#But still - especially since a lot of thin people got that way by starving themselves it's like......

[wawhii]

I don't quite know if this is acceptable to say but like. The more I learn about fat liberation, the more that thin and super super thin people become fucking grotesque to me

#Vent tw #Ask to tag #Thin people aren't oppressed for being thin obviously (skinny shaming makes you feel bad - not oppressed) #But like. I don't know this could be considered super rude or maybe I'm fucking up somewhere. Please let me know #But still - especially since a lot of thin people got that way by starving themselves it's like...... #It makes me sick to see people who are just skin and bone being glamourized like that. #I saw p/rn of a girl who was JUST ribs on my dash and like. She didn't even have a back. #She didn't have a back she didn't have a stomach like. I hope to god that's photoshopped #(Censoring the word p/rn because the trans4ndrophobia believers found my other post and don't want that to happen again)

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

been a while since i posted a fic update! anyone wanna read some cowboy au nonsense? sure you do! well here it is

The blinding, unforgiving midday heat is enough to raise blisters on the skin. Looking out over a crowd of folks booing him, calling for his demise, probably should have had some kind of emotional impact. On the occasion of one’s death, after all, one does expect tears. Flowers, laid out in lace, dark veils and coal black clothes, a few muffled sobs from those further back in the funerary procession, unable to contain themselves. Instead he’s met with the dusty faces of former neighbors and strangers alike, all eagerly waiting to hear the exact tone and pitch that his neck will make when it snaps.

Bored, he turns his attention from the crowd, and watches a lizard scurry across the wooden planks of the gallows, as a man to his right fits a rough bit of rope around his neck. It scratches, but he doesn’t react, not feeling frightened or even especially interested. A similar rough twine is binding his hands together behind his back, keeping him from having any viable way to save himself. The crowd is calling for blood now. Hangings generally are not gorey affairs, but he did once see a drop too sudden and a rope so long that the fella wasn’t just hung, he was decapitated. Beetlejuice glances back down at the crowd, tries to imagine what direction his head would roll if that happened here, and smirks, because it seems to him the last thing he’d see would be the view from inside the skirts of some of the women standing front and center. Not the worst last sight a man could have. “You think you could hurry this along?” he asks the man fitting the noose around his neck. “Sun’s beatin’ down somethin’ fierce an’ I ain’t got my hat.” His personal possessions are back at the sheriff’s office- hat, bandana, silver plated, pearl handled pistol, and his custom belt buckle, just about the nicest, and maybe only, thing he ever paid for. God damn corrupt lawman’s probably gonna pawn his stuff as soon as he’s swinging. Maybe before. Maybe his last worldly possessions are already gone. S’not like he’ll need them, where he’s goin.

A face he recognizes is led up from the crowd, an ancient wizened body tanned for years by the all too eager sunlight and scorching sands. It’s the local preacher, who he remembers from his formative years. The old man used to give him bread and plain, unseasoned chicken in return for listening to him talk about god, and if he hadn’t been nearly starved to death half the time, he might have spat in the old man’s face. Shouldn't charity be done for the sake of charity, not proselytizing? He’d said so once, and that was the last meal the old miser had given him. Jackass.

“Beetlejuice,” the preacher begins. His name is said with disdain and a curled upper lip. It’s one of the reasons he chose it, honestly. “You still have time to repent, young man. I remember you, as a child, bright eyed, curious about the kingdom of heaven.” Well now, that’s the very definition of taking artist liberty. “Now, here, you have one more chance to repent, to accept god’s mercy, and avoid the lake of fire.” The crowd is watching, waiting to see if he will confess his remorse. Beetlejuice hums, rocks on the balls of his feet, and then sighs. “.. C’mere,” He mumbles, jerking his head to indicate the old man should step closer. The holy man does. “I got a lot to confess to, preacher man, an’ not much time.” His voice is soft. The ailing man can’t hear him, steps closer, if only a little. “So much to confess to, in fact, I oughta just… Skip th’ whole thing an’ go straight to hell!” And Beetlejuice reels back, and then slams his forehead into the old man’s face. The sickeningly satisfying crunch of cartilage tells him he’s broken the preacher’s nose, as the elderly man falls back, crying out in pain, blood gushing from his new wound. The crowd roars, furious, and he grins, and laughs. “Ain’t no good extendin’ your pious pity to me!” he calls, gleeful, as he’s pelted with whatever the people watching can get their hands on, and the old man is helped, taken away, led off of the platform. “Enough, enough, we will have order!” a lawman cries, coming up the gallow steps, to stand in front of the outlaw. It’s enough to get the crowd to settle, or at least stop throwing things. There’s still a bad energy in the air, which Beetlejuice can taste on the tip of his tongue. His smile is rictus, he’s delighted to be the cause of it all.

“This man has been tried and found guilty,” the lawman continues. The trial had been very short, and his incarceration shorter. He understands he’s being made an example of to other outlaws, bandits, and trouble makers. They intentionally didn’t give him any time to plan anything, or for any coconspirators to come and assist him. Joke’s on them. They could have taken all the time in the world. Ain’t nobody alive who cares for this outlaw. Not a soul who would dare to come and stage a rescue. He’s utterly alone. “He’s allowed his last words. Clearly,” the lawman turns, eyes Beetlejuice, who smiles flirtatiously. The other man’s expression shifts from annoyance to disgust. “He’s disavowed the advice of Pastor Neighbors.” “M’not so sure you’re usin’ that word right, friend,” Beetlejuice snorts, but he’s ignored. “Any last words?” the hangman to his right asks, his hand itching to grip the lever that will drop the floor and finally, finally, release the outlaw from the confines of mortal life.

Beetlejuice grins.

“If any of you have a message for th’ devil, give it to me!” he shouts, with a cackle, and he watches in rapt and morbid delight at the way the faces in the crowd twist. “I’ll carry it down to hell for you!” The crowd is furious enough it almost seems to him they’re going to storm the platform, and maybe beat him to death. The wave of gasps from the women folk is particularly amusing.

“Enough of this!” He hears the voice of the lawman, disgusted, and the hangman must agree, because the last thing he hears is the lever being thrown, and the floor gives out under him, and he’s falling, falling, falling.

His ass hits a chair.

There’s a moment of blinded confusion, because he's gone from the unbearable dusty sun of midday California, to a cool, dark, musty smelling interior. His eyes need a moment to adjust to the change. He’s sitting in a room he doesn’t recognize. The chair under him is plush, but just thin seated enough to be a tad uncomfortable. He squirms in it, confused, and finds his hands are still tied behind his back. He turns his head. Seated across from him is a young woman.. Well, little girl might be more accurate, she’s maybe fourteen. There’s a wicked looking hoofprint emblazoned on her right temple. The blood that’s leaking from the wound has gone a sickly old color. They stare at each other. “Did that hurt?” she asks, first, and he squints, because he’d been about to ask the same question. Her hand has gone to her throat, as she looks at him, and he looks down, pressing his fat face into his fat neck to create an unflattering double chin as he does so. He can feel the rope around his neck. He follows the line of it with his eyes, and turns to look up. The rope travels up from him, into the ceiling. It’s still taught, like he’s suspended by it, but his ass is touching chair, his boots are on the ground, and he doesn’t feel choked by it’s presence. He tuts. “Didn’t feel a thing. That hurt?” he tries to gesture to her wound, but again, he’s reminded his hands are bound behind him. She stands. “Hurt a bit, but then I got so dizzy I didn’t hardly feel it, after,” she tells him, and then, like the good little frontierswoman she is, she produces a knife from inside some pocket in the volume of her skirts, and gratefully, he leans forward. She rests a knee on one of the chairs, to get a better angle, as she uses her bowie to cut through the rope at his wrists. “Awful kind of you, half pint,” he tells her, and she smiles. “Ain’t nothin.” She settles into the chair next to him, which is a little surprising, but he doesn’t mind, over all. “You’re an outlaw, then?” she asks. He grunts, and then turns to face her, with a grin. “You probably heard of me. They called me Th’ Ghost, on occasion, cause I could slip away without bein’ caught-” he watches her eyes travel up the line of his noose, and then settle back on his face, a little less impressed than she ought to be. He responds by pinching her nose, and she swats at his hand, and laughs. “I do think I heard of you,” she concedes. “I’m Presley.” “Presley, alright. You got a clue where we are, kiddo?” “I just was told to wait.” “Told by who?”

Across the room, a window he hadn’t registered as being there slides open. This place vaguely resembles a bank, he realizes, and so that means that’s the teller’s window. A woman with a tired expression on a pretty face peers out at him. “Hey, dead beat,” she calls, her accent thick around the words. “Juno wants to see you.” He motions to himself, questioningly. She raises an eyebrow in silent confirmation. “Should I care?” he asks, and her upper lip curls in the most beautiful version of a sneer he’s ever seen. “You’re real funny. Get in there before she loses her temper.” And she reaches up, and slams the window shut.

He looks to Presley, and they both share a little shrug, before he stands, and takes a step. The rope going through the ceiling moves with him, not along any visible track, that he can see, but seeming rather more like a toy balloon on a string, bobbing along as though after a child winding their way through the crowd of a state fair. There’s a door by the teller’s window, and he makes for it, only for the window to slide open again, and that beautiful face to reappear. She looks him over, not seeming particularly impressed, but also not outright cruel. “Where’s your handbook?” she asks. Beetlejuice tilts his head. It lolls a little comically to one side, presumably because his neck is broken. She sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. “You can’t be serious. You didn’t bring your handbook?” “Listen, lady, even if I had whatever book you’re talkin about, I couldn’t read it,” he counters, and she pauses, at that. “Illiterate. Of course. What’s even the point of the handbook when so many folks can’t read it?” she mutters to herself, and then she waives him at the door, the conversation apparently over. Alright.

The door, predictably, leads to a hallway, a bit unlike anything he’s ever seen before, in terms of sheer length of the thing. It twists around like a snake, and the number of doors along the hall leads him to believe wherever he is, it’s massive. The hallway is empty, save for a man at the far end, mopping, and there doesn’t seem to be anything around for him to tuck into his pockets. Too bad, he mopes, as he carries himself down the hall, boots clacking in a way he finds tactile and pleasant. He passes the custodian, who stares at the floor behind him and sighs, and Beetlejuice looks back to see a mess of dusty footprints he’s left on a previously slightly damp but otherwise pristine floor. With a snort, he spits into the bucket of mop water, and the other man jumps back, disgusted, as Beetlejuice cackles, and continues his leisurely walk down the hall.

At a certain point he realizes he’s got no idea where he’s going, but it doesn’t especially matter. Wherever he is now, whatever version of the afterlife this is, because clearly, that’s what this is, it doesn’t seem to be fire and brimstone and all that bullshit, so he takes it easy, opening doors at random and peeking through. The things he sees don’t always make sense to him, feel like they’re out of place from the world as he knows it. He opens one door, and suddenly he’s staring at what must be a city, but the buildings are so tall they’re touching the sky, going up past the clouds, up into the heaven he doesn’t believe can really be up there. The people are dressed strangely, men and women wandering around in little more than underclothes, which he likes, instantly, and the streets are black with painted yellow lines, instead of dust and earth. Some kind of metal.. Something, a trolley without a track, moves on it’s own down the street, and he catches a glimpse of faces inside. He gets lost in the contents of this door, staring for a long time, entranced, and then it’s slammed suddenly. He turns, catches sight of the custodian with his hand on the door, and growls, an animalistic sound he didn’t know he could do. And then he stops, and turns to look, because the custodian is still a ways behind him, mopping with spit water. It’s the same man. “You don’t need to go poking your snout into places it doesn’t belong,” the man says, simply, and then in a blink, both versions of him are gone from the hallway. Maybe that’s just an… afterlife thing.

He reaches, after what feels like a boring and dragging eternity of twenty whole minutes, a set of saloon doors, the swinging kind. There’s a void of blackness behind them, but the draw he feels is unmistakable, and he pushes them open, and walks through. Instead of a room black as ink, he finds himself… standing on the wooden porch of a bar he remembers frequenting fairly often, in his younger days. At least, he has clear memories of walking into the bar. How and when and why he ended up outside of it, well… whiskey has a hell of an effect on a man’s memory. It’s a fairly chilly desert night. The chirping of crickets and the long ways away lonely baying of a dog is a sort of familiar comfort, but god damn it, he’s just left this world. He wasn’t intending on coming back to it, ever. The dusty streets are dim, illuminated only by the moon, the stars, and the few lamps still burning in windows. The town is quiet.

On the dirt road in front of him is a woman, staring at him. She’s small, older, nicely dressed, with hair shorter than he’s ever seen on a lady, and a mouth sort of like a toad, long and downturned. There’s an unlit cigarette between her fingers. She’s watching him, curious and apathetic all at once. He returns the look. “Juno, then?” he grunts, stepping off the porch. No dust lifts when his boots hit the unpaved road, which he notes. Maybe he’s not really here. Maybe he’s a ghost. Fitting.

“Lawrence “Beetlejuice” Shoggoth,” she says, as he comes to stand in front of her. “Took you long enough. You realize I’ve been waiting here for days. You get lost, or something?” Her tone is sharp, like a schoolmarm with too much on her hands and not enough energy for it all. He feels a little sheepish, if only because no, he hadn’t realized that. “Gimme a break,” he says, instead of an apology. “I just died.” “Like that makes you special,” she huffs, and then, waving her unlit cigarette in his face, machine rolled, not hand, he notes, she asks, “Have you got a match?” He produces one from one of the many pockets of his moss green duster, strikes it on his thumb, and holds it up for her. She has the decency to look grateful, as she leans in, cigarette to her lips, and lights it from that little flame. “So,” she exhales smoke, and it curls from the corner of her lips, and out a previously unspotted slash to her throat. No wondering how she died, then. Speaking of, he glances up, to see that his noose is no longer floating above his head, and turning, he catches sight of it dragging on the ground behind him, long and snake-like in the way it’s twisted and coiled. Juno snaps her long red nails in his face, brings his attention back to her. “You weren’t supposed to die, you know. You’ve mucked things up for me.” “Whut?” he grunts, a bit thrown. She rubs her temples. “You were supposed to go in your seventies. Catch tuberculosis and wither away in obscurity. How old are you?” “Thirty four, or abouts,” he croaks, and she takes another drag. “You let yourself be caught,” she accuses. Well.. yeah. But how the hell does she know that? “I got pinned down in a shootout. Lucky they didn’t blow my head off, right then.” “You’ve gotten out of worse.” She looks almost.. Disappointed. “And then you put down your weapons, instead of fighting it out.” “I was surrounded.” “You were sloppy.” “What’s it to you, anyway?” he growls, again low and animalistic, which Juno ignores, as she walks circles around him, studying him. “You let yourself be caught, and you let yourself be hung. You didn’t even try to get away. You might not have killed yourself, but you let them kill you, for you,” she says. “And it’s giving me a hell of a time, both because it’s changed you, and because I have to put you somewhere, Beetlejuice, and now no one knows where you should go.” “So what does that mean?” “It means, my little statistical outlier, that you’re going to be staying up here, probably a lot broader a time than it would have taken you to just live your life and die at seventy,” she sighs, rubbing at her forehead. “Which is a shame. Because.. I was looking forward to.. To you. And now we both have to wait longer,” and here, she finishes her circle of him, to stand face to face with him again, and she flicks his ear, the way he always imagined an frustrated mother might. “Because you gave up. You weren’t supposed to give up.” “Wasn't much worth livin’ for,” he says, and it’s got more emotion behind it than he meant to give it. Juno’s hand goes to her throat, and she looks pained. “I guess that’s an inherited trait,” her voice is soft, and he squints at her, confused. Instead of giving him any context for that, she points down the dusty main road. Shining under the moonlight, he can see, vaguely, a dark shape suspended in air, near the gallows. “Go put your suit back on,” she says dryly. “And try not to cause enough trouble that I have to come up here and get after you, understood?” “What part of outlaw ain’t you gettin?” he snorts, and she responds by giving him an affectionate pat to his scruffy cheek, before she takes another drag, and vanishes inside the swirling smoke. He’s left standing on his own.

His “suit” is still hanging, he notes, looking up at himself. He’s strung up on a tall pole by the platform, leaving it free for more use, if need be, with his body on display as a gruesome reminder for potential criminals that this is a hanging town, and they’ve even hung their most despised son. His neck is bent at an ugly angle, a little bulge at the side betraying how exactly his bones had shattered, and his skin has gone a bad color, gray and foul looking. But aside from that, he’s not rotted the way he would think he ought to be. Juno’d said she’d been waiting for days, presumably meaning it has been days since his death, but his body is looking remarkably unbuzzard pecked and unrotted. He shimmies up the pole he’s hung from, his ghostly noose trailing behind him, and the moment he touches his own boot, the world spins, going upside down and inside out in a way that’s too painful to try and perceive.

“Gahh-” says Beetlejuice, because he’s back in his body, which is still being hung by that god damn noose, and he realizes, annoyed, that he has no way of cutting himself down. He kicks, pointlessly, one hand going to the rope at his neck, to clutch it and try to keep it from choking himself again, and the other grabbing at the rope further up, gripping it to pull himself up, give himself some slack, instead of hanging taught. It’s not the most coordinated he’s ever been. At least there’s no one around to watch him struggle.

“Holy shit, the body’s movin!” he hears someone holler. Oh, come on.

Read the rest, right over HERE

#beetlejuice au #beetlejuice fic #beetlelands fic #my writing #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice the musical #this is so self indulgent #i love westerns so this is all i can focus on rn

[bluebellhairpin]

Never Forget, Never Regret (1/?)

Levi Ackerman X Reader (But like, less than normal?)

A/N: Blame that conversation I had with Suz a couple weeks ago for this one. #BEST DECOY CLUB!!! - Nemo

Summary: They’ve always been a duo, riding along the exact same path in the exact same way. But then they aren’t, and (y/n) can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not. 

Warnings: Character Death. General AoT themes. Blood. Injuries. 

Listening to: ‘Apple Seed’ - Attack on Titan OST (Bertholdt Transformation Theme) - ‘Old man please remember me.’ 

Series Masterlist

Masterlist 

Eventually, when someone's faced with something that they're unable to overcome, they have to make a decision. Keep fighting, and overcome the situation. Or get help, find someone who can overcome it. 

These two Scouts managed to do both. 

When they were in the training corps they met someone who they soon came to realized was a lot like the other. And to this day they had yet to meet anyone who didn't think they both were absolutely insane. 

Training s cadets was more a time they'd both spend bonding rather than actually training - even if an obscene amount of training did get done anyway. It was like they both really wanted to be there. They'd blabber on about how each other would kill the titans, how efficient they both could be if they tried the odm gear this way or that. They would keep score when they spared, rewarding whoever 'won' with some of the loser's food at dinner. The most unusual of all the things they did was probably joining the Scouting Legion - without flinching, or a single second thought.

No one would think that was a good choice, not until a boy came years after they both joined. He had the same pure, unrestrained audacity as both of them did - and did he latch on to their examples like a man starved. 

On their first expedition beyond the walls, everyone thought they'd both die. Not because they were inexperienced or lacking skills - they both were some of the top ranking in the whole cadets - however they were also self-destructive. 

When the time came to using the odm gear to avoid the titans during the expedition, they went nothing short of buckwild. 

Their superior was horrified. The other Scouts were shocked into awe. And when they returned within the walls, their superior's superior wanted to 'ground' them both for recklessness. However, like some angel of death, second chances, and blond hair, Erwin Smith came and simply asked for them both to be transferred to his section. Erwin, being new to his higher position in the Scouts, was seen as just gathering people to join his expeditions. 

The two had been outside the walls. Riden. Fought. Lived. Protected. In fact, despite their reckless moves and haphazard techniques, they'd been a great help - only three people came back to be buried, and one didn’t come back at all. 

A new record.

Erwin didn't understand how bad they must've been, facts considered. Not until he saw them in action too. 

Then and there, in a forest filled with titans, he knew. 

They were smiling. Laughing. They both sounded like they were having the time of their lives. He concluded they were absolutely bonkers. But in a flash, he also knew they were going to be useful. 

They went ahead, letting out whoops and cheers, while watching each other's backs, but they drew a lot of the titans to themselves too. They put themselves into a buttload of danger, but the other Scouts, especially the new cadets, were having it much easier. Erwin could see a method to the madness, even if they themselves couldn't, and from then on he decided he'd use it as best he could.

And that's exactly what happened. 

───────✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰✧.｡:✱───────

You hung up your saddle, fixing up the stirrups, and deciding to not clean it today, as much as Levi might nag you about it later. You did do it last week, and again lightly before you left yesterday. 

After today, however, you had a feeling he'd be lenient. 

Despite how Erwin planned, and how the Cadet Armin offered his opinion, the losses counted were not something you, nor your titan-killing counterpart could've stopped. Said counterpart soon appeared at your side. 

By now you could tell when it was her behind you and when it was Hange trying to test your 'connection'. You could tell she was going to say something, just from the way she let out a huff. Turning, you saw she was looking slightly disheveled, which was odd considering how kept she normally looked. 

And for once, you didn't know what to say to make her or yourself feel better. 

"I'll miss them," she said, saving you from having to say anything, "But we've got to keep fighting. For them." 

"Never regret." You said, lifting a fist up to her, and she mirrored you, her fist now touching yours.

"Never forget." She finished. 

"Oi, (y/n), Nerva. Erwin wants the both of you in the dining hall." Levi said, appearing from thin air to startle you both half out of your skins. "Now." he added after a beat.

"Yessir." She drawled, earning a scowl from the short captain. Even though you'd both been here longer than him, he still thought he had more authority than you. Nerva said it was because he was 'so old', but you were pretty sure it was just because of how skilled he was. You worked a lot on luck, and he didn't like leaving things to chance and bets. 

"Sure thing Levi." You said. If one of you were going to be less than pleasant, then it was probably going to be you. It helped that you had a soft spot for him. 

You both watched Levi eye you one more time, before he left. No sooner had he left, then Nerva had a hand on your shoulder.

"'Sure thing Levi'," she started, mocking you in a hushed and too goodie-two-shoed voice, "Also, I love you and want to marry you and have your babies please, Mr. Captain Levi Sir." 

You laid a heavy backhand on her shoulder.

"Shut up!" You scolded, "After everything that happened today, you're doing that?" She smiled sadly, shrugging with a hand on her shoulder.

"Humour makes it easier for me. You know I don't cry, ever, so this is second best." she said, "And you know, well might I add, that if Petra were still here I'd be doing it to her too. The both of you were groupies." 

Your eyes darkened, a ghost of a wicked smirk flashing on your face before you returned to your stoick look.

"I supposed I shouldn't bring up that 'meeting' you had with Miche and Erwin then. Without me." You said, sticking your nose in the air. "You and I both know we always go to meetings together. That one was suspicious."

Nerva sputtered as you took off towards the main building, catching up to your side with a few quick strides. 

"I've sworn that was just a meeting, nothing happened!" 

"Sure sure." 

───────✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰✧.｡:✱───────

They had a plan. 

The Cadet Armin thought he knew who the Female Titan was, and as a group you'd all come up and approve a plan. 

You and Nerva didn't have a lot to do, if you were to compare this mission to normal circumstances. Your main job was to make sure things didn't go too out of hand, and to take civilians out of the way if they couldn't in time. Your unprecedented odm moves would be utilized, just like Erwin normally did, and Nerva was practically vibrating for a chance to catapult and slingshot through narrow streets. 

You hadn't done something like that since the 104th Cadets joined the Garrison and Scouts to help with the second wall breach. 

Standing atop a rooftop each, you and Nerva huddle behind some chimney's. You both share a couple looks, and you knew what she was saying. 

'Something's gonna happen. Something bad.'

And you couldn't help but agree. You don't survive this long in the Scouts without getting an intuition. A sixth sense for when things are going to turn sour. This was one of those times you were right. 

The sky rumbled, shaking the building you were on, and there was a bright flash of light. You slid down the roof but caught yourself, and Nerva surged forward with a stumble. 

"Damn," she swore, hands on her odm handles, "It really was Annie." 

You turned and climbed back up the roof to see what Nerva saw - the same blonde-haired titan that had killed your friends. 

"That's a titan I'd cut to splinters." Nerva muttered.

"She's just a kid," you said, also reaching for your gear, "I bet she doesn't know any different." She clicked her tongue, before pointing around. 

"Let's get moving. I'll tell Erwin, you tell Hange. Collect and corral civilians on the way if you have time. Go, go, go!" 

You both had an intuition that day - that something bad would happen. At the time you didn't know how bad that thing was. But you found out. 

Annie and the Female Titan soon became the least of your problems. 

───────✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰✧.｡:✱───────

Series Taglist: @miss-consulting-timelord​​ (idk if you did want to be tagged or what, but all things considered?) 

Taglist is Open!

#the adventures #levi ackerman x reader #attack on titan x reader #shinjeki no kyojin x reader #erwin smith #oc x reader?

[littlefreya]

Bad Reputation

Synopsis: Henry and his girl can’t get enough from one another. They keep finding themselves in rather sticky and lusty situations while other actors are present around them. 🤭

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: Smut, thigh riding, exhibition kink, public display of affection, dirty language, slight fingering, daddy kink.

A/N: This is by request made for thigh riding! I see this as a slight sequel to  Putting up a Show and Good Girl just because in my mind they are the same couple. Many thanks again to the marvellous @agniavateira​ for doing the beta! Masterlist is here.

Let me know if you want to be added/removed! Thank you for reading as always :)

PR fucking nightmare - that’s what our managers call us. 

They thought it would go away after our first year of dating. But the sad truth is, Henry just loves to touch, and I’m a hot-blooded woman who loves to fuck shit up. Three years in being married and the line is so goddamn blurry by now; I am never quite certain which one of us initiates it, nor do I even care. 

I see my bear sitting sprawled across the red leather sofas, legs spread open as he can never keep them shut. I know I’m terribly biased but that black tuxedo suit sure as hell looks great on his strong figure, especially with the crooked bowtie and the beard he’s been growing for his new movie role. 

And as if the bad boy vibes and big dick energy he sends everywhere wasn’t enough, the half-empty Grey Goose bottle on the round golden table next to him and the slight sweat that covers his forehead is a red flag that we are definitely getting into trouble tonight. 

Bring it on. 

Armie is sitting right next to him, telling him about some scheme by the gesture he is making with his hands. But I can tell Henry has other things on his mind. I can feel his eyes looking at me even when I am standing far away. Our gazes meet, he offers me a mischievous smile, showing off the large dimples of his cheeks. This is what I call a wet, slippery invention. 

I blush and look away. I mean, I have Rebecca Ferguson holding my forearms. That woman makes me want to invite her into our bedroom, but Henry doesn’t like sharing, not even with women. It doesn’t matter how much I’d pout and beg, he likes me all to himself, and he loves it when others can see that I am his. 

It’s always his hand between my thighs, riding up higher, thumb tickling at my clit teasingly. We sat through an entire acceptance speech with him working me hard. If anyone looks closely at that video on Youtube, you can see the exact moment when he hits the spot.

Sorry, Leo, I wasn’t smiling because you won. 

This is us being subtle. Hotels and parties, however, are a different story. We already had a manager quit on us because we made sure the entire floor hears what we are doing through the night. 

Rebecca kisses me on the cheek, the gorgeous Swedish redhead is already tipsy, and I’ve had my second glass of wine. She’s in a red satin dress, her impressive breasts showing through her cleavage. I also spot a few freckles on her chest. It makes me pout and look at Henry, who shakes his head in refusal. 

“Where is your hubby anyway?” she asks playfully, and I point in the direction of where he is sitting. Armie is just getting up, leaving Henry alone. He pours himself some more vodka, fills the glass with ice and then takes a sip with a lustful gaze. That’s probably my cue to keep him company and take that glass away.  

That video when he told everyone to get naked will forever be online. He also has a tendency to start making impressions of others when he is flustered, and I can’t contain my laughter when that happens.

“He’s too drunk to get up.” I sigh, shaking my head while he makes playful, sad faces at me. I shrug and take my phone out my purse, seeing two text messages from him.

Henry: “Where are you, babygirl?” Henry: “I want to squeeze that ass.” 

I text him back “Armie’s? Go for it. Can we have Rebecca, pleaaaaase?” 

He reads my reply, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in complete refusal. 

“Not. sharing. you. Do you want me to spank you in front of all these people?” 

Rebecca is oddly enough very touchy-feely, her hand sliding down my forearms while she speaks about how wonderful Henry is, and how fun it was to work with him on MI6.

“He’s not like all the other ones, he is an actual friend,” she explains to me, her beautiful green eyes lighting up. 

“I know, that’s how he got me, pretended to be my friend for years.” I chuckle, remembering the times we were still just friends. If you look at videos of us from interviews and photos from events from the time we worked together, you’d think we’ve been dating already. He always touched me subtly, his eyes staring at me intently when I speak. And of course, no one cracks him up the way I do.

But Henry waited 5 years for both of us to be single at the same time to “kidnap” me during a walk with our dogs at the forest, where I’d literally be unable to run away. He did that so he can tell me he’s been in love and growing in love with me ever since we met.

I smile at the sweet memory. I held my tears when that word left his lips.

“I’ll come to say hello later, I’m starving,” she says and rubs her belly gently. I nod and lean forward to kiss her, deliberately kissing her soft, red-painted lips for Henry to see. Us girls, we really don’t mind.

As I turn to face him, he is already frowning. He’s not amused by my vexing behaviour. I give him my best angelic posture, batting my lashes and holding my hands together while my head is tilted to the side. In that pale blue and silver dress, I might look like some saint right now, but my darling knows I’ve come from south to heaven.

I make my way to him, walking slowly, a smile both in my eyes and between my cheeks. I can feel the fire burning in my chest, the sight of him is dashing, those thick thighs ever so inviting. He spreads his legs even wider, the bulge in his groin made only for me. He has his pinky finger pressed between his teeth while checking me out.

My body heeds his calling, I’m tingling wet. 

I stand in front of him, my cheeks warm as if this is a first hook up of some sort. Henry rises his beautiful blues to stare straight into my eyes. The beaming lights in the hall make his sweaty skin glow in neon pink and gold, his eyes flashing bright as the different colours dance across his face.

“How many of those have you had?” I ask, gesturing at the glass, noticing the half-empty bottle. I hope not too much, I expect to be rammed tonight when we return to the hotel. 

He shrugs, putting the glass away without bothering to finish it. He is British, and boy, he can drink a lot. He is not as half as flustered as a different guy would be, but yes, he is certainly quite drunk. Enough to give me that look of his-one eyebrow rising up-while his eyes drink in my dress, cleavage, ass, and that slit that runs from my legs to my thighs.

My friends asked me if Henry is an ass or tits man, to which my answer was “he is ‘all of me’ man.” 

“Gotta love women's liberation.” He speaks in a deep, low voice, gesturing at my provocative dress. 

“Come to daddy.” He demands, holding out his hand for me to come and sit on his thigh. To which I am more than happy to comply.

I spread my legs, moving to straddle his muscular thigh. There is a burning sensation at my core as my pelvis meets his taut muscle. My body always reacts to his touch. Henry’s hands immediately take my face, thumbs stroking at my cheeks.

“Why do you tease me, beautiful?” he murmurs, his fierce gaze tracing my face, always taken by me, memorizing every freckle and flaw as if it’s the first time we ever sit so close. God, he makes me feel so beautiful even in my ugliest of ugly days.

I lean forward to get even closer, my ass riding up his leg and my hands reach out to tug at his white buttoned shirt. “Oh, Henry-Bear, it’s. So. much. fun.”

Someone sits right next to us on the big red sofa, saying a friendly hello. We answer at the same time, without breaking eye contact. We never bother looking who is the actor, producer, or whatever who moved to bug us. Too lost in our own little mist of admiration. Henry’s fingers descend from my face to my neck, fingers skirting down my neck sensually. 

“You know what I love about these ceremonies and parties?” he asks as he leans closer to whisper in my ear and then places a wet, lingering kiss on my shoulder. His chin pushes the straps of my dress away, letting it fall on my forearm as if by accident. I let it glide, shivering as the coarse hair of his beard marks my flesh.

“I get to show you off while you’re wearing these outrageous dresses and everyone knows I am taking you home to fuck you until sunrise.”

I chuckle lustfully, my tongue pressed between my teeth. “Last time we didn’t even make it home remember?” I hum gently, feeling his rough touch on my breasts. The tip of his thumbs circles my nipples, teasing them to harden through the thin fabric of my dress. I wouldn’t give a fuck if Henry had me topless right now and sink his fangs in my tits for everyone to see. But he is far too selfish, I was made for his eyes and his eyes only.

He settles for a “chaste” show, laying a kiss beneath my chin and then pressing his face at my cleavage, inhaling the scent of my body lotion before nibbling at my breast through my dress. His breath smells like vodka-sweet and spicy at once.

“I remember, Cumberbatch saw the whole thing,” he answers, his hands holding my ribs, slightly guiding me to move my body on top of his thigh in ghostlike movements. I am searing hot, my mound feels as if it’s seconds from catching fire. I am certain he can feel it, his blue eyes now hazy and dreamlike as they watch the pink tint that runs through my neck to my cheeks. 

“Fuck me, daddy, I am so horny!”

My whisper comes out as half a cry, weak and desperate. My body is a void, it suffers without his touch, it aches when we’re disjointed. I hope we’ll never stop feeling this way toward one another. 

“Ride me, babygirl.” he urges me, raising his thigh up higher, so I’ll slide down closer. The friction makes me lose sight for a moment. My vision blurs as I throb wet and hot onto him. Good thing his trousers are black, otherwise, everyone would be able to detect the wetness I am leaving on his pants. 

I can’t reject his decree, my body needs him. 

“You like it when they watch, don’t you?” he asks me with a slightly slurred voice. His hands glide down to squeeze my ass, assisting me in dancing on the rock-hard muscle of his leg. I am grinding slow and rough, shifting my weight forward, my right hand reaching his other thigh, clawing at him with growing pleasure.

Everyone is looking at us, I am sure, some embarrassed and perhaps even appalled. How puritan of you Hollywood. These people formed their own religion and hidden sex clubs. But I am convinced many enjoy this facade and discreetly salute us, some probably holding out their cameras.  

I roll my hips up and clench my inner thighs, whimpering as my body begins to tremble.  

It doesn’t matter who is staring while I ride him so passionately, seeking my pleasure with urgency while Henry’s hands support me, saddling my hips and pulling me toward him. We don’t see anyone else. We’re locked into one another, the way we always did, just like when Henry had a girlfriend, when we were “just friends” when I dated that asshole. We’d walk into a room, and it was just me and him, hearts and chest bursting with love.

Every moment we couldn’t have one another was stolen from us, we now fight to own it back.  

“I’d sit you on my face in front of everyone, but I think Gretchen would kill us.” Henry half whispers against my throat and then licks up my neck as I lift my chin to the ceiling with gaping lips. He has his hand between my legs, drawing at my centre and sneaking between the slit of my dress to finish the job. 

“Fuck!” he teases my clit, his middle finger travelling at my seams. My entire existence shudders. The bass of the music blasts through my chest, my eardrums throb, and my eyes see all the colours of the neon at once as my cunt implodes with orgasmic bliss. Henry steals my gasp into his mouth, his hand pressing my cheeks, crushing my mouth with hunger. 

Who could ever hate us for our expression of true love?

I gasp feverishly, holding onto him as if I’m about to fall. Henry’s lips are on my temple and then my cheek. Pressing against me and not moving away. He envelops me in his big arms, a clear statement to all our viewers that I am his and he is mine.  We both move our heads to see who's been sitting next to us this entire time.

Alec Baldwin and Jake Gyllenhaal. They pretend not to stare, at least Alec does. Jake gives us a wide, knowing smile. Everyone else has also been staring as I hear the whispers and gasps. 

“Really? They did that again!?”

We bump our foreheads together and snicker with delight. Like we ever gave a fuck about being caught. It’s not the first time, won’t be the last. We just can’t get our hands off of each other. 

“Better call Gretchen now.” I tell Henry, hanging my arm around his thick neck. 

“Before or after I fuck you in one of the back rooms here?”

#Henry Cavill #Smut #Henry Cavill Smut #Henry Cavill Fic #Henry Cavill x OFC #Henry cavill fanfic #Fanfic #henrycavillsmut #henrycavillfanfic #henrycavillxofc #henrycavillfic

[youllallriseintheink]

Prison Cell, Chapter 3

Sorry this took so long- it got so long that I had to split it into two parts. Anyhow, from this point forwards, you can expect a lot of violence, so be warned. This chapter will have a lot of interpersonal stuff, and the final chapter will be pretty much entirely action.

---

Sammy unlocked the door. On the other side of it was a demon. The demon. The one that had stolen her blood.

Its body was humanoid and wearing a suit and white bow tie, but its hands were made of ink. The top of its head was covered in black ink, which spiraled up into horns and spilled down its face, leaving only its mustache, mouth and chin visible. Seeing it in the light for the first time, Susie recognized it as the bottom of Joey’s face.

“Joey?” Susie asked, her voice full of wonder and fear.

“Once,” the demon said, and its voice was not Joey Drew’s. It deep, and rough, and horrible. “But I have taken over. Don’t worry- I don’t want this any more than he does. Once I find a way to separate humans from ink, I’ll go back to my dimension and free all of you to yours.” The demon turned and beckoned Susie to follow him. “Come.”

The demon led Susie through the basement, seemingly one large room full of very strange things. Pentagrams littered the floor. Scattered iron cages contained a few emaciated, ink-covered people. Shelves full of sharp tools and unknowable ingredients lined the walls.

“I can still hear him, you know,” the demon mused, taking a syringe and a number of bottles from a shelf, “Joey. His mind. I can see into him. Learn how to manipulate humans. I asked him how to crush your insurrection, and he said that I’d need to destroy your little story.”

The demon led Susie to a door and opened it, and when he did, she lost all her breath.

It was Norman, chained to the far wall. He was wearing the same clothes he had been when he was taken away several weeks ago, but now they were hanging off of him at sharp angles. Susie ran to him, and he cringed away from her. He didn’t want her to see him like this, or to feel how thin and bony he’d gotten.

“What did you do him!?” Susie demanded.

“Nothing beyond the obvious. You see, you thought that some of you could overcome us with physical power. That was your story- that your hope and your resilience would lead to freedom. I needed to show you that rebellion only forces me to take your strength. This isn’t something I wanted to do. Strong, healthy people do better work, and unfortunately Joey’s desire to manage the studio is in me. But... you forced my hand.”

The demon then pulled Susie Campbell up by the collar, pushed her against the wall, and put the syringe to her throat.

“He can’t protect you now,” the demon explained, perfectly calm. “His ability to do so was always under my control, and you made me take it away.”

All Norman could do was bury his head in his hands and listen to her whimper. The chains were too short for him to reach her, and he didn’t stand a chance against the demon anyhow. Not like this. The demon released her blood into one of the bottles, then reinserted the needle, working at an unhurried pace. He repeated the motion several times before letting her go. She fell onto her hands and knees, faint from blood loss.

---

Utterly haunted, Sammy escorted the two sickly individuals back to the music room, carrying with him the two first-aid kits and a message that Joey had written. The second he entered the recording studio, The instruments went silent. A bassist got up from his instrument and tackled Sammy to the ground.

“Okay, someone get these two to the infirmary and look after them,” the bassist ordered, “And Johnny, get the rope. We have a loyalist to hang!”

“Wait!” Sammy cried, “I carry a message from your lord!”

“Can it! You let this happen to them. Why would we listen to your stupid ‘message?’”

Meanwhile, Jack Fain picked up the message from the ground and read it. “Guys! It says if three days go by without incident, they’ll release our prisoners! Let’s not do this. Please.”

The man who’d tackled Sammy got up, snatched the message out of Jack’s hands, and skimmed over it. “Huh. You’re right. Fine. Take him to the elevator and I’ll take this to Abby. Hopefully she’ll actually use it.”

---

Abby read over the letter.

To the upper levels,

A lot of violence has occurred between the upper and lower levels recently, so let me make myself clear: I do not want war, and no matter what level you come from, you should not want loyalists to die. Without our work, you would starve. I’m sorry to have done what I did, but I think you all needed a reminder of what’s coming for you if you keep interfering with our work. I do not wish to have to do this again.

Simply put, be peaceful, do what’s needed of you, and everything will be fine. As a final peace offering, I will release your prisoners three days from now if the rebellion stops entirely.

-Joey Drew

Abby knew the letter was full of lies. That thing wasn’t Joey, and it wasn’t forced to keep them here. She knew that the others knew that, too, and she knew that now that the upper levels had tasted hope, complete compliance would be even more impossible than before. This so-called war was going to happen sooner or later, so she needed to make sure they started at an advantage. She called on Henry to help her make a plan, and called everyone into the recording studio that night to announce it. Thankfully, it seemed to satisfy even the most rebellious of souls.

---

The door to Susie’s room opened, and Abby stepped in. Susie's eyes opened weakly.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Sorry you had to miss the meeting tonight. Big things are happening, and I thought I’d let you know about them.”

“Okay,” Susie said.

“So... Joey, or, his demon, rather, has threatened to come down hard on us if there are any more signs of rebellion- and we both know that there will be. He also promised to release our prisoners if there are three days of good behaviour. So, I’ve decided that we’re breaking out the same night that our prisoners are released. The plan is for someone stealthy to go down there in the dead of night, steal the keys, and come back. After that, we’ll leave in groups of seven in order to sneak out of the portal. We’ll do it as quietly as possible, but we’ll also be packing axes and spears made from the knives you brought up. Hopefully there won’t be too many causalities.”

“Why seven?”

“We’re expecting to have ten injured people, and we’re not leaving anyone behind. There are going to be 68 of us in total, assuming that none of the prisoners died, you know, I thought that one per group would have the least chance of really compromising a group’s chances of escape. Plus, smaller groups will be quicker and quieter.”

Susie nodded.

“Oh, and I’m sure you’ll be better by then. And Norman is fine, too, by the way. Well, physically. We looked him over and he doesn’t have any issues aside from the obvious. He won’t talk to any of us. I don’t know what that’s about. Maybe some kind of spell.”

Susie should have felt something in regards to that, but she was honestly too exhausted from the blood loss.

“Alright. I’ll let you rest now- but tomorrow, I’m going to have to ask you about everything you saw down there- especially anything that might help me plan. Goodnight, Susie.” With that, Abby left.

---

The rebellion required planning, and management. Every axe was pulled off the walls and moved into Sammy’s sanctuary, along with the knives- just in case a loyalist decided to take them away one night. Two people guarded the elevator on each floor and at all times, and not to keep loyalists out. Loyalists were allowed right through, but any especially rebellious souls had to be kept from ruining their plan. Henry and Abby were busy planning the groups and drawing up an easy-to-follow map to the portal room. Every department head struggled to keep the remaining workers to their jobs. It seemed pointless for them to work jobs they’d quickly be fleeing from, but it was essential in order to keep suspicions to a minimum.

---

It was the night before the march. Most were turning in early, knowing that tomorrow, they would have to be on their guard well into the night. Susie had tried to do the same, but she couldn’t sleep. There was too much on her head. Too many factors that had to align if she was ever going to make it out. The horrifying possibility of facing the ink demon again if they failed. And her mind, despite there being there bigger fish to fry, kept going back to Norman, if they could ever have what they had once had again, and if Norman even wanted that anymore.

“Has Norman talked to you, yet?” Susie asked Grant once he entered their room. Since Norman hadn’t rejoined them, there was no real reason for them to still be roommates, but they’d stayed roommates anyhow, just out of habit.

“No. As far as I know, he hasn’t talked to anyone.”

“I saw him speak today. Wally wanted to help him carry something, and Norman snarled at him to back off. So, it’s not a spell- just mental stuff from being imprisoned. I wanna help him, but he won’t talk to me. Can you try?”

“Sure,” Grant said. “I can’t guarantee it’ll work, but I’ll try.”

“Okay,” Susie said, biting back tears. “I just wanna know that he’s in a place where he’ll be able to handle things tomorrow. And... I know that this is the last thing that should be on my mind, but... can you ask why he’s avoiding me?”

“Oh, Susie. I...” Grant tried to find the words to comfort her. “I’ll talk to him.” Honestly, it didn’t seem like Norman was the only one who had to pull themselves together for tomorrow night.

Norman wasn’t used to being pitied. Even as a kid, after all he’d been through, his adoptive family had known that he was a problem child who needed to be set straight before he got even bigger and his aggression became more dangerous. He’d never wanted pity, either, and now that he had it, he couldn’t say that his opinion on it had improved any. He never thought he’d miss his coworkers looking at him like he was a frightening beast. Though he did cut the long, greasy hair he’d grown while imprisoned as soon as he had the chance, he’d been half-tempted to just wash it and keep it, just to somewhat retain that beastly image.

Mostly, he wanted a way to cope. He wanted to talk with his sister, or go for a walk in the woods, or somehow get out of the sight of these people without isolating himself in one room. That had been what he was doing in his off hours- both because there was little else he wanted to do and because he didn’t have the stamina he used to. It wasn’t Susie’s room. Honestly, he’d been too scared to even look at her.

Norman knew of the plan. Honestly, it had happened so quickly after he was released from his imprisonment that it was a little hard to take in. Yes, late tomorrow night, he and everyone else would end up escaping or die trying, and Norman would either reunite with his sister and put his life together from there, or it would be the end of him. It was happening, but it didn’t seem real.

There was a knock at his door. Norman pulled himself up and answered it. It was Grant. Well, out of everyone in the studio it could have been, Grant was the most tolerable.

“Hey, Norman. You... wanna play some cards?” There was a little pity in Grant’s voice. Thankfully not too much.

Norman ushered Grant into the room. They sat down on the floor, and Grant started shuffling the cards.

“So, you ready for tomorrow?”

“I guess. Kind of hard to believe it’s happening.”

Grant’s face lit up. “You’re talking!”

Norman shrugged. “It’s easy when it’s you."

“Uh, thanks. Do you want talk about... you know, what’s happened?”

“No,” Norman said, and the two played cards in silence for a while before Norman spoke up again. “Is Susie okay?”

“She’s fine. She’ll be strong enough to make it out, assuming the plan goes well.”

Norman’s face was unreadable. “Good." A long pause. “Y’know, she’s childish, and shallow, and stupid. But she was impressed with me because I was strong and I could protect her. And so, you know, she was pretty, and we did... things together. I thought that could be all it was, but she was sweet and kind to me and I went and caught feelings for her. Of course, shallow attraction based on one thing won’t last now that I look like starving stray dog, but whatever. So long as she’s okay. She’s a good girl. So long as she’s okay.”

Grant just stared at him. “Have you... looked her in the eye recently?”

“What?”

“Uh, sorry. It’s just that you’re usually so good at figuring this kind of thing out that it borders on the supernatural, and right now, you’re really, really wrong. This entire, organized rebellion started with her trying to put together a rescue team for you. She wanted to be the first one down in loyalist territory, for you. She’s actually the one who sent me, because she’s worried about how you’ll do tomorrow.”

With the last line, Norman’s face went from appreciation and disbelief to twisted anger. “For God’s sake! Joey didn’t cut my fucking legs off!”

“Well, she can’t know how well you’re doing if you avoid her. Look, if you aren’t up for it, I can go back and try to comfort her, tell her you’re fine.”

“No. No. I’ll do it. And I’m sorry that I’m not my most pleasant right now.”

Grant smiled. Nothing ever changed- the best way to get Norman to do anything was to offer to do it for him. Susie slept in Norman’s arms that night, knowing it could be their last chance to be together.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #joey drew #(sort of) #susie campbell #norman polk #abby lambert #my fanfiction #Story: prison cell

[whumpthisway]

Huck and Stephen - Shelter

This is a series - link to 01. Masterpost here <3 (which needs updating sorry >.< if you can’t find anything, send me an ask and i’ll link you)

A/N: This one is set directly after Acceptance, with Huck/Pet being moved from the hospital to the shelter where Mariann volunteers. Please check the tags and do ask me for specific tags, further details, or warnings if you need them or I miss something. If you have opinions, questions or thoughts, feel free to send me an ask :3

Huck and Stephen’s story can now be read on my AO3 here, and this new chapter is here.

Content warnings: panic attack

Huck/Pet POV

*

The creature shelter was little more than a pair of terrace houses that’d been knocked through, and almost every room except the kitchen and bathroom had been converted into sleeping spaces.

It was cramped and busy and, on average, filled with a dozen on-edge creatures. Pet was hiding in a boiler cupboard, since the kitchen cabinets were jammed full of supplies and saucepans, and the cupboards in the bedrooms were similarly full with spare clothes, sheets and towels. It was a tight squeeze in the boiler cupboard too, but it was warm and quiet. They left the door ajar, and the little bit of noise and light that filtered in kept the cupboard from being too similar to the pitch-black cellar Pet had been abandoned in; that, and the heat.

Mariann didn’t live at the shelter like the two main human workers, Arwen and Si, but she visited regularly to check on Pet and her other charge, a tiny, yellow-furred creature who couldn’t have been older than fifteen.

“Tea’s ready!” Si called up the stairs. He didn’t exactly yell so much as just raise his voice. There wasn’t any force to it.

Careful not to touch any of the exposed metal boiler pipes where the insulation had flaked away, Pet shuffled themself slowly out the cupboard and out onto the landing, squinting in the bright lights. Their still-healing ribs ached slightly from how curled up they’d been, and their splinted tail itched, but their injuries had recovered so as to hardly bother them anymore.

They’d tried to avoid meals at first, until realising that led to Arwen or Si coming up to find them. The boiler cupboard switched very quickly from a sanctuary to a trap when there was a human at the door, unintentionally blocking them in.

Tea was spaghetti hoops on toast with a poached egg. Neither of the human shelter workers were very good cooks, but the food they made was cheap and tasty and Pet didn’t have to force themself to eat it. Pet ate on the floor, crouched in the corner where they could keep an eye on the room. The creatures were split half-and-half between those who ate on the floor and those at the table. The humans never pushed it either way; there was always chairs free at the table and cushions on the tiled kitchen floor.

Pet couldn’t reach the sink easily to wash up without a stool, so their after-dinner chores usually involved mopping the floor and wiping the table. They were perched on a kitchen chair, scrubbing at a bit of stuck on jam on the table when there was a sudden, awful smash from behind them and Pet yelped. They folded flat down on the table so fast they smacked their chin, covered their head with their paws, and cowered, shaking.

“Aw shit.”

Through the haze of their panic, Pet heard the sounds of a creature whimpering apologies, a human’s low voice, and the chink of shards being cleaned up. Shaking violently, Pet stayed still and quiet and hoped that no-one would notice them at all.

But they weren’t so lucky. They heard Si’s heavier footsteps approach, his feet always making a slight scuffing noise from his worn-out slippers, and then the big man crouched down beside them. Pet realised the cleaning cloth was still clenched in their hand and had made a small puddle by their cheek.

Si was the man who’d carried them out of the car and into the creature hospital. He was huge and his face creased between his eyebrows so that he often looked like he was frowning in thought, his thin lips and crooked nose making him look mean. But Pet hadn’t seen him raise a hand to any creature yet, not when the pale-brown creature wetted her bed every night, nor when Si moved too fast near a scruffy-looking, off-white creature, who then tried to stab Si with a fork.

So Si’s approach didn’t send them into a panic like it might’ve done a couple weeks ago, but Pet still curled further in on themselves, pressing their forehead to the damp tabletop.

“Buddy, everything’s cleared up now, okay?” Si said, his voice slow and even. “There’s no problem. We’ve got too many mugs anyway, the cupboard’s overflowing. Half of you guys don’t even drink tea.” Si paused. “Can you sit up for me? No-one’s angry, and nothing bad’s gonna happen. Lenna didn’t mean to drop it and I don’t mind, no-one minds.”

It helped to hear Si say it, but Pet had already begun to realise that the shelter people didn’t seem to get angry over the things they really ought to get angry over. And if someone’d been angry at the dropped crockery, there would have been immediate shouting, and there hadn’t been. Just quiet voices and clearing up. But knowing that didn’t make it easier to stop shaking.

After a minute, Pet managed to shakily sit up like Si asked.

“Good,” Si said gently. “I’ll finish wiping the table, then I think it’ll be bedtime for everyone.” He extended his hand for the cloth, but didn’t try to take it from Pet’s clenched paw.

Pet swallowed and then minutely shook their head.

“No? You don’t want to sleep?”

Pet flinched. They hated to disagree with anything, it made their heart feel like it was sticking and juddering inside them. But they didn’t want to leave the table unfinished just because they’d had a stupid reaction to a bit of noise. So they forced their paw to relax around the cloth and, sending Si a nervous sideways glance, slowly resumed cleaning the sticky table. Pet might be broken, but they’d be damned if they let it stop them from completing the task they’d been set.

“Ah.” Si nodded in comprehension. He moved to stand and Pet flinched, going rigid, but Si just slowly moved away from the table, over to the sink where he fetched a cloth to wipe down the kitchen counters that Pet couldn’t reach without standing up uncomfortably on their legs like a human.

Once Si was occupied, Pet set to cleaning the table thoroughly, wiping off all the bits into their cupped paw and then dumping them in the rubbish bin.

Si finished up too and rinsed the dirty cloth for them, before gently herding them upstairs. Unlike some of the others, Pet was used to brushing their teeth, a habit Master Parry had rigidly insisted on lest they become even more repulsively disgusting to him.

After that, they slid under one of the bunk beds and pulled their shelter-provided blanket and lumpy pillow close. Arwen had tried to coax them into a bed, but it’d felt too exposed and they couldn’t untense enough to sleep. Instead, they pressed themself into the dark corner under another creature’s bed, carefully arranged their healing tail so it was lying comfortably, and felt safe there instead. Arwen hadn’t fought them on it, but insisted on giving them blankets and hoovering out the space so that the dust didn’t get up their nose.

Still twitching from the incident in the kitchen, Pet heard the other creatures in the room fall asleep before they did, their quiet snuffles and settled breathing calming Pet. At Master Parry’s, they’d always slept alone on a folded-up blanket in the laundry, curled up close to the radiator in the winter. But there was something about sleeping in a room with other creatures that brought up half-formed memories of their parents from back when they were very small, and a sense of safety. Safety in a pack, in having other ears and eyes to listen out, and the remembered comfort of another creature’s fur pressed up against their own, keeping them warm. But it’d been a very long since they’d had that, and Pet wasn’t entirely sure they hadn’t just imagined it.

*

Even before they’d been at the shelter for a full week, Pet realised that they were unwanted.

Unless they were injured like Pet had been, the creatures moved quickly enough through the shelter system that new ones seemed to show up almost every day. At first, Pet was afraid that the shelter was disposing of them somehow, disappearing the damaged creatures, but Si caught them watching nervously from behind the bannister as creatures were taken away or arrived and sat them down in the kitchen to explain.

SI didn’t say it in so many words but Pet slowly gathered that the especially difficult creatures, ones who tried to bite, flinched, cried constantly or starved themselves, would go away to volunteers’ homes. Volunteers like Mariann, except Pet hadn’t seen her take one home yet. Si told them that the volunteers looked after the creatures until they got better, not in their body but in their heads. Sometimes the volunteers kept them permanently, or else the creatures went to new homes.

The less damaged ones; the pretty ones who might be scared but were still soft, obedient, and eager for affection, went directly to new humans. There were a lot of humans who wanted to adopt, Si explained, and Pet filled in the gaps of what Si wasn’t saying. Creatures were rare, they knew that because people often stared at them, and they knew creatures were expensive too, because Master’s guests had asked him how much Pet had cost and then gasped at the answer. The creatures here weren’t new, so they must cost less, Pet reasoned. And that was why humans wanted them. Maybe they were a little broken, but they were cheap.

Pet didn’t really fit into either category. They weren’t aggressive, they ate when they were told, and they didn’t try to run away, so they weren’t fostered out to volunteers. But their muddy brown, scruffy fur wasn’t pretty and only got frizzy when Pet tried to comb it with their clipped claws. They weren’t young and cute, they flinched easily, and they were wary. Humans wanted creatures who’d trot over to them in eagerness, and lay their head in the human’s lap. Pet couldn’t do that.

 After another week at the shelter, their ribs felt almost entirely healed and though their tail itched a great deal until the bandages Arwen changed regularly, there wasn’t much pain. They were moving quietly along the hall with a glass of juice held carefully in their paws when raised voices from a bedroom on the ground floor made them go still and rigid on instinct. No creatures were staying in that bedroom yet, they remembered, because the big, quiet, grey one who’d been in there on his own had been adopted that morning.

“It’s out of the question,” Arwen hissed. Pet knew they shouldn’t be listening, but they’d never heard either Si or Arwen angry before and something bitter and wary in them wanted to know, wanted to see the worst because the humans’ pretence of constant calm and kindness couldn’t be real.

“What do you suggest, then? We’ve tried-”

“No, Christ, just no. Auctions attract the worse fucking people, you know that!” Pet startled to hear gentle Arwen swear so viciously.

“Arwen.” Si’s voice was quiet now, and firm, like he used when a creature was panicking and Si was trying to stop them from doing something to hurt themselves. “The shelter-”

“I know.” Arwen audibly exhaled, following by a creak of springs, like she’d sat down heavily on the bed. “We’ll do fundraisers, though. We can’t do this, it goes against everything we aim for. The poor thing could end up with-”

“Anyone, yeah, it’s a risk. But we can’t cover the medical bills of the three we’ve got in hospital right now. They’ll shut off the lights in a week, and the gas-”

“I fucking know,” Arwen spat. Pet couldn’t stop the soft whine in their throat. The shelter… what would happen to all the creatures here? Pet thought of the lights all being turned off and it being completely dark at night, dark and cold and empty because all the other creatures had been chosen by humans and there was only Pet left.

“Their sale will be triple what we get from an adoption.” Si sounded as exhausted as Arwen was angry. “It’ll keep the bills at bay.”

There was a quiet, shaky breath. “I can’t, we can’t do that. We won’t be able to vet the buyer. They…” she trailed off.

Pet felt cold and shivery all over. A loud, sudden clunk made them startle. The feeling of cold liquid soaking into their shelter-provided socks made them look down at the glass they’d dropped and the juice making a mess of the wooden floorboards.

The bedroom door opened and Pet staggered backwards until their back hit the wall when Si stepped out, staring at them. The shock on his face turned to something anguished and… guilty.

Pet stared at him, frozen and shaken.

“I don’t know what you heard, but it’s going to be okay,” Si started.

Pet bolted up the stairs, their wet socks sliding on the wooden steps. They understood, and at the same time didn’t understand at all. They were so fucking stupid, starting to think that what? These humans would actually protect them?

They dived under the bed, startling one of the other creatures in the room, and started sobbing. A creature tried to approach to talk to them, to reassure them, but Pet couldn’t respond for how hard they were crying.

Si… had been talking about selling a creature at a second-hand auction. And from the expression on Si’s face when he saw them… and Pet having been here longer than any other creature, made Pet sure Si had been talking about selling them. And hadn’t it been Pet who’d hid or cried whenever Arwen or Si tried to coax a small group of creatures into meeting some potential adopters? It was just their own fault for not being… a better pet in every way. And yet the realisation that Si had given up on them shouldn’t have hurt so much, or made them feel so sick, but it did.

*

soo... what’d you think? we’re moving back into the emotional whump again, rather than physical :3 my inbox is always open for thoughts, requests, feedback and ideas!

If anyone wants to be added to the taglist or taken off it, pls do send me an ask or DM! :D and if any links aren’t working or you can’t find smth, hit me up.

Tagging (tagging people I love u all): @smolnarwhal @free-2bmee @ffaerie-dustt @mortifiedwhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpity–whump–whump @quirkykayleetam @oracle-of-maybe @whumpersworld  @quoththeraven-what @halibellecter @usernames-suck-but-i-like-whump @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @pennsss @whumpqhs @whumpzone @deluxewhump @haro-whumps @redstainedsocks @gimmethatsweetwhump @redstainedsocks @newbornwhumperfly <3

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#whump #hurt/comfort #angst #betrayal #mine #huck and stephen #huck and stephen shelter #panic attack tw #panic attacks #nonhuman whumpee #emotional whump #emotional angst #this is also kinda a 'loup celebrates a follower milestone' #im so happy y'all like my whump content #both reblogged and original #i rly do like being (a small and quiet) part of whumplr and i always make sure there's enough whumpiness in my queue to keep the blog busy #so im glad it hits the spot for peeps :)) love you all :)

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #405

“today i went to therapy, told him the embarrassing issues that i’m having with my life  /  he told me that i need to change; life is not a video game, so stop playing & open up your eyes”

What was your favourite sweet as a child? Things like Baby Bottle Pops, Ring Pops, Airheads, etc. Do you like to wear socks to bed? NOOOOOOO. I don't wear socks unless I have to. What’s your favourite berry? Strawberries. If you have a job, how long is your shift? I don't. Do you like sunflowers? Well yeah. Are you counting down for anything? No. Are you watching TV? What’s on? No. Do you have make-up on? No. I haven't worn makeup since last October. Are you any good with kids? People have told me I am, but I beg to differ. What if you had a baby with the last person you kissed? We're both cisgender women, we physically couldn't. Do you think you’ll be married in 5 years time? It'd be nice honestly, but I kinda doubt I will be. What is your favorite card game? Magic: The Gathering. What is the weirdest thing you’ve done in public? Ha, probably the times I've gotten down on the ground beside the road to photograph roadkill... More than once has someone stopped and asked if I was okay, haha. Favorite sleeping position? Twisted half on my side and stomach with my legs just sorta splayed out. What is your dad’s name? Ken. Have you ever been on a diet? Multiple times. Do you own any jersey shirts? No. Are you proud to be of the nationality you are? There are two moods I have on this: I'm either neutral or embarrassed. Can you remember what you last clapped for? Omg the woman who facilitates my TMS treatment was telling Mom and me about this one time a tiny snake got in the lobby and I did a lil squeal and clapped a bit because I was just excited to hear about a little snake, haha. What is the geekiest part of your music collection? *shrug* Maybe game soundtrack music. What do you eat when you raid the fridge late at night? Well, not really the fridge, but w/e. I'll usually get a granola bar or something of the sort. What is the little physical habit that gives away you're insecure moment? Kneading/wringing my hands together is a dead giveaway. Do you have too many love interests? No. How much money would it take to get you to give up the Internet for one year? If you want honesty... probably no amount would lmao. I rely way too heavily on the Internet for so many things. Do you talk a lot? It depends on my mood and who I'm around. Do transient, homeless, or starving people sometimes annoy you? What a fucking awful question. They don't annoy me. It can be awkward driving past them, but they're in no way annoying. Do you consider yourself to be a nice person? I definitely try to be. What is your ideal marriage location? Either a gothic-looking mansion or something of the sort or a wooded area in the fall. Do you tell your friends about your sex life? I don't have one to talk about. Would you ever admit to having done plastic surgery of any kind if confronted? Yeah? No shame. What kind of watch(es) do you wear? I don't wear watches. What do you cook the best? My family likes my scrambled cheesy eggs... basic as that is, haha. When my sisters would go to Taco Bell all the time and save the hot sauces for later use, I would use some packets in the eggs I cooked. Honestly amazing. What's one car you will never buy? "Anything that is two door, or low to the ground." <<<< This right here. On the other end of the spectrum, I also won't ever buy a car that's high up. I need a good medium so I can actually get in with ease. What's one thing you're a sore loser at? Hm, I dunno. What kind of first impression do you think you give to people? "Wow, she's awkward." What's one thing you like to do alone? Draw. When's the last time you cried? Not long ago at all because I was just so exasperated over my weight gain. Do you think you're cute? God no. Do you have problems changing clothes in front of friends? I don't change in front of anyone if I can avoid it. Did you like kissing the last person you kissed or the one before that more? The last person. I gotta say I was not a fan of kissing Girt because for whatever reason his lips were ALWAYS wetter than lips naturally should be and I just didn't dig it, man. That and every kiss with him was awkward. Whose bed other than yours did you last lay on? My mom's. What turns you off immediately? Acting sexist, to name one. Which city do you particularly enjoy visiting and for what reasons? I don't like going into cities. Do you often take pictures with the camera on your phone? No. I don't like the camera on my phone. In the past year, have you lost weight or gained weight? How much? Gained. You don't need to know. What year was the last car you rode in/drove? I have zero clue. What’s your worst/funniest experience with one of your neighbors? "Worst" and "funniest" are very different... but I can tell you the worst easily. At my childhood home, our next-door neighbors had a pair of Rottweilers in their back yard within a chain-link fence, and we had a LOT of outdoor cats at the time. (I will emphasize every time I bring it up to NOT keep cats outside.) Somehow the dogs got loose and went on a rampage trying to kill our cats; one young one was killed, while our fearless mother cat, Chance, literally fought them off to defend her new kittens. More were maybe killed, I honestly can't remember. My mom was hysterical and threatened to call animal control if it ever happened again. I was absolutely, utterly heartbroken. The last time you burned your tongue or mouth, what were you eating? Ummm I want to say it was some sort of pasta that I didn't let cool long enough. Honestly, are you shallow? Far from it, honestly. Can/could your parents tell when you were lying? Not always. Besides clothes, shoes, and accessories, what’s your favorite thing to shop for? I love window-shopping at Morph Market, haha. AAAAAAAAAALL those ball python morphs, man... *drools* Does/did your parents ever go through your computer or cell phone? When I was younger, Mom was very intent on figuring out why I was always so secretive about what I did on the computer (mostly RP-related things) that ohhhh yeah, she'd do some digging. The night she finally snapped, demanding I tell her my passwords to everything, and she ultimately found out about me being a forum RPer, was literally almost traumatic to me, I think. I know, that sounds INCREDIBLY overdramatic, but I'm not fucking joking. I was in my room SOBBING on my best friend's shoulder, who was spending the night. I was just so embarrassed, and I *still* am when I share that fact with people I know, even though I have no reason to be. Like I don't do any weird or kinky RP shit, it's just genuine, artistic writing with actual, well thought-out plots, but I still feel like people would think it dumb, childish, and just weird. What song reminds you the most of a particular day in your life? Why is that? "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin. I've talked about it a few times before and really don't feel like doing it again. Do you have any close friends that were adopted? I don't think so. Who, in your opinion, is the best thriller writer? I don't know. Does your mom eat meat? Yeah. Was your dad ever on a sports team? Lots in high school, I believe. Do you prefer thick or thin crusted pizza? Thick, by a long shot. What do you have in your fruit salads? Not a fan of fruit salads. Have you ever spent more than two weeks in a wheelchair? I've only needed a wheelchair once in my life, and that was just to get inside and maneuver around the doctor's office when I tore a ligament in my foot. So no. What are your favorite word? Serendipity, tranquility, lucid, etc.; pretty, peaceful words like those. Is there a lot of drama in your life? Nope. I don't do enough or have enough people in my life for there to be. What are you listening to? An extended version of "Nightsong" from WoW. Do you hear any animals right now? No. I'm sure I'd hear birds if I didn't have my earplugs in, though. Have you ever played fetch with a dog? Yes. Have you ever pet a stingray? No. Who is the last baby you held? Emerson, my youngest niece. Do you have any scars from an animal? Yeah; I've got looooots from my cat playing too rough. Have you ever seen an Igloo? I don't believe so. Do you like Korn? They're high on my list of faves. Are you more afraid of tornadoes or hurricanes? Absolutely tornadoes. Do you like mushrooms? Ugh, NO. Have you ever been on Omegle? No. So do you have a favorite M&M? Just the regular ones. Have you ever snuck out? No. Do you currently feel like you have pretty stable career goals/a pretty stable life plan? Have you ever felt this way? I don't know, man. I know what I WANT to do, I just don't know if I'm ever going to get there. Or if what I want will be financially supportive enough, now that I'm really losing interest in photographing people. I might just have to if I want to be financially stable with photography, which would be okay, but bleh. I'd much rather just work with nature. If you could buy an android that was was convincingly human and could be tailored to be your perfect partner, would you want one? No. I don't want to build my own partner, nor do I want my romantic partner to be an android. I want life to just introduce me to a person who is uniquely themselves, who have built themselves from their own life experiences, and not just have a perfect spouse tailored to everything I like. If you do not identify as being “straight,” can you remember back to your childhood some things you did that were, in hindsight, possible indicators of your future sexuality? Yes, especially in middle school. I thought women were prettier than probably a straight kid would, and looking back, I definitely found the natural curves of the female figure to be attractive. When you consume media (movies, books, etc.) with a romantic element, what sort of romance scenarios interest you most? Hm. I know I prefer serious ones over silly; like I'm a sucker for Nicholas Sparks' style, if that says anything. If you are female, do you feel connected to other women as a class? What sort of things make you feel a strong sense of sisterhood or female empowerment? This is too big of a question for me to feel like delving into right now, haha. But I can say it more so depends on the individual than the gender when it comes to feeling connection over anything.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''game over'' by falling in reverse

[masksofmany]

Bump in the Night - Writing Prompt

“Set your story during the night shift“ (Acquired from Reedsy’s Writing Prompts

TW // Mention of drugs, anxiety stuff, and other stuff (only briefly mentioned) (Not entirely sure if all these account, but I just did so to make sure. I’m new to this :p) Also, I’m not a very good writer, so I apologize that it’s bad :V

-----------------  Kori Anderson, a man around his late 20’s or early 30’s, constantly in a tired state. No one knew why, other than that he worked the night shift at some restaurant as the security guard.

 You’d probably think that night shifts are pretty easy, right? Who’d want to break into a restaurant meant for kids? Well, that’s what everyone else thought, but those that work in the industry, specifically previous night guards and the manager, know that the place was more dangerous than it seemed.

 No, no one broke in, unless it was the rebellious teenagers that broke in every now and then to prove it wasn’t dangerous or to just chill and smoke whatever they had on hand, but they were always caught and dragged out of the place. But this isn’t what had Kori in a constant tired state.

 Ever since he started working at the restaurant, Kori was more paranoid than usual and started suffering from insomnia, struggling to get any rest at all when able to, even with medication. The bumps in the night, the constant fear for one’s life, the stress of being in the dark, it all got to him.

 He was already a frail man; a thin body that had no muscles, looking like he starves himself to near death. He doesn’t though. He can’t explain why he’s so thin, but it’s whatever. Not like it’s killing him.

 Today’s the day, Kori thought, staring at the restaurant’s front entrance. Today’s the day I quit. The day I finally leave. 

 Kori had been wanting to leave the night shift for some time now, not able to handle the constant state of fear he had to deal with each time. 

Although it did provide something eventful in his bland life, it wasn’t the kind of excitement he was looking for. If it was affecting him negatively, it wasn’t something he wanted.

 Taking a deep breath, he walked inside, instantly hearing the loud chattering and squealing of children, smelling the mix of junk food and sweat. Air conditioning must be broken...again.

He walked past the front desk that occupied the main entrance, going to where all the fun was happening, stepping back before he got run over by some kids running around playing tag.

 Looking around, it was obviously packed. It’s the middle of summer, meaning school has yet to be in session, so this was bound to happen. Kori feels bad for all the work the janitor’s will have to go through. But that isn’t the main focus right now. All he has to do is find the manager. 

 He walks around, keeping an eye on his surroundings while looking for the manager, Mx. Richardson. The loud music blaring through the speakers mixing with the constant chattering and screaming, it all gave him a headache. He couldn’t stand it. The more he looked around, the more panic he felt the longer he was in such a crowded area. 

 Breathe...it’ll be alright, just breathe-

 “Mr. Anderson?”

 Kori stopped and looked behind him, seeing a person half his size. Their dark hair was under a black hat with the restaurant’s logo on it, dark brown eyes staring at him with confusion and shock. It’s not like Kori to be seen outside during the day, seeing as he’s more of a night owl, and an introvert.

 “O-oh, uh...Mx. Richardson…” Kori stuttered, feeling a little embarrassed. He must’ve walked by them without noticing.

 “Is there something you need, Mr. Anderson?” Richardson asked. They quickly noticed his nervous posture, his hands shaking as he fiddled with them.

 “Yes, uhh… I wanted to...talk to you..?” He stated, sounding more like a question.

 Mx. Richardson nodded and motioned him to follow, which he obliged. They went into the storage room, seeing as it was the closest room to them.

Kori sighed, taking deep breaths, thankful he was now out of the crowded area. He hated going outside during the day, especially in the summer.

 Kori took another deep breath before looking at Mx. Richardson, who was closing the door behind them before looking at Kori. “Is everything okay?” They asked softly.

 He nodded, taking his time to gain his composure. “Y-yes, I...I just…” He started choking up on his words, his nerves getting to him. Come on, Kori, you practiced this hundreds of times, don’t screw it up now!

 “I...quit.” He said slowly.

 Mx. Richardson blinked, processing his statement, but understood exactly why he wanted to. They knew what the night shift was like, though not through personal experience, but saw the recordings from the security cameras. They knew this was about to come, but it surprised them that it took him this long to call it quits, seeing everything he went through. They’re surprised he hasn’t gone to therapy yet.

“Is that what you want to do?” Richardson asked, holding their clipboard close to their chest.

 Kori nodded, too afraid to talk in case it was to fail him. They took a deep breath, then looked up at Kori, understanding evident in their eyes.

 “I understand, but may I suggest a better option?”

 Kori tilted his head, confused, before giving them a nod to continue.

 “One more night. That’s all I ask. I’ll still provide you your full week’s payment, because I know you’re struggling with money right now. After tonight, you won’t have to come here anymore. I’ll have someone take your place by then, I promise.”

 Kori closes his eyes, anxiety starting to build up. He didn’t want to stay there another night, but...the offer was tempting… He was struggling on cash, barely being able to pay for his rent on time and keep food on his table...but was it worth it?

 After some thinking, he decided to go with it. It’s just one more night...it should be fine.

“Okay…” he mumbled.

 Mx. Richardson smiles and gives his arm a pat. “Thank you. Also, I’ll throw in some free therapy your way. I know you need it.”

 Kori gives them a tired smile before making his way home, quickly leaving the place before his panic settles back in again. By the time he makes it home, he collapses onto his couch, groaning into a pillow. 

 “Just one more night…”, he mumbled. “One more, and I’m free...everything’s fine...everything...is fine…” he reassures himself before falling asleep for the first time in a long while.

     -11:47 pm, Thursday 27th. 

 He arrives at the restaurant, staring at the doors. Instead of dread and fear filling up his senses, he feels...relaxed. More relaxed than usual. Yes, he’s still stressed, but knowing that this was his last night working here helped him calm down. Taking a deep breath, he unlocks the doors and makes his way in, locking the doors shut behind him.

 The place is spooky at night, seeing as it’s a large place with many places to hide. Although it’s not exactly the easiest place to break into, it certainly is easy to hide. The security during the day isn’t exactly the greatest. Then again, there are a lot of distractions at that time, so anything can slip out of view.

 Taking out his flashlight from his belt on his uniform, he turns it on and makes his way through the building. The security office isn’t too far away, it’s quite literally the place in between the two separate halls that lead straight into the main party area, where the main attraction usually is.

 You’re probably asking yourself “what’s the main attraction?” Well, I’ll tell ya. It’s not animatronics! The main attraction, or attractions, are of various people. Sometimes there are animatronics, but they don’t stay at the restaurant. Instead, they’re brought in by people who made them for their turn in entertaining the guests. 

The usual entertainers consist of bands, clowns, magicians, and so on. So, in a way, this place is meant for all ages! It just so happens to attract parents who want to just drop their kids off so they could entertain themselves and let them have a break. Mostly.

 What ends up actually causing Kori all this stress is that something, or someone, has been making so much ruckus in the building, and he can’t find them at all. It’s been happening for months and it was stressing him out. Thing is, he doesn’t find anything wrong! Nothing’s broken, nothing’s altered, it’s all as it should be, and it’s driving him mad!

 When entering his office, he looks around carefully. The monitors are placed on the wall, posters of the common entertainers plastered on the back wall behind where you sit, balloons tied up on the leg of the table where the computer resides, everything as it normally is. Except, however, there’s a cupcake with a note beside it.

  Tilting his head, he walks over to the desk after turning the lights and fan on, turning the flashlight off and setting it down on the table. Carefully, he picks up the note and unfolds it, now seeing that it was a letter from Mx. Richardson.

“I hope tonight goes well! Here’s a cupcake to help you feel better. Your favorite! ~R”

 Kori smiles and looks at the cupcake. Yep, it was indeed his favorite: a vanilla cupcake with chocolate icing. Call him basic, but you can’t argue it’s a good combo. It even has some edible sprinkles shaped like stars!

 He takes a seat and turns on the monitors, leaning back and taking a deep breath. Slowly, he unhooks his water bottle from his belt and takes a drink before setting it on his desk.

 Checking the time, he notices he still has five minutes before his shift officially starts. He didn’t realize he left earlier than he intended, he just wanted to get this night done and over with. And before you get your shoes all wet, yes, he does have a job he can go to after this one. Better pay too, surprisingly. It’s a much simpler and safer job than being a night guard.

 Although he has five minutes to spare, he decides to not really do anything out of the ordinary. Not like he really wanted to either, he’d rather stay in that room until the clock screams that it’s morning. Although, the only thing “out of the ordinary” he’s doing right now is eating the cupcake. At least starting to, he’s not exactly a fast eater.

 A few hours pass by, and everything is running smoothly. No bumps, no jumps, just...quiet. It put Kori a little on edge, as it wasn’t something he was used to, but he was thankful it was running smoothly. That was, until he heard a crash from one of the camera sections.

 He jumps up and looks at the monitors, seeing nothing but a blur slip out of view. This is new… He thought. Although he’s not new to people breaking in, this experience was. Usually people breaking in take it slow and quiet, never the brute force way.

 Quickly, he scans all the cameras to see where they could be while trying to keep his breathing in check at the same time. It was difficult, but thankfully, this person wasn’t really trying to be very quiet. From the looks of things, it seemed that whoever this person was was making their way to the storage room. Why there out of all places?

 After confirming that was indeed their destination, he takes a quick drink of his water and grabs his flashlight, leaving his half-eaten cupcake on the table and makes his way into the main room, scanning the area. He hates how dark the place gets, especially when he’s looking for something. The fact that he can’t just turn the lights makes him more tense.

 Looking around, he finally spots the storage room, but sees that it hasn’t been opened or fiddled with. Narrowing his eyes, he decides he should go check the location the person broke into to see the damage, but stops when hearing movement behind him. He turns around, shining his light in the direction, only to see nothing.

 Panic started to set in, but he knew he had to keep himself calm and quiet. If he were to yell out, it could startle them, and he doesn’t know how they’d react when startled. Would they run away? Would they retaliate and try to hit him? He didn’t know, and he didn’t feel like taking the risk.

 Turn after turn, bump after bump, Kori was spinning in circles. He felt surrounded, but he knew there was only one person causing this movement. It felt crazy to him how fast they were moving, he didn’t know how to react. His breath started to pick up, struggling to keep it at a slow pace. He felt nauseous, like he was going to faint, but just before he was able to turn around behind him after hearing another sound, he was pushed to the ground, causing him to scream out, dropping his flashlight.

 He tried getting up, but there was a weight on his back, preventing him from doing so. He wiggled and thrashed, struggling to get out of their grasp, but to no success. He stopped when feeling a firm hand press against the back of his head, feeling the pressure lean forward as the figure leans down to speak into his ear in a low, deep voice.

 “Don’t. Move.”

 Kori freezes in place, holding his breath. He didn’t know what else he could do other than comply. He couldn’t break out of their hold, and he definitely couldn’t fight back. He’s as thin as a twig! No way he could get out of this one. He also couldn’t just run away either, thanks to his stamina not being the greatest. 

 He waited what felt like hours, nothing but the sound of heavy breathing coming from the both of them. From what Kori could tell, this person was strong, he could feel their hand flex every now and again, keeping his head on the ground so he couldn’t move his head to look. Not like he’d be able to anyways, it’s really dark, the only light coming from the flashlight that rolled out of reach when dropped.

 Suddenly, he feels something sharp poke his neck, causing him to jump. Am I being drugged?

Before he could say or do anything, he felt his entire body go numb in an instant, exhaustion taking hold. Must be one hell of a drug.

 The weight on his back slowly got up and moved to the side, snatching the keys off Kori’s belt and going to the storage room. Kori was barely able to keep hold of consciousness, struggling to push himself off the ground. Slowly, he crawled to his flashlight, going to reach for it until he saw it get kicked away from reach, it being the same person from before. He went to look up, but felt a sharp pain as the figure gripped his hair tightly and dragged him up, moving to look him in the eye.

 Having one eye closed due to pain, he struggled to look at the figure in front of him, now able to see their face. They had fierce, sharp eyes, a mask tightly covering their nose and mouth that went all the way around half their face, a mixture of light and dark hair swept to the side in a clean cut, a small wave-like texture being provided. A low, deep voice, presumably sound male, but Kori didn’t want to judge, spoke in a slow and somewhat mocking manner, their eyes crinkling as if they were smiling- no, smirking.

 “See you next time, Anders.” Before dropping him to the ground, making Kori unconscious.

     -8:29 am, Friday 28th.

 Kori groaned, slowly regaining consciousness. His whole body felt sore, a headache taking over his head. When he woke up, he saw Mx. Richardson looking relieved, as well as another person standing behind them, someone he doesn’t recognize.

 “Thank goodness you’re okay!” Richardson exclaimed, adjusting Kori in a more comforting manner to lean against the wall. They quickly ordered the new person to get some water, watching them run off before returning with a cup. The manager quickly took it and held it up to Kori’s lips, helping him drink slowly. “What happened? Did someone break in?”

“Andi, let him breathe,” the one standing said. They were wearing some faded out jeans and a white t-shirt, a blue and black hoodie to accompany it. Their hair was pulled back into a tight braid, seemed to be the fishtail kind, it also had various pastel colors mixed into it, providing a unique look.

Kori took a moment, gaining his senses again. His mind felt scattered, confused. Why did they break in? What did they take? What was so important in the storage room?

 “There, they...someone…” Kori started, feeling out of breath. Andi helped try to keep him calm, telling him to take his time. “They...took something…” “What did they take?” They ask, tensing up slightly. They hoped it wasn’t something they thought it was…

 “I don’t know… They went into the...storage room…” He whispers, motioning towards it.

 Andi nodded, moving his face to look at them. “Okay, don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll deal with this. You’re free now, okay? You don’t have to work here. I’ll email your payment tonight, okay? It’s been doubled, no, tripled. Whatever you do, don’t tell anyone what happened, okay? This is between me, you, and Ena.”

 Kori nodded, though not completely understanding why. It was probably something only Andi was supposed to know, and now since himself and Ena, who he assumes is going to be the new night guard, are aware something was stolen, they don’t want theories spreading around and potentially closing the business. He didn’t know if it really was that bad, but he doesn’t want to risk it.

 After helping him calm down, Andi asked Ena to help Kori get his stuff and send him home. While they were off doing that, Andi went into the storage room and took a look around. It was a mess, like someone was in a hurry, or looking for something hidden. When they found that a specific secret compartment was forcibly open, Andi froze. Their fear becoming a reality.

They stole the business hard drive.

3077 words

#writing prompt #story #improvised story #original character #original characters #oc story #night guard #criiimes #short story #one shot #Mask's Writing Prompts

[squid--inc--writes]

purgatory

so, I decided to finally finish writing that piece from a really fucked up dream I had. this probably doesn`t cover a quarter of it, but I enjoyed it, and its the first solid writing piece I`ve had in 2 years, so I`m proud.

@schwarzekatzen @wettthepottterheadss4120

warning: gore, gross descriptions, vague psychological bullshit, bullying, violence, etc.

word count:  2281

summary: you follow Trith (not mentioned in the story) on her first round to meet some of the residents within this particular realm of purgatory. Because, frankly, who else can?

My eyes open to a hollow ceiling, peering right into an attic where a familiar rocking hair rocks away. Not a care in the world about how it's up there. That would be Granny Gin. Don't know her real name, but still. She's there. Dead as ever, and knitting away. Sometimes I sleep in long enough that her scarf reaches the floor.

Standing up, groggy, I make my way to do my rounds. Someone's got to make sure the dead don't panic. The first round doesn't have to be me all dressed up. Not like they care about the smell. At least I don't think they do. Can the dead smell? I don't know. At Kirby's request, I started keeping a journal so he can remember what last happened and get one step closer to getting out of here. I also want to help everyone else out of purgatory, so this is why I'm writing this. Brand spanking new. Right up on a blank page. Yep.

So, I guess my next ghastly figure is Heidi. She stands in the bathroom all day. Touching up her makeup, not changing a thing. Aside from the usual changes extended stays can cause. I think she starved to death. Couldn't tell you. She's standing there, takes a glance at me in the mirror, nods, then tries another colour of lipstick. She's been here a while, so that means three eyes, each one a distinct colour of red, blue or yellow. She also has glowing skin, and her legs are becoming more horse like. Maybe her puzzle would be solved by getting her life a little STABLE. Hah. Get it? Why would I write down my laugh?

Whatever, I'm not going to erase anything or cross it out. The thoughts of the living might help, even abstractly.

The next is the hallway. Bert walks along, holding a gas can thing. Y'know, an old timey thing they used to gas bugs? I'm not sure, I can't recall ever needing an exterminator.

He tips his hat to mean, "hey there, lil' lady. Didn't the landlord tell ya to keep out of the building for the next day or so? Don't worry. I'll wait to do my work until you get out. I'll just let 'im know I'll be a bit late starting."

I nod, "thank you." Sometimes it's easier to play along. I feel he's been a tad testy, so I try not to agitate him. Usually I can pass by just fine. Maybe he had anger issues. Try and work his puzzle out like that. Ironically, he resembles a cockroach by now. He doesn't have hands, but the rigid limbs that should have been his hands were made of a hardened skin. It chipped away from his bones like it knew it wasn't supposed to look like that. I rarely look him in the face, both because he looks… interesting, but also because it tends to aggravate him. Maybe it's the way I look at him. He's yelled at me for being a large bug before, not always a roach. I just don't want to get hit again. Maybe I shouldn't help him.

Next up, Theodore and Teddy. They have the same name, and they yell at each other from across the hall. They each have their own rooms. Sometimes they switch rooms. They seem to be connected at this point, literally. They have long strings of flesh swinging from between their bodies. At one point, they got cut, and you see everything pouring out. They acknowledge it in their recent arguments, getting mad at the other for not making enough of an effort to keep it all in. Theodore usually doesn't have a jaw anymore, since it melted down, combined with his clothes. I can't check on Mindy anymore thanks to them. I don't think I want to.

However, I think the problem revolves around they're communication. But that's an obvious point. Maybe they need to accept their own responsibility for their misfortunes.

Mindy… last time I saw her, she had dolls connecting to her through thousands of strands of veins, and nerves, and all other sorts of things. They aren't all made of plastic anymore, last time I saw her.

Theodore says to me, as if his chin wasn't sitting where his stomach would be, "hello dear. How are you today?"

"I'm doing well. Thank you. How are you and Teddy today?"

Teddy snorts from the other room, dusting off an old hat, and placing it on his head, "I'm fine. Perfectly."

Theodore rolled his eyes, "we're as well as ever. Just a lovers' quarrel."

Teddy got offended, ripping the hat off, "oh, NOW we're lovers?"

I nod, and quickly leave before they start trying to pull their guts to their respective sides, and spitting insults. It never ends well.

Next up, Patty and Simone, standing on the stairs. They are actually quite friendly with each other. Patty asking Simone about her husband, Simone asking how Patty's been, after her being widowed and all. They swap recipes regularly. Patty very much seems like she killed her husband. And some of the recipes they swap sound as if Simone is trying to kill her husband. If what she says is true, he deserves it. God do I hope it's not.

Simone has morphed into the railing at this point, spine jutting from bloodless flesh so she can lean on the staircase. I feel the one they used to talk at was a lot lower, considering Simone is almost nine feet in the air. Patty, however, seems to be turning to a bone statue. Her legs can no longer move, not that she moved much to begin with. Wait, no, this time she seems to be turning to ice. Her legs are quite transparent, but there's a layer of frost surrounding her feet. They never used to acknowledge me, but Simone seems to have spread to the stairs, and she'll scold me for walking too roughly. Patty gives me the most judgmental look. I think if they could move on from husband's they'd probably be home free. But that is what their lives revolved around for so long, so I'm not sure that could be easy.

Once I sneak down the stairs without slipping, or getting yelled at, it's into the kitchen I go. Sid is at the fridge constantly stuffing his face. Somehow, he's a part of the fridge. Everything drops out of his stomach back into the fridge, into a pile of slop. Like something a pig would eat. If he's particularly frantic, he'll tear chunks out of himself. I don't think they can feel it when they hurt themselves. Not unless they're supposed to…

I have no clues as to how Sid can save his puzzle. He doesn't tend to talk. I'm not sure he has vocal cords anymore. He barely has eyes.

Moving from the kitchen is the parlor. I'm not sure how this place works, so I'm not sure this is in the right place. Either way, the parlor has about seven people in here. Kirby plays checkers with Daniel, Maud watches TV with Lainey, Paula and Shess pick on Lily. 

Paula and Shess would probably be gone if they could stop, and just sincerely apologize. I'm not sure Lily is really a person though, because she's never changed once. I think she kind of looks like a mannequin, but moving. She's meant to play a part, being small, and easy to pick on. Shess shattered her arms at one point, and now just has gooey, bloody stumps with bone shards sticking out that she uses to punch lily with, and her head is being engulfed by her own skin, but her eyes seemed to have multiplied, hair having started to attach and grow off of the eyes. Like the world's grossest ice-cream cone. Paula, on the other hand, started turning into blades. Her fingernails are long and sharp, her arms have started to thin at the edges, and splinter into more blades, even her nose resembles a knife. I passed her once, her hair brushed my cheek, and I had a long cut from my temple to my chin. That wasn't fun. I can't talk to either of them. They're always caught up in bloodlust.

Lainey and Maud try to ignore Shess and Paula as much as possible. They are actually aware of their surroundings. I don't think they need my help out, because they've been fading lately, so maybe they're ready to pass on. They generally talk about the movie they're watching. Sometimes they get new snacks from an unknown source. Usually they just coo at each other about how much they love each other, and what signs to look for to find each other again. They told me that Purgatory allows you the chance to return to when you died, the chance to fade completely, or to join the better place in whatever you believed in. Purgatory is for learning lessons. They both believe in reincarnation, and fully believe they'll still love each other, no matter the timeline. It's one of the nicer conversations.

Daniel and Kirby are next up. Daniel has no idea what's going on ever. His skin seems to be made from webs, and these small black creatures weave over him all the time, anytime something starts breaking down. Which happens at every move.  Daniel seems actually peaceful here. Maybe he needs to take a stand. Especially with Kirby always cheating. He doesn't even do it subtly, he straight up takes pieces, and places them where they shouldn't be. Daniel would probably tear all his 'skin' off at this point if he tried to do something.

Kirby, however, seems to increasingly be made of greasy Hawaiian print shirts. Yes, you are made of shirts. I almost slip when I pass your table because it's not, like, slightly caked on grease, it's literally dripping, and doesn't spread past a three foot radius. Maybe if you apologized for Dan, it would help. How's that sound?

Okay, three more rooms, then I start getting ready. So, I leave the other side of the parlor, head into the hall, and head to the basement. Shimi is down here. They're just a long, skinny eel at this point. With multiple heads that bite at Shimi's main body. I'm not even sure when Shimi showed up, and I've never seen much else, so I'm not sure they can leave. I don't try to go into the water. Too scared. It's undefinably deep. Some places you can see the ground, others are holes, others are so obfuscated by flesh that has yet to melt down and turn into water. I'm sure Shimi's been here for thousands of years.

Heading back upstairs, I check on the, what I can only assume, ballroom. It's huge, and usually has a few dancing couples. This room changes a lot, and has the least mutated people in it. I remember I helped one couple realize the intense emotion they couldn't move on from was rage, at the fact that they had cheated on each other. They both felt wronged, but they were both no better than each other. The puzzle they solved involved them no longer dancing together, and finding new partners. Today it stood completely empty. Not unusual, but still. The room always unnerves me.

Next up, I like to call the nook. It's not quite in the library, but it's very cozy right outside it.

A rough, sweet voice says, "what took you so long?"

I smile at Ronnie. She's very nice. I think she is, maybe was, actually my age when she died. We're both around seventeen. She however has skin made from literal porcelain, although that does mean when she moves too much, her body starts leaking blood, like from her eyes and joints . Her hair is nearly laid around her head, a warm auburn. And I don't mean that figuratively. It literally feels the way a room with plenty of blankets and a fireplace would feel like. The nook doesn't have a fireplace, it just has Ronnie.

She rasps out, "well, are we going to have a nap? You're my favourite snuggle buddy, and I can't have one without you."

I'm pretty sure she can't leave because she's trapped in her childhood. She's told me about all her dolls, and toys. I think her house might have burned down, and she wouldn't leave them behind. I'm not sure if I'll be able to get her to leave.

I give her a closed mouth smile, and step forward, "yeah, I can help you take a nap."

I wind up cuddling up to her. And, I think I won't write much until after I get ready. Too tired. Need to wake up more.

When I'm finally up, I look up to see the hollow attic. No floor at all. Grandmother Gin rocking away in her rocking chair, completely unaware of the lack of floor.im not sure if that's actually her name. Sometimes I get up so late that her blanket actually gets in my way trying to get up. At least I don't usually get dressed up to do my first round. I don't think the dead care about when the living stink. They don't seem to care about much. I do. Speaking of stink, I am doing this for my pal Kirby. Try to keep a record and write down everything that happens. Maybe I can help him, and some of the others, out of here. That's why I'm writing this. Right here. Blank page. Well, not blank anymore. But, hey, first page, first to go.

#violence #tw violence #tw gore #gore #writblr #writing #my writing #vaguely horror #horror #short story #tw mutilation #gross descriptions #predictable but still fun

[sebastianshaw]

@sammysdewysensitiveeyes - I am going to do all of the ones you sent me, but a few at a time or the post would be MASSIVE and take days! So here’s the first three. MADELYNE PRYOR Maddie is absolutely a Brujah vampire. Brujah vampires rebels and revolutionaries, visionaries and philosophers, political dissedents and champions of the common man---or whatever their cause is. While they typically lean towards the downtrodden---whether it’s in vampire society or in general--- and fighting back against whatever the current status quo is, in theory a Brujah can be passionate about whatever it is they believe in, so long as it’s SOMETHING, so theoretically a Brujah could be a fanatical conservative as much as a radical Marxist. Brujah are often called “the Rabble” and the stereotypical Brujah image is that of a tough biker or gangster, but I think this misses the point of what they’re really about, which is being dedicated to some kind of ideal. That said, they are also a bunch of headcrackers who are not only willing to get their hands dirty and crack some heads for the cause, they’re EAGER. While many today have indeed degenerated into nothing more than rebels without a cause who just like causing trouble and starting fights for fun, many others still carry the mantle of warrior-philosophers into the modern nights, even if they’re more rare. So, why do I say this is Maddie? Well, Maddie is courageous as hell, first of all. It’s one of her most notable pre-Inferno characteristics, she’s brave as FUCK. Secondly, she cares about others. I remember one story in which her plane had crashed in a snowstorm and she devoted herself to the safety of her passengers above all else, even Scott, if I recall correctly. And let us not forget that her first death was not Inferno, it was willingly sacrificing her own life so that Forge could use her soul in a spell to seal away the Adversary and save the world. And one of her final conversations before that was with a news crew, advocating the acceptance of mutantkind. Maddie is brave, she has a temper, she believes in justice and the rights of the outcasts and rejects, and she can also be violent and take vengeance too far. That’s all very Brujah. I can absolutely see her as like, an Anarch den mother to new vampires or an independent vampire who gives help to those on the bottom regardless of what sect they’re in, Anarch or Camarilla or even Sabbat, but is also ferocious and should not be crossed. Which...is also very Brujah, as is the fact that their clan weakness is their tempers and passions can push them over the edge into Frenzy twice as easily as other vampires. The powers of the Brujah are Potence, Celerity, and Presence. Potence is super-strength and Celerity is superspeed, neither of which is very specifically “Maddie” to me, but Presence is a psychic ability with which a vampire can charm, entrance, and inspire hypnotic awe or dreadful terror. And I think that’s a good nod to her psychic abilities as a mutant, especially her scary factor. CATSEYE So, Catseye obviously has to be a Bastet, which are the werecat breeds in “Werewolf: The Apocalypse”. She also would definitely be a Feline werecat. Feline werecat that sounds repetitive but being “Feline” with a capital F in this context means born as a cat, rather than a human. See, wereanimals in WtA aren’t made by biting, they’re born. Some are born human, and will undergo their First Change sometime after adolescence, others are born as animals and will grow up as such, until their First Change between the ages of two and three years old (since animals mature faster). The latter often have a TON of adjustment to make, because they have to learn not just how to be a wereanimal, but a human. Because regardless of what state they were BORN in, all wereanimals will have a human form, an animal form, a hybrid form, and a giant-size version of their animal form. So you’ve got people turning into critters...and critters turning into people, who have to learn to walk and talk and wear clothes and stuff like that so that they can move through human society when they have to. It’s a perfect fit for Catseye! Each Bastet has a “Pyrio” meaning a classification of their general personality and what fields they’re likely to pursue and be talented in: Daylight - open and direct, they tend to be diplomats, warriors, lawgivers, and protectors. Twilight - questioners and seekers, they tend to be detectives, lawyers, spies, or mystics Night - often withdrawn and reclusive, they tend to be assassins, scholars, scientists, and practitioners of dark magics. I think Daylight because she was a fighter and she tended to strike directly, she was much more charge type than an assassin. I mean, she tried to jump right on top of Magma while Magma was IN HER FIRE FORM, Catseye is not a planner, and I think Daylight just fits her very open and innocent personality. I see her definitely being a warrior! A warrior cat, if you will ;) So that leaves...what breed Bastet is she? Because there are multiple types of Bastet, each reflecting a different species of big cat. For Catseye, I have narrowed it down to Simba (lion), Khan (tiger), Bagheera (leopard), or Bubasti (the ancient Egyptian kyphur cats). The Simba are the most proud and arrogant of the Bastet, they want to rule over the others and see themselves as the ones who are going to put things back into order. Unlike most Bastet tribes, which are solitary like most big cats, Simba live in Prides like real lions and there is a strict pecking order of respect. and dominance. I don’t think that Catseye wants to rule other people or sees herself as the one who has all the answers, but I do think she is, well, a cat, and is a proud vain creature who overestimates herself (but in a way much more endearing than Fabian or Empath) We also see from the way she worked so well as a team member in the Hellions that she’s a social animal, and she understands hierarchy and takes orders from Emma. She also grew up in canon having the fight to survive, so having to fight to avoid being picked on ---as the strong will do to the weak---by other Pride members as a kitten would fit. The Bagheera are the wereleopards, both strong and wise, renowned for both their mystic insights and their ferocious tempers. They’re curious, scholarly, and enjoy/seek new experiences to learn from, which I think fits the fact that Catseye was, according to Emma’s notes, ferociously intelligent. She seemed dumb to others because of her simple speaking style and not understanding a lot about the human world, but that’s merely because she was new to it; according to Emma, she was a genius, and the fact she learned to speak as well as she did IN A MERE YEAR according to said notes is a testament to that. And I don’t think you can teach a cat anything unless she WANTS to learn, so I see Catseye not just as very intelligent (if frequently NOT very clever; see aforementioned jumping on Magma, she’s obviously very overconfident and impulsive) but also eager to learn and very, well, curious! I think the Bagheera balance of being hot-tempered warriors but also curious and wise fits Catseye, though she’s not quite “wise” yet due to her youth! The Khan are the weretigers, and like the Simba, they’re very proud creatures who see themselves as Gaia's most perfect creations and as such obliged to protect all who are lesser. Khan are straightforward and action-oriented, not clever schemers. Whatever one of these Bastet do, they do it with full-tilt vigor, whether it be fighting, romancing, hunting, studying, or even contemplating. They throw themselves into all tasks with a mighty passion, and their bodies, in any from, bristle with vitality. Their weaknesses, such as they are, come from being too trusting or too sure of themselves. Which fits Catseye because, well, I’ve already covered her overconfidence, and being too trusting, well...she trusted Emma as her mother, and Emma was just using her as a tool, a weapon in a war that Catseye among all the Hellions understood the least, even if Emma ended up loving her deep down in the end. Finally, the Bubasti. Shy and secretive yet the most social of the Bastet; like the Simba, they live and work in groups. Bubasti are defined by the fact they are extremely hungry, both mentally and physically. Physically, they carry a curse of always being starving no matter how much they eat, and mentally they’re just always thirsty for knowledge, devouring books and research just as they do food. Catseye wasn’t ever gluttonous for food that we saw but she was ferociously intelligent and learned a lot very fast, as discussed, and also was more social than most big cats, as also covered. Bubasti are also ALWAYS very skinny, which Catseye also was; she’s listed as being six feet tall but only 120 lbs, she was rail thin (I picture her as like, skinny but very sinewy, like a ballerina, and I also headcanon that once she started getting enough to eat, she’d develop a more Amazonian physique) She’d need a racelift to be a Bubasti, as most are Egyptian and all are dark-skinned. The other Bastet types I described are also mostly of the ethnicities from the same lands their feline form originates from (ex: tigers are from China and India) but have white members too due to breeding with colonizers. I can’t pick which I would go with for her, really, which is perhaps also fitting since Catseye’s feline form in canon was inconsistent too, sometimes looking more like a lion, a panther, or even a lynx depending on the artist. PYRO In DnD, my first thought for him was a Genasi. Genasi are half-genie or have a genie somewhere in their family tree. Genies in DnD come from The Elemental Planes, so each genasi will reflect which plane their ancestor came from--Pyro of course would be a fire genasi.  Nearly all fire genasi are feverishly hot as if burning inside, an impression reinforced by flaming red, coal- black, or ash-gray skin tones. The more human-looking have fiery red hair that writhes under extreme emotion, while more exotic specimens sport actual flames dancing on their heads. Fire genasi voices might sound like crackling flames, and their eyes flare when angered. Some are accompanied by the faint scent of brimstone. Also, while genasi will typically have birth names common to the people among whom they were raised, some will choose to assume thematic names like  Flame, Ember, Wave, or Onyx. So a guy born as St. John Allerdyce and later calling himself Pyro, basically! If you want to take out the fire theme, he also works fine as a human, but like, where’s the fun in that? My other choice for him would be a half-elf. He’s tall and gangly and just a bit too-thin yet somehow not unhealthy for it like a human would be, but didn’t inherit the elven beauty and just kind odd instead---honestly like I love how Pyro is kinda, as you had Shaw unkindly put it, horsey-faced in Byrne’s art? He’s not UGLY but he’s distinct, and I’m always here for a character than doesn’t blend in with the other bland supermodel faces, and I also like the idea of a half-elf who DIDN’T get the whole ethereal look thing. My first thought for his class was rogue because of his villain status, but then I realized...no, he is a BARD. Think about it. Bards retell history in the most captivating way, or they make up their own equally hypnotic stories of tragedy or romance, battles or woe or bawdy humor. They *are* journalists and romance novel writers just like, just they do it with music instead of with writing! And like...they probably DO write them down first, I bet he takes notes in battle to turn it into a good song later! Also, he may have been a bad guy in canon, but...he’s so not a rogue? Like, Pyro was not a stealth and cunning guy, he blasted everything with fire! So yeah, he’s totally a bard! As a non-wolf werebeast, he’d be a Celican werecat. The Celican are descended from now-extinct European lions, but they don’t look like it---they look like oversized domestic cats, with as much variation in patterns and colors, though black and white are common. I see him as a great big ginger tabby though! Of all the tribes, the Ceilican have adapted best to the modern world. Most of them favor sports, music, mass media and, psychology, so I think his being a journalist would fit very well.  Most Ceilican have a natural aptitude for technology, too; no other tribe is as comfortable with computers and mechanical devices as they are, so he can totally be typing up his stories on his phone and laptop! He’d also be more likely to be a Homid, meaning born in human shape, so he grew up with tech. As mentioned, the cats who claim Twilight  as their Pyrio are “questioners and seekers, they tend to be detectives, lawyers, spies, or mystics”  andI feel like a traveling journalist fits this well. I think that the predilections of the Twilights also suggest an interest in justice ---lawyers, detectives---which I do think Pyro has, given his allegiance with the Brotherhood. Speaking of that, all werebeasts, whatever they are, serve Gaia, the Earth Herself, mother of all living beings, in a holy crusade. So in that sense they’re all good...but from a HUMAN perspective, they’re often not, since a lot of werebeasts, either as groups or individuals, see humanity either as a blight to be wiped out, or as something they’re just not concerned about. Like they wouldn’t hunt us for sport, but have very little care if we’re hurt or killed as collateral damage in their battles against the Wyrm (the big threat to Gaia) and I think that works well with his Brotherhood status. There's a definite cunning bent to this tribe, a mischievous spark that ignites either playful games or malicious villainy (and frequently both), giving even the most laidback among them a very divided and unstable nature, and like...that seems Pyro to me, he can be anything from just kind of a lovable rogue to REALLY FUCKING DANGEROUS AND WILL KILL YOU WITHOUT REMORSE they’re also EXTREMELY passionate creatures, and fire is typically tied to passion or used to represent it. Emotional drama draws them like ants to sugar, so I’m thinking that’s how werecat Pyro became inspired to start writing romance novels. The Celican are a hidden tribe, believed to be wiped out, but actually they were just hanging out with the Fae for a long time so everyone thinks they’re extinct now, even though they’ve re-emerged, which I think also works well with pyro having been literally dead for awhile and now is back. Here’s the weird part about the Celican.  Each year, they must forget who they are and become someone else. Physically they are the same person, but mentally they’re someone new. While I don’t like the idea of Pyro losing himself, I think this could be a great way to incorporate every version of Pyro into one character---the standard 616 guy we love, the chaotic Duggan dumbass, the bad boy from the XMCU, the manic pyromaniac from X-Men Evolution, all of them have been different “lives” of the same guy. Finally, all Celican prefer using blades over guns just because they think blades have more “style” and despite the fact Pyro technically uses ranged weapons in a sense (basically a self-powered flamethrower) I think he’d agree that STYLE IS IMPORTANT given his love for making shapes out of fire in combat even when there’s no need to do so. Celicans are flamboyant and they like to wear stuff like punk and pseudo-medieval fashions, and while I wouldn’t describe Pyro’s style as either of those, he is def a snazzy dresser who takes bold risks! I’m not sure what werewolf tribe would fit him best, but he would be a Galliard. Galliards are the storytellers and bards of the Garou (werewolf) society, tasked with using their voice to call their people to battle and inspiring them to greatness, as well as the keepers of Garou history through oral tradition. That’s right WEREWOLF BARDS! Something that works for both a werecat and a werewolf is Pyro being raised by his gran. A wereanimal parent is not always going to be around, they’re off fighting the Wyrm, so while it’s ideal for the child to be raised by the pack, a lot of times they’re raised by Kinfolk (the human and animal relatives of a wereanimal) or even a completely human family. If they’re being raised by non-Kinfolk relatives, they probably never get told what they are and their First Change is a huge surprise! Which like, translates pretty well to the awakening of a mutant power. For “Vampire the Masquerade” I think he’d be Toreador or Brujah. Brujah because I could see him getting politicized due to his time was a wartime journalist, wanting to stay neutral at first but becoming more and more radicalized the more he saw until he was forced to take a stand, and his passion in his writing inspiring a Brujah to Embrace him. He then saw how the Camarilla (the ruling “government” of vampire society) was very much all about the elite making the rules and enforcing them on those they deemed “below” them, literal bloodsuckers acting as metaphorical bloodsuckers to boot, etc., and becoming, like many Brujah, an Anarch instead, standing against the “Ivory Tower” as they call the Cam, and instead championing the ideals of undead egalitarianism regardless of how old or young or powerful or weak you are. The Camarilla allow the existence of the Anarchs so long as they don’t get out of hand, but will also hold them to Camarilla laws; the Anarchs don’t consider themselves Camarilla, but according to the Cam they are! I can see Pyro having OPINIONS on that. Alternatively a Toreado was inspired by his romance novels---the Toreadors are the artistes of vampire society, and it’s common for them to Embrace someone whose talents they feel should be preserved forever. And before you say he’s not good enough for that---Toreadors are fickle and shallow creatures, given to becoming obsessed with some new favored muse or protege, then dropping them in a few months times and moving on to the next hot rising star they’re now convinced is the true genius, then doing it all over again. I could absolutely see some Toreador, easily swayed emotional creatures that they are, always seeing thrills and passion and human feeling, getting enchanted by his romance novels, which are all about high-drama and exaggerated emotions as well as opulent and descriptive surroundings, that’s total Toreador bait, that’s TOREADOR CLICHE CENTER, and they swoop in and Embrace him and he thinks he’s so special and chosen...and then they ditch him, much like how he was used as a test case, leaving him on his own in cutthroat vampire society, which likely embittered him a good deal. This might lead him into Anarch-y but conversely it might instead make him support the Camarilla, since the Camarilla have strict policies about who is allowed to Embrace childer, and how many, and under what circumstances, whereas the Anarchs believe it’s a personal choice, which probably results in a lot of cases like Pyro. Or he might think that it should be a personal choice still, but resent his sire for treating that choice as irresponsibly as they did, you could go a lot of directions with this! Also! Maybe when he’s cast off by his Torrie sire, he has to seek help from Maddie the Brujah and that’s how they meet! Hope you enjoyed! More coming tomorrow! EDIT: I could also see a Toreador Emrbacing Maddie because she looked like their lost love and then likewise abandoning her, Toreadors are super emotional but those feelings, as convincing and deep as they seem to the Toreador who are ruled by them, aren’t real and don’t last, so that would be...typical. But I would prefer to pick her clan based on who she IS , no reproduce the clone story that stripped that from her, though that could be her Brujah sire’s reasoning too.

#world of darkness #catseye #pyro #madelyne pryor #out of shirt

[grimoireofwritings]

Hello and I hope you are doing well, is it okay (despite the fact you probably have a bit of matchup requests) if I could get a matchup for BNHA if that is okay?

Okay so the essentials, I am Male (trans) and Omniromantic Asexual (male/masculine leaning), 5'6ish, Capricon, INTJ, in between thin and chubby, brown eyes, red hair up to the cab muscles (henna dyed). My personality is hard to explain, every person has a different opinion of me but the main things I hear are intemidating, empathetic, kind, a serious & calm, and intelligent? (But nah the intelligence part is really only in spanish lol). I'm increadbly insecure in myself. Almost to the point where it becomes self deprecating and self humorous but I almost become hypocritical when it comes to other people feeling insecure/taking care of themselves, I'm also a self sacrificing freak in a way. However on the lighter topic, I believe I'm a good friend! I would offer my advice, comfort, food, help in the clothes of my own back, because of this I may be considered naive and people may see me as being flirtatious even if I believe I'm beings good friend. But all of that goes to dirt if I or anyone I was close to were to be insulted, I keep my friends incredibly dear to me. One more thing about myself, I am a emotional and a animal empath that can become very emotional when it comes to seeing riots/movements and just seeing a cute pupper. When it comes to this sensitivity I can also get overwhelmed by large crowds and by loud noises, usually what helps me is being in the dark and being held/constricted by something/someone. I just like the dark, it's comforting to me and I use it to my advantage. Now onto my likes, I have an interest in witchcraft/the supernatural and celestial, and as being someone that believes that everything exists in it's own way I have an open mind to these things as well as a few unnatural experiences. Naps...I don't get enough of em and that just makes my love stronger, I also really like cosplay and acting in general, and if drawing dark/vent art counts then count it right in! And if it helps my favorite animals in order are Wolves, Ravens, and Orcas. As to not end on a negative note I'll tell more things about myself. I'm very much into PDA if not in public then just in private at least, I want to be close to my significant other and I since I've been touched starved for a long time any touch of any kind I will accept. I am also sensitive to sound (if someone is raising their voice or yelling at me I will think they are yelling at me and try to run away) and light (I don't like very bright places it strains my eyes and hurts to be in for a while)

Hello! Thank you for requesting, you're actually the second request I've gotten for a matchup and the only one I had in my ask! I was super excited to write this for you!!

Your BNHA match is... Fumikage Tokoyami!

I passionately ship this already, I am positive it would be one of those relationships that helps both partners grow and they bring out the best in each other!!! I feel like he wouldn't be someone who feels intimidated by your outward personality - it sounds like you have a bit of a calm and collected exterior that people misunderstand or misinterpret, but you are deeply kind, gentle, and empathic underneath that. This is something he relates to a lot, and being misjudged or people making assumptions based on his dark appearance (his RBF) is normal, so I think if anything he'd be more attracted to you at first above all else and he actually finds your quiet nature very soothing.

He needs a deeply emotionally strong person and a supporter, he's very drawn to those who build others up and have kindness in their heart, so I feel that your relationship would always be full of lots of warmth, love, and a deep level of shared trust. He's very much a vocal person about his feelings in private and it's very important to him that both of you feel satisfied physically and emotionally with your shared affection; he's a cuddle bug but in a chill way, and this man can sweep you off your feet with the most beautiful poetic compliments and appraisal you've ever encountered in your life. Very chivalrous, and a believer in courting / staying persistent with his efforts even past the honeymoon phase. It definitely will help with your confidence in the relationship!

Speaking of which, physical appearance insecurities is something Tokoyami understands thoroughly. He has been aware since early childhood that he looks different than everyone around him for the most part, and despite a lot of diversity within quirks that's been integrated into society, he in particular got quite a physical variation and he always deep down fears he's not attractive enough or that he's too odd looking for a partner to stay interested in for very long. He thinks he's incapable of being handsome, and while he's pretty good at regulating these emotions and keeping them in-check, managing them gets difficult when he catches feelings for someone and he really gets into his head about rejection fears.

All in all, I feel like you both would relate and share some similar experiences in that area, and you could always build each other up and remind one another that you're beautiful inside and out.. and absolutely deserve the best treatment. He reminds you sometimes when needed to take care of yourself and set boundaries with others so that you keep your health as a priority.

Relationship Headcanons:

- 1000000% takes part in your witchcraft interests with you, he was utterly delighted when he found out about it and immediately offers to help you out in any way he can, even running errands to acquire supplies you may need. He wants to talk about it frequently and learn more ideas / in depth perspectives from you - you could teach him a thing or two, since he also practices!!

- After this is when he finally lets you see his room because he was kinda salty after class 1A saw it and made fun of him for it... Lol. But after that he knew you wouldn't judge him and now you both take frequent long naps in there on days off. He's very very cuddly and really enthused about being able to spoon you.

- He understands you have heightened senses and you may sometimes get overstimulated sensory-wise. He is constantly looking out for signs that you're overwhelmed, and always remains very aware and in-tune with how you're feeling. He's wonderful and super understanding - he took a lot of time learning exactly what to do and how to best assist you in these situations. If you get distressed by crowds, bright lights, or noises his first priority is to get you to a safe place and he will politely ask if he can comfort you in the ways you like; restriction probably with hugs and keeping you in a dark, quiet / calm environment so that your heightened state can relax and reset. He is patient and will never, ever punish you or get frustrated with you for needing a break.

- If you're also very tactile and find textures / certain sensations soothing, his bird like feathers / hair is very very soft... Feel free to touch and stroke whenever, he actually quite likes soft loving hands since I think he may also be a very affectionate person, and you're the only person he allows to do this.

- You'll always find gifts that he caters to your preferences in your room, with a poem or some heartfelt words on a note...He does it enough to remind you that you're worth the world and more, especially to him, but not excessively. He still wants it to be a special surprise every time!

- He never ridicules or judges your art, regardless of if it's dark vent art or not. If anything he always compliments your ability to put such emotion in your work and he likes them because it allows him to connect with you and understand you better.

- Overall he's a really aware, giving, supportive, attentive partner and he finds that your empathy and compassion has brought him healthy changes to his life, too. Y'all are goals!

#bnha #my hero academia #match up requests #match ups #matchup request #boku no academia #fumikage tokoyami

[haledamage]

OC Questionnaire

I was tagged by @actualanxiousswampwitch and not so much tagged as challenged by @queen-scribbles​ :P 

I am tagging/challenging you both back if you have more OCs you want to talk about, plus anyone else who has an OC you want to talk about! really, I want to know about your muses, please share them with me <3

I decided to go with Lexi from Mind Blind because she’s currently my most vocal muse, as well as Ari because I realized I’ve never done one of these for her? not sure how that happened

Lexi Wiseman

GENERAL

name: Alexandria Jane Wiseman

alias(es): Lexi, Lex, Button, Cadet Wiseman

gender: cis female

age: 20

place of birth: Chicago, Illinois

spoken languages: English, sarcasm, probably some coding language? took Spanish and German in high school, but really only remembers how to count to ten and ask where the library is

sexual orientation: bi bi bi

occupation: student at Unity’s Aeon Academy

APPEARANCE

eye colour: hazel

hair colour: brown

height: 5′8”

scars: not any major ones? She scars really easy, so even little things like paper cuts leave a scar, but except for things like that and old scars from scraped knees and elbows as a kid, Lexi doesn’t really have any scars worth mentioning. (or as Lex would say, “my scars are all mental ;)”)

burns: not really many burn scars either. a small and perfectly circular one on the inside of her right ring finger (accidentally bumped into the lit end of a cigarette), a faded line on her right calf from grazing the exhaust pipe of a motorcycle, but that’s really it

overweight: No

underweight: No

FAVOURITE

colour: green, especially darker ones like hunter green or forest green

music genre: loves music, all kinds. most of the covers she does are older pop songs, the songs that have made it into the collective consciousness, but she will listen to or sing anything :)

movie genre: action. loves a superhero movie and not afraid to admit it.

tv show: don’t think she’s much of a tv person. more likely listens to podcasts or watches twitch streams/youtube shows. I feel like she’d be a big Buzzfeed Unsolved fan. occasionally enjoys a cooking competition show like Chopped or Iron Chef, something you can enjoy without having to commit to it. Watches them with Nick because his commentary is the best part.

pastime: music (plays guitar and piano/keyboard, and knows her way around a sampler/MIDI controller), video games (especially fps, co-op or team-based online games preferred)

food: anything Nick cooks, but especially cinnamon pumpkin cookies

drink: cherry coke, sweet iced tea, iced white mocha

book: she’s not a really big reader (not that she doesn’t enjoy it, she just has other ways she’d rather spend her time), but she’ll read just about anything on the occasion she has time to. adventure, romance, mystery, poetry, whatever. really enjoys sci-fi especially, and comic books!

HAVE THEY

passed university: she didn’t go to college per se, since Aeon isn’t technically a college so much as a very particular and multi-year job training course, but she took a few courses at the local community college. Computer programming, music theory, whatever struck her fancy. Probably found something weird that she’ll never need in real life just for the hell of it.

had sex: no

had sex in public: no

gotten pregnant: no

kissed a boy: yes

kissed a girl: yes

gotten tattoos: no, but she wants one. eventually. once she settles on a design

had a broken heart: sure, in lots of different ways. the situation with her mom could certainly be considered heart-breaking...

been in love: she would deny it if you asked her, but yes. Very yes.

stayed up for longer than 24 hours: sure, yeah, why not? sleep is overrated anyway

ARE THEY

a virgin: yes. look, when you live with your brother who is a mind-reader and you have literally no way to stop loudly projecting your thoughts, sex is a tricky and awkward situation. better to just avoid it until someone comes along that’s worth it.

a cuddler: yes, very much so. Maybe a little touch-starved, despite Nick and Sally’s efforts. Someone please give her a hug.

a kisser: sometimes

scared easily: startles easily, but doesn’t actually frighten easily

jealous easily: not really. envy, on the other hand...

trustworthy: yes, but she’ll be the first to tell you not to tell her any secrets. She can’t promise what people can hear from her thoughts

dominant: not really. Can be assertive, but prefers to kind of go with the flow

submissive: not really submissive either, though maybe leans more toward it than toward dominant

in love: with her brother’s best friend. Has been for years now, expects she will be for the foreseeable future. She accepts that she will spend her life pining from afar. It’s not like Gray could ever feel the same, right?

single: yep

RANDOM QUESTIONS

have they harmed themselves: nope

thought of suicide: I don’t think so

attempted suicide: no

Wanted to kill someone: no

rode a horse: nope

have / had a job: her situation makes it a little difficult to work normal jobs. I would imagine she makes money through patreon with her music, and she will eventually have a job at Unity as a MIV, once she finishes at Aeon

have any fears: loss of control (again), not being good enough, abandonment, rejection (specifically being rejected for things she can’t change; she’s fine if people don’t like her for her personality, some people just have bad taste)

FAMILY

sibling(s): older brother Nick, relationship status: besties against all odds

Parents: John and Hope Wiseman, relationship status: fucking complicated

children: none, she is baby

pets: none

---

Aurienne the Sparrow

GENERAL

name: Aurienne the Sparrow. She had a last name once, but she doesn’t remember it.

alias(es): Ari, Little Bird, The Sparrow Queen

gender: nonbinary female/demigirl

age: 23

place of birth: Andoran, she assumes. It’s the first place she remembers living, at the very least.

spoken languages: Common, Elvish, a little Celestial thanks to her sister

sexual orientation: bisexual

occupation: Queen of the Stolen Lands, somehow

APPEARANCE

eye colour: light gray

hair colour: black

height: 5′10”

scars: a thin but deep and ragged scar across her throat that she normally keeps covered by a scarf or choker or high collar; arrow puncture in her left shoulder; long line on her inner right thigh from a greatsword that almost cut her leg off entirely; a few other minor ones

burns: a few on her fingertips from accidents with her flaming crossbow

overweight: No

underweight: No

FAVOURITE

colour: gold

music genre: punk and all its subgenres :)

movie genre: she loves a musical, all musicals

tv show: dramas and monster of the week shows. wants a tv show that’ll make her cry

pastime: music (when she’s feeling confident enough to give it a try again, which is… a work in progress), reading, silly but harmless pranks. Loves to meditate a surprising amount, just sit in silent contemplation.

food: samosas, lemon macarons

drink: matcha latte with white chocolate syrup

book: has a deep and unending love of poetry

HAVE THEY

passed university: nope, didn’t go to school

had sex: yes

had sex in public: …...perhaps

gotten pregnant: nope

kissed a boy: yes

kissed a girl: yes

gotten tattoos: yes, seven sparrows down her spine. recently, the one on the back of her neck got a tiny little crown over its head :)

had a broken heart: yes

been in love: yes

stayed up for longer than 24 hours: yes, but rarely

ARE THEY

a virgin: nope

a cuddler: sort of? I think she wants to be, but is scared to let herself be vulnerable like that. Will happily cuddle with anyone who initiates, though

a kisser: not really, unless she’s in a mood

scared easily: yes, but hides it well

jealous easily: nope

trustworthy: very

dominant: not really. Prefers to let others take the reins (probably not the best trait for a queen, but as she is quick to tell people, being in charge was never her idea)

submissive: most of the time. Probably a big part of why she and Tristian took so long to get together...

in love: yes, with a literal angel

single: she’s not sure??? like, they haven’t really made anything official yet, but no one would ever look at the two of them together and not think they’re a couple. they should probably have a talk about that soon

RANDOM QUESTIONS

have they harmed themselves: no

thought of suicide: yes

attempted suicide: no

Wanted to kill someone: yes

rode a horse: yes

have / had a job: former mercenary/adventurer, former baroness, currently queen of the Stolen Lands? She’s still not entirely sure how that happened

have any fears: helplessness, losing those she loves, being silenced (again)

FAMILY

sibling(s): twin sister, Auriel the Dove

parents: both deceased (I should probably name them at some point…)

children: none. Maybe someday...

pets: an owlcat named Headchomper, a red panda named Ember, an orange tabby cat named Tiger, a giant black wolf named Baron who is technically her sister’s animal companion and also technically her nephew

#lexi wiseman #aurienne the sparrow #anytime I make lexi in a picrew I put a jacket or overshirt or hoodie on her that she definitely stole #and ari is just black tank top + scarf every time #almost gave lexi a cat but I'm not entirely sure if she and nick are cat people. but like? it's in my head now. it has a name and everything #we'll see

[star-captain]

Chapter 6- The Desert

Previous Chapter

Ecto has joined the game! 

------

Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland​

Ecto belongs to @ectochoir​

Plains give way to sandy soil, and hills turn into sand dunes as Avon and Red continue into the day. Red can feel the heat, the sun beating down onto him, and the sand reflecting the warmth back up. He can’t escape the dryness, the sun. He feels like he’s being cooked alive. No matter how much he drinks, he can’t get rid of the sensation of always being parched. Red looks down at his scales. They’ve gotten itchy, dry to the touch and frail in the heat. He’s not always good at keeping pace with Avon, especially since she has a lot more leg than him, but he’s falling back even more now that they’re in the desert. 

Avon has noticed Red’s struggles. She’s already slowed down to compensate for Red’s pace, and cut down on her own water intake to make sure he gets enough. She can feel the strain such a decision is taking on her, but she won’t voice her weakness. And she’s definitely not going to let it show. Avon notes the red appearing on her traveling partner’s face, the dull luster of his scales. She needs to do more. 

Sudden shade over Red surprises her. At first, she thinks she’s hallucinating it. People do that in the desert, right? But she can immediately feel the temperature change, the relief in being out of direct sunlight. Red looks up to see what’s protecting her from the sun. It’s one of Avon’s wings, the black membrane stretched to shelter Red. Her wing stretches out completely, guarding the kipling from the sun. Her membrane filters the sunlight, shining through the thin film and exposing the veins beneath the surface. 

A massive grin spreads across Red’s face. Beginning with a cheeky smile, her eyes are practically glittering as she turns to see Avon. But Avon acts like nothing is happening, like she isn’t holding her wing out to protect Red from the light. She just keeps walking, the other wing slightly unfolded to balance the open one. But Red keeps smiling. Avon cares enough to keep Red covered from the sun. There’s more to Avon, Red knows it. He’s determined to befriend her on this journey, no matter what. 

The desert stretches out in every direction around them. Even when Avon turns back, it’s just more sand. The pair stops in the shade of a dune, just long enough for the both of them to get a drink and for Avon to scope out the land from high above. In the sky, Avon only sees more desert. Dunes rolling like waves across a sea of sand. She looks around for water of any kind. A spring, a well, anything. They’re running out of water, Avon can feel the world starting to get dazed. She tripped taking off. All there is in this wasteland is sand and cactus. They definitely can’t drink the sand, and Avon doesn’t know what kind of reaction they could get by drinking cactus juice. It may quench them, but at what cost? 

In the air, Avon can think clearly. It’s as close to a void as she can get, as close to home. She wishes it were night, or a storm to be even better, but she’ll take what she can get. They’re running out of water, and food is becoming scarce. This isn’t the first time Avon has dealt with going hungry, or even the idea of starving. But it’s not fair to put Red through what Avon knows to be painful, not when she volunteered to be here. Volunteered to help. Avon will cut her food, and more of her water so Red isn’t suffering. Red hasn’t noticed so far, hopefully it’ll stay that way. 

Avon does a backflip to return to the ground, but halfway through her rotation she notices something in the distance. It’s massive, and there’s more. Cacti taller than hills, scraping the sky. “There’s no way that’s natural.”  Avon mutters to herself. It’s not much- it’s not a building or even a tree- but it’s more than she can see in any other direction. 

Red is relieved when Avon returns, but also wishing she had stayed on patrol a little longer. Avon being back means they’re going to be walking again. But Red notices that her travel partner has a different look in her eyes. Whereas the past few weeks, her gaze is always in search of something, now it is locked on a point. Fixed to the north. “What did you see?” 

“I’m not sure. But we should keep going.” Avon stretches her wing out, and Red scrambles under the shade, grateful to have it. 

“Thank you. For this.” Red pokes at Avon’s wing, which causes it to flinch backwards. He’s not sure if it’s ticklish, or if Avon is still adverse to any interaction. Red waits for Avon to respond, but she stays silent. They begin to walk. Avon is set on a certain path, like an arrow shot towards it’s target. Did she see her home? That stronghold thing she spoke of? 

 Soon enough, Red can see what Avon is after. In the distance, towering green pillars scratch at the sky. They look like the masts of shipwrecks, pointing towards space. But as they near one, Red realizes that they’re cacti. They had seen one when they first entered the desert, and Avon only explained not to touch them. But Red only saw cacti grow a few meters up. Is this like those deep forests that the two wandered through? Where trees grew taller? The pillars grow more frequent, on top of every crest and plain. All towering up, seemingly for no reason. 

Avon stops suddenly, stretching her arm out to halt Red. At the base of a cactus in front of them is a brown leather bag. It’s the first sign of another person Avon’s seen this entire journey. She bends down to pick it up. Maybe there’s food in it. 

From above, Ecto sees the intruders. Finally, after what feels like weeks of being watched, they showed themselves. She hardly gives another thought before jumping from the pinnacle of her cactus, giving a war cry as she plummets towards the ground. The two look up, the smaller one squinting before her face twists into shock. Their partner has a much faster reaction time. Ecto sees black wings spread out behind the intruder, flapping once, twice before taking off into the air. She collides with Ecto, grabbing her midfall. They tumble through the sky, before the winged girl steadies herself and soars towards the ground. 

Ecto thrashes in her grip, refusing to be stolen away like this. Ecto’s strong, but the intruder has enough strength to keep Ecto trapped. At least until they reach the ground. Ecto kicks sand up into her captor’s face, causing her to let go so she can rub away the grains of rock. Ecto makes a small retreat, patting her black pants to see if she’s got anything to defend herself. She doesn’t have a weapon, but she does have torch. She pulls it out, lighting it and waving it at the monster before her. “Get out of my desert, now!” 

“Your desert?” The blonde haired girl hisses, wiping away the sand. She pulls out a three pronged weapon, giving it a spin. They both take a defensive stance. Ecto makes the first move, moving across the sand with such speed that it catches her opponent off guard. She just barely misses catching her cloak on fire. In response, the intruder whips her weapon around. It whiffs over Ecto’s head, brushing her black hair back. 

“Stop, stop! We don’t mean to intrude, we’re lost!” The other one, much shorter, jumps between the two. While the first one’s wings were strange, this one is even stranger. They have weird shaped ears, cresting like dune peaks, and a massive appendage on their back. 

“You two have been here long enough. Go back and stop creeping on me.” Ecto hisses. 

“Creeping on you? We’ve been wandering this desert all day, lost.” The warrior steps forward, placing her weapon in front of her partner. Purple eyes glare at Ecto. 

Ecto has to admit, it would be hard to miss these two if they were spying on her. Neither exactly fit into the landscape of the desert. They don’t look good either- both look in desperate need of water. Are these not the people who have been spying on Ecto? She scrunches up her nose, frustrated to still have no answers. The winged one speaks up. “We’re looking for somewhere to get water, maybe some food. We’re just passing through.” 

“Maybe you can help us!” The shorter one bounces in their boots. Their hair reminds Ecto of her own clothes, black and orange. “There’s no need for us to be prickley with each other. I’m Red, a kipling, and this is Avon. She’s...uh...” Red realizes she never got what Avon was. Is she a bad friend for not knowing that? “Well, we’re looking for Avon’s End portal, so she can go home.” 

Ecto looks at the two. “You’re looking for a portal? You’re in luck, I found one a few days back. Or was it a few weeks?” Red squeals and jumps, tugging Avon along after Ecto. “I’m Ecto, the human.” 

She looks at the two strangers. Not only are these two an odd pair physically, but they act like complete opposites emotionally as well. Red is bubbly, friendly and chittering like a songbird. Definitely not someone who would be spying on Ecto- she doesn’t think Red could keep quiet that long. Avon, on the other hand, has hardly spoken at all. Her face is shadowed by secrecy, not a single muscle giving away what she’s thinking or feeling. 

The three clamber up a few dunes, and Red joyously starts to converse with Ecto. He asks about Ecto’s life in the desert, where she lives, how she stays cool. Red even admires her scarves, wrapped around her as protection if a sandstorm appears or the sun gets too much to bear. But it’s Avon that asks the question Ecto was waiting for. 

“What’s with the pillars of cacti?” Her voice doesn’t convey much, though at the end of her sentence Ecto notes a hint of curiosity in the inflection. 

“I like cacti.” Ecto shrugs, then continues on. They climb up another dune, to which Ecto stops at the peak. She shades her eyes as she looks across the desert. Ecto bites her lip as shes sees an anvil-shaped cloud in the distance. The last thing she needs right now is a desert storm. Endless lightning, and a downpouring of rain- storms like this don’t happen often, but when they do it can be devastating. They’ll completely change the landscape, sweeping away months of Ecto’s hard work by tumbling her towers. She needs time to prepare her own home for it. For the potential to flood, of a cave in. 

She needs to show them this portal the two are after. The only problem is...Ecto forgot where it was. She can’t see it anywhere in her field of view, and she doesn’t have any cacti left to build a tower to aid her search. To add insult to injury, the storm looks to be gaining on them. Fast. She slides down the dune without ever losing her footing, turning back to check on the two following her. Avon simply flutters down rather than dealing with the sand, but Red stumbles and eventually skids down on his butt to the bottom of the dune. As soon as the two are standing again, Avon opens her wing to cover Red. Neither of them look very good. 

“Here, have some water.” Avon is surprised to see Ecto pull out a canteen of water, opening the cap. At first, she’s not sure if she should trust it. It could be a trap, Ecto did attack her on sight. But hearing the liquid slosh around inside, she can already feel it in her parched, dry mouth. 

“Let Red drink first. He needs it.” Ecto hands the drink off to Red, who bounces with excitement to receive the water. Avon waits patiently as he drinks, then gulps some down as well. She makes sure some is left for the other two. Thunder rolls across the desert, echoing off the sand. Angry, tall grey clouds loom above them. Threatening to let loose all of its power, pour down rain and strike out lightning. If it really is an End portal, then they can be safe underground as the storm rolls in. There won’t be Ender Eyes though, and this is definitely not the biome that she has made her home in. 

The three travelers continue through the desert, the storm only growing stronger and closer. Wind begins to pick up the sand, blowing it around and forming small dust devils that prance among the dunes. Ecto pulls up her mask, covering her face from the dust. Avon turns her wing to face the wind and block the stinging sand from hitting Red while pulling her cloak closer. Red stumbles every so often from the wind pushing him around. 

It’s not until lightning strikes the pinnacle of a nearby monolith that Ecto stops, and Avon shouts over the thunder and wind. “Where is the portal? Are you just leading us around to nothing?” 

Ecto sighs, more displeased than annoyed. “I forgot where it is.” 

#wandering stars #ecto #avon #red #mcsona #minesona #minecraft #persona #sona #not my sona #writing #mineblr #writeblr #minecraft desert

[alphawave-writes]

Sigrold week 2019 Prompt 4) Halloween

Synopsis: Junkentstein!AU. The King has called for heroes to his aid to defeat the wicked Witch of the Wilds once more. But these heroes shared a history before. Especially the Warlock and the Werewolf

Read it here or check it out on AO3. Support me by buying me a ko-fi. Commission slots are still open!

-

On a dark and stormy night, the King made his yearly summons for heroes to come to his castle’s aid. When once many would rally to his aid out of honour or fame or wealth, now they feared the King’s call. Dr. Junkenstein had been slain once before, but they could never get the Witch of the Wilds, and for the price of his soul he became her servant, rising from the dead alongside her other servants. It became somewhat common knowledge that the witch only appeared on All Hallow’s Eve. For what reason, it was uncertain, but it ultimately did not matter. What mattered is that every time she survived the battle and retreated, and every year there would be a tentative peace over the lands, and then every All Hallow’s Eve since, the Witch would summon Dr. Junkenstein and her allies to attack the castle once more.

The Warlock had come to the King’s aid. For what reason, no one knew. Privately, he was not sure what his purpose here was himself. The Void whispered its mad curses into his ears, but he had learned to ignore them. All that mattered was that he fought and slain the witch for good. That was all that mattered.

“So you are ready, old friend?” The King called. He had gave the Warlock his old room for board. It had not changed over the years, hundreds and hundreds of magic scrolls all collecting dust on a shelf right next to his overused desk and underused bed. It was comforting, and just a little bit sad. If he failed today, he might not be able to see it again.

“I am ready,” he replied, his voice softer and meeker, a far cry from the arrogant brilliance of his youth.

“You will not be alone in this battle,” The King said. “Heroes have once again answered the call.”

“Do I know these heroes?”

The King frowned.

The Warlock’s lips thinned to a line. “How many, and who do I know?”

“Three others, and all of them.” Before he could ask, the King added, “All you need to know is that they have called themselves the Beast, the Werewolf, and the Abomination.”

“Not comforting names,” The Warlock murmured.

“Perhaps not, but you are needed downstairs. Talk to your fellow comrades.” The King grasped his shoulder tightly. “Whatever you do, don’t let your past define the present, Siebren. The Kingdom needs you. We need you.”

The Warlock shook the King’s hand off his shoulder. “I shall be fine,” he grumbled. He turned on his heel and descended the staircase to the banquet hall.

At the opposite end was a small crowd, the remaining castle servants staring curiously at the King’s newest heroes. From this angle he could not see them, so he glided over, using his magic to part the crowd and let him through. He was relieved to not hear more from his patron than a dark whisper.

At the centre of the crowd was a large gorilla in the typical robes of a mage, as well as an oversized hamster sitting on an enchanted Gourd. The Warlock recognized the Beast and the Abomination, but they had changed a lot since he last met them. They were subjects in magical experiments at first, designed to fight against the Zomnics, but instead were given the gift of incredible intelligence and strength. He got closer and they both turned to greet him, the Beast giving a friendly wave while the Abomination, still on top his strange gourd-like vehicle, gave a little squeak.

“The Abomination says greetings,” the Gourd spoke.

The Warlock blinked rapidly. The Beast smiled nervously. “The King told me you were alive but I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high. It is good to see you, sir.”

“It has been too long,” The Warlock gasped. “But…if you are both here, then who’s the Werewolf?”

The Beast’s smile faltered. “You don’t know? You haven’t seen him?”

“Seen who?”

The Warlock suddenly felt two fingers tap on his shoulder. He turned around, eyes widening when he saw who it was. Their hair was wild, growing in patches over their face and their forearms, though it did little to hide the scratches and claw marks that marked their skin. The classical symptoms of lycanthropy was already affecting them, transforming them into a form that was half monster and half man. They expected a full moon tonight. It wouldn’t be long before the monster fully emerged.

The Warlock couldn’t help the tears that beaded his eyes. Arms wrapped around his body, holding him impossibly tight.

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” the Werewolf whispered.

“H-Harold,” The Warlock’s throat quivered.

The Werewolf let go from the hug, smiling tightly. His eyes roamed over the Warlock’s body. “When I heard that you were alive and that you got yourself a patron for your magic, I thought it couldn’t be true. Siebren de Kuiper, making a deal with a spirit? I thought it was impossible. But…you have the brand.”

The Warlock quickly put his hands behind his back, hiding the brand from the Werewolf’s sight. “They told me you died on an expedition.”

“That’s what I get for dabbling in Necromancy,” he sighed.

“Necromancy? You tried to dabble in Necromancy?! Why would you delve your hands into the dark arts?”

The Werewolf frowned for a long time. Quieter, he admitted, “I thought you were dead. Everybody did, after the ritual you performed. All we found were your books and the signature of the spirit realm. Why wouldn’t I try to revive you?”

He turned his head away, frowning deeply. The servants have mostly dissipated, leaving only the Beast and the Abomination standing. He had to change the subject. “I suppose it was you who found them, then.”

“They found me,” The Werewolf replied. “Hammond was roaming the outskirts of towns, driving away the zomnics and the bandits. Winston however was studying the arcane arts just like us.” He suddenly smiled. “He’s a skilled astrapomancer now. Would be qualified as an electricity Elementalist by the Guild if they weren’t so against other magical entities joining their ranks.”

The Beast blushed, shyly revealing their weapon. “I’ve…developed ways to hone my electrical powers. Not that I’m as good as Master Winston.”

“It’s Harold. Or the Werewolf. I’m not Master Winston anymore.”

The Warlock frowned. The Beast and the Abomination were both enchanted creatures, magic permeating their bodies even till this day. The Werewolf raised them like his children, hoping they would never have to unleash their true power and fight. Evidently, he failed, and as punishment he must fight alongside them.

“Harold, could we talk privately?” The Warlock asked.

The Werewolf gave a look to the Beast and the Abomination. He nodded, gesturing to a small corner of the Banquet Hall. Soon as the Warlock was out of earshot from everyone else, he pinned the Werewolf to the wall with his magic. The void whispered in his ears, eagerly awaiting a sacrifice, but he gritted his teeth and kept the flow of magic steady. He had been starving them, and they had been forced to feed on his soul for nourishment. They would want a blood offering and they will get it, but that blood won’t come from the Werewolf.

“Harold,” The Warlock said slowly, “why did you come here?”

“I have a duty to my King, just as you do,” The Werewolf replied.

“Do not lie to me, Harold.” He could feel the Void growing in his veins, begging for release, but he gritted his teeth and forced it down. Not yet. Not until the battle. “I do not have any ordinary patron. I have harnessed the Void. I can hear for all the spirits, and if you are a necromancer and a lycanthrope now, then I would’ve felt your presence as soon as you entered this town.”

“Not unless I masked my trace.”

The Warlock frowned. “You were a Scholar, a Druid with a mastery over animal magic. Not a necromancer, not a werewolf, and certainly not a warrior.”

“You were a Scholar too,” he countered. “You were so talented, Siebren, but you let that power get to your head.”

“But I have achieved it, Harold. I have achieved my life’s work” the Warlock retorted. “I have discovered gravity magic, and I have mastered it. Why else are you floating above the ground? You know very well it’s not the signature of air magic.”

“Gravity magic cannot be controlled without great cost, and that’s not even beginning to consider your pact with your patron.”

“I have harnessed it.”

“What did it cost, Siebren?” The Werewolf asked.

The Warlock stared at the Werewolf for a few seconds. The Void began to speak to him again, begging for violence. He tried to stop their whispers but it was too late. Harold was, and still is, an adept at sensing magic. With a sigh, the Warlock gently put the Werewolf back down on the ground.

He was staring at him with soft, pitiful eyes. “You gave up your soul?”

“They said I would get it back if I defeated the Witch for good. They say her magic defies the natural order of the living and spirit realms.”

“And you believe them?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I can try at the very least.”

The Werewolf is silent for many moments. When he spoke once more, his voice was quiet and strained. “Tonight will be a full moon. I will change soon.”

“What strain of lycanthropy is it?”

“The curse variant. The Lunar tribe killed everyone in my expedition except me. Fortunately, it is only a physical change; it does not affect my mental state or my magic, but I still feel the bloodlust. I might as well put that bloodlust to some use.” The Werewolf ducked his head. “I don’t want to live life like this, hiding in the shadows, running away from people when the full moon tolls. If I do this, maybe I’ll be accepted by everyone. Perhaps Hammond and Winston will also be accepted.”

The Warlock’s lips dipped. “If only I knew you were alive.”

The Werewolf stared at the Warlock for several seconds. Then he extended his hand, pointing out his ring finger. Golden magic trails from his fingertips as he did an intricate series of gestures. It was the magic rite that they first performed when they got married all those years ago. To perform it now was a silent admission of undying love. A silent admission that Harold still loved him true, and that he accepted him for what he had become.

The tears beaded in the Warlock’s eyes as he did the second half of the ritual, his purple magic crossing and merging with the Werewolf’s magic to create a unique sigil. A flame flickered on their ring fingers, signifying that they had performed the ritual correctly and that their love remained true. He stared at the Werewolf, hoping his message was clear. That he reciprocated in kind, accepting Harold and loving him regardless.

“Siebren,” the Werewolf whispered as he caressed his face.

“It’s Sigma now. Or Warlock,” he frowned.

The Werewolf opened his mouth but before he could say anything, the bells tolled from the clocktower. Horns erupted throughout the castle as the King rushed to the banquet hall.

“Heroes, the time has come for you to come to Aldersbrunn’s aid. Tonight is the night that you shall fight Dr. Junkenstein and the Witch of the Wilds.”

The Beast and the Abomination have approached the pair, faces resolute and serious. The Warlock felt a hand wrap around his, squeezing tightly as the skin quickly gave way for rapidly growing fur, nails giving way for dark claws. Amongst these oddities, the Warlock felt a small sense of calm. He was with loved ones who would protect him, and who he would protect in turn.

“As the Lord of Aldersbrunn, I represent the people in thanking you for your service. You shall be finely rewarded if you return alive and the castle safe. Double so if you defeat the wicked Witch of the Wilds for good.”

The Warlock squeezed the Werewolf’s hand in return, feeling the magic build up in his system. The Void was gleeful, erratic. As the first lightning bolt struck, he could see the first wave of Zomnics leave from the battlements, currently being fended off by the castle guards. By his side, his comrades had summoned their weapons. With a flick of his wrist, the hyperspheres were brought into creation. One by one they knelt down as the King used his magic. The air around their bodies shifted. They were now marked as the castle's defenders, together until their job was done or until death did them part.

“Godspeed, and god’s guidance on your path. On this All Hallow’s Eve, I mark thee Heroes of Aldersbrunn." With a shuddery breath, the King added, "May the Gods light your path this cursed night."

And thus the four Heroes, bounded by destiny, banded together to defend the castle. For tonight, the minions rose from the dead, ready to wreak havoc on the land. For tonight was the night of Junkenstein's revenge.

#Overwatch #Sigma #Siebren de Kuiper #Harold Winston #Sigrold #Sigroldweek #Sigroldweek2019 #Once again I write way too much for a very specific AU #Three tanks and a healer can only work in Junkenstein let's be real #Yes I am once again implying that Warlock!Sigma and Werewolf!Harold are married in this verse

[clairekatswritingcorner]

A Comfortable Lap

Word Count: 1,710

Summary: When it seems that everyone else on the ship has other duties to attend to, you find yourself to be the only remaining candidate for Kova to find any kind of solace in.

*Author’s Note*: Heavy summary for a not so heavy fic, or at least in my opinion. This is my first x reader fic, so please go easy on me! I want to branch out and try writing in this style a bit more, and for some reason Lotor and his cat have been on my mind recently, so…this is what came out. Sorry if there are any inaccuracies or inconsistencies with canon, I wasn’t that concerned about those details, like the fact that I put a small lab for Lotor’s research on the ship (like Lotor’s main ship that fits all his little cruisers) in this fic just for convenience’s sake. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

He’d been spending a lot of time on his own lately, which couldn’t be helped. Nose stuck in a book or fingers hastily typing out some kind of formula or concept you were sure you wouldn’t understand even if he tried to explain it in the simplest of terms, it was almost like he was in a trance. When Lotor set his mind to something, especially anything involving his research, it was pretty much impossible to get him to step away for any meaningful length of time. It made you a little lonely, and sometimes you wished you could present him with the knowledge he was seeking so desperately, just like that. It would surely be a weight off his mind, a triumph he was more than worthy enough to claim.

But instead, you left him to his devices; to his thinking, his ruminating, his experimenting. At times like this, even Kova felt like he was being shunned from his owner’s side. He’d prowl the ship like a starving beast, although the thing he happened to be starving of was attention, and he was keen to find a free lap or shoulder to rest on. On most other occasions he would have taken comfort in the person who played the role of his secondary master, Narti, but she was currently out on a mission with the other generals. With all of the regular residents of the ship’s hollow hull absent, the only real options for companionship in this trying time of solitude were the two of you.

You were lounging in your quarters, going over one of the battle strategies Lotor had previously outlined for you. Studying them yourself didn’t serve a very practical purpose, but you couldn’t help finding his notes and tactics fascinating. So intricate and detailed, yet easy to understand; if his life had turned out differently, perhaps he would have pursued a successful career as a professor or scientist. You weren’t usually keen on fighting, and he was far from comfortable with the idea of allowing you to risk your life in the midst of the various skirmishes he participated in. Putting you in harm’s way was the last thing he wanted, a nightmare that periodically haunted his sleep.

But keeping you by his side during such hectic ordeals was another matter entirely—it was invigorating, and comforting, and inspiring to be in your presence. You were the fuel that kept him focused, the encouragement he needed to push through the chaotic and constantly shifting tides of battle. Sometimes a simple look was all it took to fill him with the reassurance he needed, while other situations called for the gentle interlocking of fingers or the soft sensation of lips pressing against a cheek. Of course, any instance of affection you gave him he made sure to return to you tenfold, even if it had to wait until you were both able to retire to your rooms. It wasn’t exactly a secret that you usually spent your time in his chambers, or that he made a habit of inviting you to do so. But it also wasn’t the generals’ job to gossip about the current status of the prince’s relationship with you, even if they couldn’t help snickering amongst themselves every now and again.

“What’s wrong Kova, are you looking for someone to play with?” The aloof feline was observing you from the doorway; you caught sight of his movement just before he could retreat.

Rising from your seat, you put the document you’d been examining away and crouched down. Kova was still eying you a tad warily, unsure if it was wise or safe to look away from you for even a moment. You’d managed to pet him a few times, but only when he was at Lotor’s side. Right now, the only side that was really available for him to occupy was yours. What was it going to take to earn this distrusting kitty’s approval?

You tried cooing, sweet talking, gesturing as if you had a toy or treat to give him. No matter what you tried, it seemed that Kova just wasn’t interested in budging. With a dejected sigh you plopped to the ground, crossing your legs and shifting your thoughts in a more contemplative direction. What sorts of things had you not tried yet, and were there any treats on board you could use to appease the beast? You couldn’t remember if Lotor kept any, or if Kova even liked them…and you couldn’t help thinking it was a little sad that this was the height of the kind of conflict you’d be facing today. Slow days were nice, but they were nicer when you got to spend them in the grip of a certain purple prince’s arms…

“(Y/n)?”

His voice startled you, snapping you out of the daydream you’d unintentionally drifted into. That was a little disappointing, since it had been such a pleasant one, but you supposed you could let it slide when it had been replaced by the real thing. Hair pulled back in a rare ponytail and magnifying lenses resting on the crown of his head, you wondered how he could look so distinguished yet so disheveled at the same time. You were about to hop to your feet when you realized there was an unfamiliar weight on your lap. Feeling as if your focus was being whiplashed left and right, you glanced down to find that the object of your previous coaxing had apparently succumbed while you were distracted.

“Well, if this isn’t a rare sight.” Lotor leaned against doorway, a pleased smile gracing his lips. “I never thought I’d see the day Kova would willingly curl up in someone else’s lap.”

“What are you talking about? He hangs around you and Narti all the time. And he never seems bothered when the other generals pet him or feed him.”

“There are a few details about those particular situations you should take into consideration,” he continued as he approached. “One, he’s a cat, it’s not like him to reject any offering of food no matter which hand it’s coming from. Two, the generals have been around much longer than you have, so he’s had plenty of time to get used to them, or at least learn how to tolerate them. And three, although he allows them to pet him and elects to spend a majority of his time around Narti, it’s still rare for him to be the one to make the first move when it comes to affectionate actions like this. So basically what I’m saying is that it seems he’s genuinely warmed up to you, and gaining his approval is no small feat.”

“It’s not like I did anything to impress him intentionally,” you mumbled, discreetly wringing your hands in response to this unanticipated flattery. “I just figured he was lonely, and being lonely together is usually better than being lonely alone.”

“I’m sorry for being so distant lately,” the prince changed the subject abruptly, taking a seat beside you in a position that seemed less than appropriate for someone of his status. “I get so absorbed in my work sometimes, I don’t realize just how neglectful I end up being to everything—and everyone—else.”

“What, no, you don’t need to apologize!” You waved your hands in disagreement, tone turning remorseful. “I didn’t say that to make you feel bad or anything, I just—”

“I’ve been missing you, too, you know,” he uttered his confession with that alluring lilt you loved, his words melting into your ears like honey.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks and stuttered helplessly, trying to organize your thoughts in order to produce some semblance of a coherent response. His gaze was soft, and he drew you against him without warning, settling you in his lap and tucking you against his chest. You’d missed being held like this, being close to him like this, feeling his warmth and appreciating his scent; right now, the latter was overwhelmed by the strong aromas of the lab, but mixed with the natural smell of his skin, you supposed it wasn’t so bad. You were so tempted to close your eyes and just drift to sleep right here, some part of your mind taking note of the fact that Kova was still quite contently curled up against you. With one hand Lotor stroked your hair, while the other tended to the cat’s thin fur, and for just a moment you allowed yourself to indulge in this temporary paradise.

“My two favorite people in the world.” You perked up a bit at the prince’s heartfelt statement. “I promise once I’ve finished my current project, I’ll make up for all the time I’ve left you unattended.”

“I hope you know I don’t mind that you’re busy,” you spoke up, voice little more than a whisper. “Knowing you’re doing something you love, something that’s so important to you…I’m happy for you. I don’t want you to give that kind of stuff up, your personal projects or your official duties, for me. If I have to, I’ll wait for you forever.”

He buried his face in your hair now, taking a deep breath, arms tightening around you just slightly. “I don’t want to make you wait alone. I’d rather spend that forever with you.”

They were exaggerated words, but you knew he meant them. Tender sentiments and deeply rooted love; neither of you would ever let anything take you from the other’s side. If Kova was warming up to you, maybe that was a good sign. A sign that you were meant to stay here, that you were meant to love this man, and have him love you in return. Being the object of the prince’s affections seemed like a dream come true, but being able to shower him in your love was an equal half of that dream. Letting your eyes droop shut, you concentrated on the sound of his breathing, and the soft purr vibrating from the animal that was still nestled snugly in your lap. These were two of your favorite people in the whole universe, too, and you’d never stop being grateful you found them…or perhaps more accurately, that they’d found you.

#voltron legendary defender #voltron #lotor x reader #lotor/reader #prince lotor #lotor (vld) #lotor (voltron) #kova (vld) #kova (voltron) #voltron x reader #self insert #selfship #my writing #claire writes #one shot #IDK HOW TO TAG THIS SHIT LOL!!!!!

[kewltie]

Kasumi's Saturday is unusually quiet and void of Papa this week. It's an incredibly rare thing for her especially when she is used to spending her Saturday's night with Papa, cuddling up to him in front of their TV as they flip between nature shows for Kasumi and the evening news for Papa so he can get a glimpse of Daddy again.

Now though, Papa doesn't have to look for Daddy on their TV or in the news anymore because Daddy won't leave them alone. Ugh. He would visit their apartment two to three times a week, sometimes five times even, like he doesn't have an entire country to run and other people to harass. But, she grits her teeth, thinking how Papa looks much brighter and happier these days because Daddy's here and is part of their life now even if Kasumi had never given him any permission for it in the first place.

He even had the nerve to want to take Papa out on dates! Kasumi initially rejected the idea, because like she’s going to let Daddy spend any time with her Papa, but Papa had looked so hopeful that she reluctantly agreed to it, letting them go on dates under her careful watchful eyes.

Technically, tonight will be their fifth date so far but it's their first real date they'll have all to themselves because this time Kasumi won't be their third wheel.

Papa was hesitance at first about it but Kasumi had waved his worries off because she's old enough to be left alone without him for one night. And also, because Daddy, trying to curry favor with Kasumi had given her twenty thousand yen to order any fancy takeout dinner that she could ever want. Kasumi may be stubborn but she knows an opportunity when she sees it. She is definitely not going to use all of the money just for dinner because that's dumb and wasteful but maybe an upper limit a thousand yen for her favorite food and the rest she'll put in her piggy bank, the savings would eventually go toward Papa's Christmas present.

And Taro, one of Daddy's people, has the special privilege to be her babysitter for the night but she's not stupid to think he's the only one. Since Daddy had first forced his way into their peaceful life, there are always more than two people watching over Kasumi closely at any time like they're afraid she's going to be kidnapped or something if they’re not looking. Well, she isn't the boss of the lower grades at her school just for show and her pretty face!

But she humors the adults anyway and pretends she doesn't know of the group of people from the palace standing guard outside her apartment, while she slowly grinds Taro's professionalism down and quickly have him bribe her with food so he can finally watch his dumb dance competition show. Kasumi forgoes her animal shows for the night in lieu of the snacks and treats that Taro had bought for her from the convenient store down the block. She didn't even have to use Daddy's money for it so now she can save even more for Papa's gift later and Papa may be mad that's she spoiling her dinner with junk foods tonight but sometimes a little indulgence is okay, right? Kasumi deserves it after all for putting up with Daddy’s horrible attempt at trying to woo her and Papa.

So with a pile of snacks on the table in front of her and her TV tunes into the most mediocre dance competition there ever was, where the audience's votes had already narrowed the contestants down to the top 10 spots and Kasumi, who put more effort into watching the mating habits of frogs honestly, tries not to look too bored.

"Papa used to dance like that," Kasumi says idly, her hand rummaging around the bag of chips in her lap. The girl on her TV screen bends and twists to the beat of the music in a way that is eerily familiar to her, reminding her of Papa's past employment as the girl tries to wow the judge’s panel.

Taro makes a vague noise of acknowledgment next to her even as his eyes are glued on the screen the entire time.

"—but on a pole and for money," she finishes, and pops a chip into her mouth.

"What?!" Taro makes a choked up noise and his eyes finally break free from the TV to stares at her with abject horror. "Um, Kasumi-chan, I don't think that's something you should easily share with people like that." His eyes dart around the apartment like he's afraid someone else is listening in on them.

Kasumi abruptly casts her chip to the side and pushes up on the couch, feet planted on the seat cushion so it gives her height as she glares down at Taro with the full force of her rage. "And why is that?" she demands, hands on her hips and lips thinning out in one unhappy line. Taro should be careful of his next few words because she's about to demote him from the second favorite to her least favorite guard very soon.

Taro’s face goes red and he looks down at his hands like it's suddenly the most interesting in the world. "It's not a, well, a kind of job you want to brag to people," he carefully explains like she’s dumb and wouldn’t get it, "and-and if the media ever caught wind of his, uh, past employment then Midoriya-san will never survive the public execution since he's dating the emperor."

Her eyes narrow her eyes and the ugly feelings that always stirred in defense of her Papa claw its way into Kasumi's chest, digging its nails into her heart. "So what if Papa used danced on a pole for money. He’d worked very hard for it and never complains about it once," she yells, unable to contain her voice anymore. She hates how screechy her voice gets when she is so riled up like this but the thought of anyone dare to put down her Papa’s hard work inflames her like nothing else. "And he did it for me, he did it all for me so I can have a roof over my head, food on my table, and pretty dresses to wear! Papa did his very best to keep us from starving so why is that wrong?!”

Taro’s eyes go hauntingly wide as he scoots away from Kasumi like he’s afraid she’s going to snap off his head at any second and she probably would have too.

Unfortunately, this isn't Kasumi's first fight about this or will it be likely her last. She remembers the time when the other parents had found out what Papa did nightly while Kasumi slept on and how they had looked at her with pitiful eyes and warned their children about her. Kasumi hadn't cared about it one bit because they had meant nothing to her anyway but when Papa had learned how the other kids had avoided her and her one too many fights that landed her in the principal’s office was started because of him, he quitted his job.

Papa had gently held her hands as he apologized profusely to Kasumi for troubling her with his job and for making her life’s harder. He was embarrassed for her sake as though the pole dancing hadn’t allow him to put only four nights per week and still earned him enough money to spend more time with her was something to be ashamed of, which made Kasumi very angry because his current job made far less despite working six days a week but it was better than his old one because it was 'respectable', whatever that even means. She doesn’t care if people whisper behind her back, talking about how she’s such a daddy’s little girl and is so creepily obsessed with her Papa when she knows all the things he’d ever done was for her and how Kasumi has never, not even once, felt lacking in wealth or love. So she’ll fight for Papa even if Papa doesn’t even need it because Papa has always put Kasumi first so this time it’s Kasumi turn.

Kasumi always tries her best to be more like Papa, kind in heart and strong in willpower, but it’s time like this she realizes how much she's like Daddy after all. Because like him, she fiercely fights for what she believes in, not caring for the consequences around her and the way her temper flares up is all his as she rises up to every fight like it's a battle she can't afford lose. After all only cowards give up on the things they love and Kasumi is no coward.

Taro’s lower his head and clasps both hands together in a desperate plead.  “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Kasumi-chan! Forgive me, please, I was just being a dumbassss-as," he quickly tries to recover from that slip-up as she rolls her eyes, "uh, donkey. I shouldn’t have said that about Midoriya-san at all so could you please, pretty please, not stand on the couch because if you fall and break a pinkie or something under my watch, His Majesty is going to throw me in the compactor.”

Kasumi cocks her head thoughtfully, trying to decide if Taro’s hide is worth saving from Daddy’s wrath as the earlier anger slowly recedes. Taro does appear to be sincere and apologetic about it and Papa always said forgiveness takes strength and Kasumi got a whole lot of strength if nothing else. Plus, she does like him enough to let it go even if he can be quite dumb at times.

She plops back down onto her seat and plasters on a smile that she had perfected over the years. “So, who do you think it’s going to win?” Kasumi asks a touch too sweet, but Taro looks so relieved with the change of subject that he might as well be crying in joy.

See? Kasumi can be nice too. Maybe not in the way of Papa yet but, hey, she’s trying.

#bakudeku #fic teaser #fic: papa said to knock you out #series: kasumi vs the world #kasumi is the def of 'im trying to be a good girl here but y'all are making it v v v v hard'