a lot of nerve showing up here looking for them!"

Julian looked absolutely lost. "I.. what?"

"How long have you been cheating on Quinn?"

Something snapped in Julian's brain. "What??? Is that what Mazelinka meant? I have no idea what you're talking about." He moved closer to the couch where Quinn was currently counting every whisker on Pepi who was perched on their chest.

Portia stopped him. "Well... well Quinn said-"

"Quinn is quite obviously delirious!" He gestured to his spouse. "So let me take them home."

Portia shook her head a little. "Now I'm confused.." she looked between them.

"Pasha..." Julian's face and voice softened. "Do you really think so lowly of me? That I would hurt Quinn like that?"

She didnt even have to think about it. "No... no I don't..."

"Please... let me take them home.. I didnt even know they were back so soon, Asra came by earlier asking how they were and I had no idea what he meant.. I've been running everywhere looking for them."

She quietly stepped out of the way, letting Julian come closer.

"Quinn.. darling.. how are you feeling?" He gently reached a hand down and pressed his palm against their forehead. "Very bad fever.." he mumbled, switching to doctor mode in his head. "Quinn can you hear me?"

Huh..? Oh yes. You have a very pretty voice, I like it.

"Um.. thank you darling.." he mumbled, taken aback slightly.

Oh.. must've said that out loud. "Who are you?" They look familiar... red hair.. pale.. mm.. very handsome.. oh no Quinn, dont talk like that. You have a husband.

"Do.. you not recognize me?" He moved and picked Quinn up princess style, letting Pepi hop down.

"No.. who are you? I like you. You're warm."

"Um.. I'm.." he bit his lip slightly. "Ian..?"

"Really? Ian is the best you could do?"

He snapped a look at his sister before turning to leave. "I'm gonna bring you back to the clinic, Quinn. You're much worse than I thought.." he turned to Portia. "Thank you.. Pasha.."

She nodded. "I had a doctor down.. he said they had a cold.."

Julian almost did a double take, many emotions flashing across his face in 2 seconds. "He.. said they had a cold??? That makes no sense! They're practically brain dead from the fever!" He took a deep breath, calming himself quickly. "Sorry. Snapping isn't gonna help.." he sighed. "I'll explain later when Quinn is better, I think I know what they saw.."

Portia nodded, letting Julian walk off back to the clinic. She was going to have a word with that doctor if she ever saw him again..

#the arcana #the arcana julian #the arcana oc #the arcana julian x oc #the arcana fanfic

[cruddyborderlandstheories]

so why did the destroyer eat civilizations?

tl;dr: protein powder

um. spoilers and stuff for directors cut lmao

so im like here and i was thinking (rare)

here’s something from the new dlc

so basically um

+ succ = stronger boy

other pokemon version (red):

also

human

+ the theory from long ago that made guardians want the vaults open to possess the vault monsters for [Vergil voice] POWER

=

destroyer also had a guardian-type thing going on and was compelled to absorb more souls in order to get stronk (like the rampager) and thats why the guardians are big mad at lilybean for keeping pandora from fully opening

bonus points if theyre powering up the vault monsters so they can rip a hole to (the door off the hinges of) where the eridians are currently hiding and beat the shit out of them for being shitty parents

historical footage of the guardians coming to beat the shit out of the eridians after possessing and powering up all the vault monsters

(so let us work together bc im still not unconvinced that humanity was another version of guardians created by the eridians)

bonus bonus points if the eridians locked the destroyer/rampager away because they were originally like/supposed to be the guardians but they had too much free will and strength so they had to make the guardians we know now as biomechanical so they’d follow commands

but plot twist now the guardians are getting smarter

oh hey look its the other theory. hey other theory welcome back i know you werent dead but its good to see you again

t-poses ominously

ocourse she also says when the key vanished so too did the future so maybe they are just trying to close the vault of the destroyer (aka the destroyer slipping out would “end the future”) and that’s how they gotta do it

however... BORING if true

lily fast traveling with the big key meant pandora stopped opening meaning she stopped the destroyer from fully getting out which they SHOULD be happy about IF they are trying to keep the vault of the destroyer from opening (horrid job if so everybody, bravo)

and pandora opening in the first place was 100% done by the twins, so if they didn’t want that happening, they wouldn't have let it happen given they apparently controlled everything

and if someone threw a wrench in their plans like lilith apparently did by removing the thing OPENING PANDORA, she’d be mentioning troy absorbing maya which let him phaselock elpis to open Pandora OF ALL THE THINGS- you get the idea... like sure lilith removing elpis is kinda shit if they’re looking to close it, but instead of putting the blame on her for doing what she could, they should be pointing fingers at the people who actually opened the vault and in fact they should have put more effort into STOPPING THEM instead of manipulating BOTH SIDES 

also you’d think the unforeseen circumstance of siren powers being split between two people would probably be the thing ruining their plans and being worth mentioning right?? NOPE IT WAS LILITH PREVENTING PANDORA FROM BEING OPENED ALL ALONG

and personally i think they were manipulating both the raiders and the cov get to the vault because they:

a) didnt want the vault to not be opened by the raiders (possibly bc guardians are not capable of opening vaults themselves due to programming- they are biomechanical so it is reasonable to assume they literally might not be capable of doing so)

b) didn’t want the twins fully absorbing the destroyer bc its for THEIR PLANS not YOURS

also this would explain why there is an “Advanced Guardian Mind Core” in the vault of the destroyer... why else would it be there, there were no guardians anywhere near this place

big boy got too swole and was like “gonna eat to get stronger”

and their future is breaking free of the eridians to do their own thing

i do however find this quote fucking hysterical if what i think theyre doing is true:

bitch you are literally possessing people and vault monsters for Power and probably Free Will

anyway

im tired

a kissaroo from me to you

now the real question is:

is the idea of the eridians watching this happening and going “ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck” funnier, or is the idea of the eridians watching all this and going:

funnier

i can’t tell someone help me

#im literally taing a class right now #and by TAing i mean im literally jus t sititng her re bro #but yeah umn #i did the rampager fight for the dailies and i went `wait arent those wisps confirmed to be guardi- ohhhhhhhh i get it` #spoilers #borderlands 3 spoilers #directors cut spoilers #borderlands

[initiumseries]

LOL Clark can cross like 5 acres of farm land, dash through a forest and catch a lighter before falling and setting Lana’s car on fire. But he couldn’t save both his parents from bad guys while they were standing 5 feet away from each other? 

LOL OKAY. 

Lmao Clark speed runs to school, stops right in front of a car, causing it to spin into a power line, so Clark just rips the door off its hinges, and speeds the FULLY CONSCIOUS guy out of the car. Glad we’ve completely abandoned being covert.

The guy, is a reporter bc of course he is. And he comes to the Kent asking for a settlement. My dude, you just got your license suspended bc you were driving under the influence. Your swerving to dodge Clark while drunks...still makes you a drunk driver. They don’t owe you anything. 

My favourite part about all of this, is this is the first 10 minutes of the episode. LOL. 

#smallville rewatch #smallville s3 #this season #is so chaotic

[whump-captain]

🌙🤔🍰

sorry this took so long skdhdld these are good questions 👀

🌙  What time of day do you prefer to write? Why?

Hmmm i don't think i have one, i write whenever i have a spare moment. It's usually during commute or at work while doing some less absorbing tasks. My boss had issues with it lmao but while they can tell me off for typing on my phone on company time, they certainly can't tell at all that im putting together dialogue in my head while sitting right next to them lol

🤔 What is the hardest part of writing fic?

Uhhhhhhhh starting lmao my Autistic Inertia is a beast of its own. But in actual writing i think it's making sure that i convey everything that needs to be conveyed. When i've been imagining a scene for a while, it's easy to see elements of it as obvious and forget to mention them. But the reader only has what i describe to go by, so if i don't say that the door to a room is old and damaged then it's going to sound weird when i describe a character ripping it from its hinges.

🍰 Name one of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave).

I know it has an audience of like 3 but there's a Kamen Rider fanfic that i think about on a daily basis, this one. It's got a great little one-shot structure that perfectly mimics the show's monster-of-the-week format, amazing dialogue between my favourite characters, awesome toku action, a delicious noir atmosphere, and two dudes who can turn into motorcycles getting into buddy cop detective shenanigans. Idk how much anyone who's not into kamen rider will get out of it lol but this is a good opportunity to remind everyone to go watch kamen rider.

#answers #tag game

[klonoadreams]

Hey, my cat just passed away from old age, so here's something both happier and funnier to my mind off things. So here's something, the Monastery crew from Ashen Doe somehow get trasported to NRC from Counting Sheep. What sort of chaos would come from it.

aww sorry to hear about that.

Anyways, it’s gonna be pure chaos because Claude is just gonna drift towards Pomefiore because POISONS. To become head of Pomefiore, you gotta make a powerful poison, and Claude takes THAT as a challenge. Yuri and Lorenz also getting thrown in that direction, due to their appearances, but Yuri ain’t gonna listen to Vil, so...RIP.

The short stack squad EXPANDS, with the inclusion of Lysithea, who would likely butt heads with Riddle, Annette, Bernadetta, who’s already stuck inside her room like Idia, and just vhfjldkbknh.

Raphael gets along SWIMMINGLY with Vargas. Edelgard is just otherwise chilling in Diasomnia with Hubert, because WHAT THE FUCK.

Hilda would also like to go into Pomefiore, but keeps catching everyone by surprise because SHE RIPPED A DOOR OFF ITS HINGES.

“I’m so delicate, teehee.” Epel has refused to let her live it down, because he is INVESTED in wanting to do that.

Dimitri’s in Savanaclaw (because lions lmao), and would like some answers, because Leona sure as hell isn’t giving him any. Ashe and Ruggie getting along because of similar pasts.

Ramshackle Dorm is a lot more lively because WHERE ELSE is everyone going to stay? Much to the dismay of EVERYONE who is afraid of ghosts.

Breadsticks still yelling. Savanaclaw refuses to let Regulus out of their sight. Penumbra is fitting in nicely with Diasomnia aesthetics. And then there’s Moon Moon, who won’t leave Jack alone.

Also consider: Malleus unintentionally outing Flayn and Seteth as dragons or whatever.

Anyways, that’s all I have right now, but I hope it makes you feel better!! :D

#ask #twisted wonderland #counting sheep (fanfic)

[elsaclack]

I wish you would write a fic in the Jake-can-feel-Amy’s-emotions universe that entails the warehouse raid and their first kiss that occurs after because I AM TRASH

HI THIS IS LIKE 8 MONTHS LATE BUT!!!! BETTER LATE THAN NEVER OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT

i did have something posted once upon a time in the original iteration of this universe butttttt i rewrote/repurposed parts of it to this, bc i like this one better but the first one had good bones

also this is a reference to two one-shots i posted a million years ago from a soulmate au i…developed? created? something like that lmao. you don’t necessarily have to have read either one of them but here they are just in case you want to: one and two

in the event that you don’t want to read them, the only thing you need to know is that in this au, soulmates can feel each other’s emotions. prior to their first kiss as soulmates, only one can feel the other - after the first kiss, they can both feel each other. so. in this setting, jake could feel amy, but amy couldn’t feel jake, and then they kissed, and now amy can feel jake. clear as mud :-)

So here’s the thing: it’s two o’clock in the morning, Jake’s smells like trash, and he’s about two-and-a-half minutes away from completely losing his mind. It should be noted, of course, that his teetering on the precipice of madness is entirely unrelated to the ungodly hour and his ungodly stench (though, to be fair, neither are helping) except by the furthest, narrowest of circumstances - that is to say, he could be fresh out of the shower at nine in the morning and still feel the tendrils of panic squeezing ever tighter round his heart.

So, here’s the thing: he’s panicking, and panicking some more, because for all of his feelings of panic stifling each inhale, Amy’s poorly-restrained anxiety rears up tenfold from the deepest dredges of his chest. It’s just his luck, he supposes, that his soulmate is such an anxious person by nature; normally it’s nothing he can’t handle, but with his current state of mind and his inherent inability to regulate his own emotions, Amy’s pretty much on her own.

Except that isn’t entirely true, is it, because here’s the thing: he’s panicking, and she can feel it. She can exactly how piss-poor he truly is at managing his panic, so it’s really no wonder that she’s panicking, because she always seems more panicky when he seems panicky and now she can feel exactly how panicky he is and god, who thought of this whole sharing-emotions-with-your-soulmate bullshit?

He didn’t ask for this, for the record. He was perfectly happy keeping their connection a secret and carrying it all the way to his grave, probably. Amy kissed him, not the other way around, thank you very much.

(He was probably going to tell her soon, anyways, because it’s been eating away at him like a virus and he’s pretty sure there’s science to prove that being around your soulmate without telling them they’re your soulmate for as long as he has been around Amy has physical side-effects in addition to being, like, a massive bummer.)

It seems wherever she is (somewhere in the back of the precinct in this very floor, he’s pretty sure, like either the evidence lockup or the bathroom or something) she’s at least partially aware of the effect her anxiety is having on Jake - he can feel her familiar attempts at tamping it all down, probably the result of her doing a breathing exercise he’s coached her through in the past. It works, if only a little; he can feel his own head clearing, his racing thoughts slowing, until the blurriness to his vision sharpens and he can hear himself breathe over the blood pounding in his ears.

He’s not even fully aware of his own thankfulness until he feels Amy’s bewilderment - and of course she’s bewildered, why wouldn’t she be bewildered at his thankfulness invading her mind like alien baby chest-bursters.

His newly-cleared vision lands on a slightly crumpled post-it taped to the bottom of his computer monitor - get a grip tonto, it tells him in Rosa’s scrawl - and he inhales deeply through his nose, letting the words reverberate around his skull. Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip.

It’s probably more of a reflection on him than it is on her that, despite his somewhat-diminished sense of world-ending panic, he can’t quite get the unevolved caveman part of his brain to stop replaying their first kiss. It’s not his fault - Amy Santiago is a good kisser, even under all the duress and pressure of an undercover mission seconds away from going sideways. She’s a good kisser when she’s sporting a gruesome black eye, a good kisser when she’s out of breath, a good kisser when she’s falling, a good kisser at the bottom of one of the nastiest dumpsters Jake’s ever had the misfortune of smelling in his life. Even if nothing else ever happens and he spends the rest of his life replaying this one memory on a loop, he’ll get it tattooed to his forehead:

Amy Santiago is a good, good kisser.

But, the fact still remains: he never asked for this.

He definitely hoped for this, but he never asked for it.

He kind of asked for it.

It’s not his fault.

It was a natural reaction - anyone who was in his place would have done the same thing, dammit! She’s his partner and she was in danger - and, okay, maybe the only reason he knew that in the moment was because he felt her sudden spike of shock and fear more than he heard knuckles connecting with flesh and her responding gasp of pain in the room he’d just crept out of. But the fact still stands - he would have gone and thrown that jerk off of any of his fellow detectives.

He would have gotten just as much savage, feral pleasure at punching that perp’s lights out. He would have yanked any of his fellow detectives into a bone-crushing hug. Just as Amy would have pulled any of the other detectives into a panic undercover kiss upon hearing their other perps coming back toward them at the commotion.

Right.

Amy Santiago is a good kisser, even when she’s unwittingly establishing their soulmate connection and feeling every last ounce of his emotion flood her nervous system for the very first time.

(He tries not to think about the fact that she’d gasped into his mouth or that she’d gone stiff as a board in his arms for all of one-second - tries to chalk it up to the sound of their perps storming in somewhere behind them and wolf-whistling at their display, too distracted by them to notice their companion out cold on the floor at their feet.)

And he really tries not to think about his stupid, fumbling attempts at leading them out the back door into the alley behind the warehouse before the perps caught on - about how he’d misjudged the distance, sending them both toppling over the edge of the loading dock and straight into the open dumpster below.

(And the weight of her settling over them even as they’d both grunted on impact - how she’d pulled back for a second, eyes blown wide, before leaning back in - how he’s still not sure if the desperation he’d seen in her eyes was case-related or them-related.)

It was messy, and stupid, and so completely and utterly them - and the fact that they managed to make all of their arrests gives him hope that someday, they might be able to laugh about this.

Of course, the fact that she did not speak one word directly to him and studiously avoided his gaze the whole way back to the precinct gives him severe anxiety.

It’s two-o’clock in the morning and his connection to Amy is a living, breathing entity - what was a soothing glimmer as delicate as spider’s silk glows bright an overwhelming now, rearing up and glittering like ocean waves beneath a setting sun. She’s everywhere, she’s everything, and he’s certain now that he won’t be able to live without her, and maybe that’s not the best thing to be thinking at two o’clock in the morning when he smells like a dumpster and there are half-finished arrest reports strewn about his desk, but it doesn’t matter.

Because the hailstorm of emotions originating from Amy suddenly taper off into a quiet and firm kind of resolution - and Jake’s stomach bottoms out at the feeling. He can’t tell around his own stupid anxiety if she’s happy or sad or angry or anything other than calm - it’s the exact opposite of the way he feels, only more so when his phone buzzes with a new text.

Will you please meet me in the evidence lockup?

She doesn’t have to ask if he’s still at the precinct, he notes with a certain amount of trepidation as he pockets his phone and slowly stands from his desk. She’s only felt his emotions for a matter of hours, now, and already she can read them well enough to deduce that he’s been paralyzed at his desk since they got back.

It would be comforting, if he wasn’t so freaked out.

She’s tucked toward the back of the evidence lockup when he slowly edges inside, leaned back against the shelves, arms crossed loosely over her chest. She straightens a little when the door squeaks on its hinges; he winces, both at the sound and at the fact that her face is entirely unreadable. She’s pulled her hair up into a low, loose bun in the time that has passed since he last saw her - a move he recognizes from her previous panic attacks, a half-conscious effort to allow cool air to touch the back of her neck. He forces himself to keep moving toward her for as long as he can stand it - all in, he stops about five feet short from where she’s standing, hands jammed so deep in his pockets he’s at risk of ripping holes through the seams.

Amy stares at him for a long moment, the only sound in the room the quiet mechanical whir of the precinct’s computer servers against the wall to his left. He tries to hold her gaze, really - it proves to be too much, the way the blinking server lights reflect off the molten brown chocolate of her irises, seconds away from piercing the very foundation of his soul. He focuses instead of her hands - on the way her fingers twist around her grandmother’s ring, knotting together in a way that reminds him of the knots in his own stomach. He inhales through his nose, holds it for a beat, and slowly releases it through barely-parted lips.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice is soft, curious; not an ounce of accusation colors her words. His heart leaps unbidden at the sound of her voice and her eyes practically double in circumference. “Jake, I…” she trails, her fingers pressing briefly over her heart. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He rocks back on his heels, fighting his flight instinct urging him to shrug. “I don’t, um…I just, I didn’t want you to, y’know, feel…obligated.”

Her swell of affection is undeniable; he peers up at her through his lashes to find her gaze soft and a little bit sad.

Boldness sweeps through him.

“I mean, you were right about all of this - the choice part of it, I mean. I knew you were my soulmate the day I met you, but -”

He’s nearly knocked breathless at the sudden punch of disbelief from Amy. “Eight years?” she whispers, and he bites the inside of his cheek. “You’ve known for eight years?”

“Uh-huh,” he curls his fingers inside his pockets, twisting the fabric of his jacket between his nails. “I mean, it was rough at first - we weren’t exactly best friends, remember? And I thought I was wrong for a while, too, but I - I wasn’t. And, I dunno, I was starting to come around to the idea of telling you about it when -”

He stops, drops his chin, stares at the fraying seams of his sneakers. “When, what?” Amy prompts him after a moment.

“You were right that morning in the break room,” he says quietly. “When you were talking about, uh, the nature of free will. I didn’t realize how important it was to me until after we talked, but -”

“The morning my brother found his soulmate,” she interrupts suddenly, understanding washing through her. “Oh, Jake,” she says softly, “I was such an ass about it -”

“No, you were right,” he insists. “I had never really thought about it that way. It made me rethink a lot of things, actually. I realized I had been planning my whole life around - well, around you. But I didn’t even know you. It’s like you said, some cosmic force just decided that that’s how things were gonna be for me, and I never questioned it. But after we talked that morning, I realized that I wanted to want this. I wanted to want you. Not because someone else said I should, but because I chose to. And I - I wanted you to, uh, choose me. So…” he sucks in a deep breath, and Amy’s chin ticks up a degree. “You don’t have any obligation to me, Ames.” he says, pleasantly surprised to find his voice unwavering. “If this isn’t what you want, I…I get it. Really.” He tries to ignore the sharp ache in his chest as the words leave his lips, but based on the way her face crumbles he’s certain he’s done a terrible job. “Okay, eventually. I’ll get it eventually.” A half-smile quirks the corner of her mouth upward, and he feels himself steadying. “But if…if this is something you want…I’m yours. I want you. I choose you.”

It’s strange - up until now, he thought he’d felt every single one of Amy Santiago’s emotions. This one - this swelling, morphing mass of something - is entirely new to him, though. It’s bubbling up and folding in on itself, growing faster than he can comprehend, intensifying tenfold with each slow, tentative step Amy takes closer to him, and now her molten gaze has him pinned in place all the moisture in his mouth evaporating in an instant -

Her hands are warm and steady where they brush against his jaw and curl around the back of his neck, firm when they tug him down two inches, soft where they gently skate up into his hair. Her lips are pliant against his, coaxing and inviting, moving with him in perfect synchronization.

Amy Santiago is an excellent kisser.

But above everything else, Jake feels radiant acceptance swelling like a warm hug around his tripping heart. She wants him, too, it’s in her hands and her lips and her steady, steady heartbeat. He all but melts against her, releasing an involuntary hum as the tension leaks from his joints and his hands slide up the gentle slope of her spine. She lets out a little hum of her own when his fingers spread and flex over the space between her shoulder blades, and he tucks the sound away, fully intent on figuring out exactly how to make her do it again.

She pulls away first, pressing a hand to the side of his face when he momentarily strains to follow, and for a long moment they stand foreheads flush together, trying to catch their breaths. Her left arm flexes where it’s wrapped around his neck and he slowly curls his fingers around the curve of her waist, smiling at her quiet, breathless laugh.

“You really meant that, didn’t you?” she whispers.

He swallows thickly, reveling in the warmth of her skin seeping through his shirt, ignoring the now-distant ache in his chest at the thought of her not wanting this. “Yeah,” he breathes, and it’s the strangest thing - it’s like his conviction is echoing back to him.

She pulls away to look him in the eye, though her grip around his neck never falters; he bites back a smile at the feeling of her fingers curling into the material of his hoodie. “This is - it’s - a lot,” she mumbles, eyes briefly squeezing shut. “Like, a lot to process - is it usually this intense?”

“Never,” he says quickly. “I mean, like, sometimes if emotions were running high - like if you were really pissed off about something, or, like, having a panic attack - but that was before you could - I mean, that was when it was just me. I don’t - I don’t really know what happens now.”

She nods slowly, eyes darting down to his lips for the barest second before meeting his gaze again. “I…really want to find out,” she whispers.

It takes all of one nanosecond before the joy comes blazing in - a tsunami of it, all-encompassing and all-consuming. He yanks her back to him sharply, her responding laughter little more than a muffled buzz against his lips and a pleasant simmer in his belly. Fear and dread and panic are nothing more than distant memories now, and through it all Jake finds himself wondering why on earth he didn’t do this sooner.

“Jake -” he cuts her off with another kiss, earning yet another muffled laugh, pressing against her over and over again until he’s effectively smothering her. “Jake - Jake, let’s - Jake!”

He’s laughing when he pulls away, biting his lip, reaching up to touch the tendrils of hair fallen from her bun. “Sorry,” he mumbles, not sorry at all, “I’ve just been waiting for a really long time to do that -”

“I’m not saying we have to stop,” she says, “just - let’s go somewhere, anywhere else. I don’t even care where, just - together.”

“I smell like a dumpster, so -”

“Me too.”

“- shower? And then somewhere? I can pick you up at your apartment -”

“Or we could just…both go somewhere that has a shower.”

There’s mischief in her eyes and excitement in her veins and he can’t tamp down the grin on his face if he tried. “I think I know a place,” he says pseudo-thoughtfully, and this time it’s Amy pressing her lips to his to smother his laughter.

“Let’s go together,” she says when she pulls away too soon. “We can come back for the other car tomorrow, but let’s go together.”

“Yeah,” he says, an absurd hitch in his voice. “Together.”

She steps back and the loss of her heat against him is jarring until her fingers lace through his and gently squeeze; her affection and adoration is an undeniable hearth in his heart glowing in her eyes. “Together,” she whispers, chin briefly touching his shoulder.

There’s an urge somewhere deep to tack something stupid like ‘forever’ on the end, but he ignores it in favor of a broad, blinding grin.

(That hearth has grown to a wildfire still raging by morning, when he emerges from his bedroom dazed from sleep and everything else to find Amy padding around his kitchen, hair tousled, grin soft with the same affection he feels in her stuttering heart.)

#em answers #b99 #jake x amy #peraltiago #b99 fics #my b99 fics #fezzle #idk how else to tag this good luck y'all