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#Give me a horror story in a museum

mobsuma · 9 months

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"You know," Xisuma said, peering cautiously over Cub's shoulder at the museum's latest addition, "When you said you wanted to show me a new exhibit, I wasn't expecting…" He trailed off.

Evil Xisuma glowered at him from inside their enclosure.

"…This."

To say Evil X looked a little miffed about the situation would be an understatement. At least Cub had done a nice job decorating, Xisuma thought, between the blackstone and crimson wood, Evil X looked right at home - if they weren't sitting grumpily in their 2-by-1 lava pool, surrounded by the mangled remains of whatever Cub had put in there for enrichment.

"Surprise!" Cub grinned, doing jazz hands at the enclosure, "I know what you might be thinking-"

Xisuma doubted that somehow.

"- 'Cub, Evil Xisuma hasn't done anything this season! They aren't a historic artefact! They shouldn't be in a museum!' But!" Cub wagged a finger triumphantly, "They are important to the history of Hermitcraft as a whole. So really, if you think about it, they definitely belong in a museum."

"… Okay?"

"Glad we're on the same page."

Xisuma wasn't sure if anyone was ever on the same page as Cub. Except maybe Scar.

"Now! As you can see, I've been decorating their enclosure, trying to add some interactive elements for guests and such." Cub pointed towards a line of redstone lamps at the top of Evil Xisuma's enclosure, "These show you how much electricity they're generating when they do their lightning hands thing. I'll be honest with you, it's broken a few times already so it's still a work in progress-"

"… Is that what all the lightning rods are for?" Xisuma frowned, eyeing the entirely lightning rod-ed ceiling.

"It is indeed!" Cub said, ignoring the twinge of concern in Xisuma's voice, "Well, a little. Mostly it's a safety thing, it wouldn't be good to have guests being electrocuted, now would it?"

"I suppose not… And it definitely works?"

"Oh yeah, it's been very thoroughly tested. Hey, Evil Xisuma," Cub walked up to the glass and tapped on it a few times, much to Xisuma's silent horror, "Wanna show X how the lightning rods work?"

In response, Evil Xisuma stuck their middle finger up at him and yelled something muffled to almost inaudibility that sounded a little like: "When I get out of here, I'm going to rip your head off and use it as a coffee mug, you stupid e-boy twink."

The pair on the other side of the glass blinked.

"… That's a no then." Cub turned back to Xisuma, "They do this a lot."

"They certainly do," Xisuma nodded faintly.

"You can probably tell the glass is uh... Mostly noise-cancelling, had to install that because Helsknight is in the next enclosure over and he's still hibernating. You know how Wels gets when you wake him up early, don't wanna find out how that guy is."

"… Of course," Xisuma sighed, pinching the nose bridge of his helmet, "Do I want to know how you got hold of those two?"

Cub laughed in the slightly unhinged way that gave Xisuma visions of Cub spending several weeks toying with the evil hermits as he hunted them for sport, "Nah man, it's not an interesting story."

Somehow, Xisuma doubted that.

"Anyway," Cub said, changing the topic before Xisuma could ask if he knew there was still someone's blood on his left sleeve, "What I really called you for is that I need an Evil Xisuma expert, and you're the man to ask about all things Evil Xisuma."

"Except for Evil Xisuma."

"Except for Evil Xisuma, yes." Cub nodded sagely, "So. Obviously I wanna make sure everything is nice for our new residents, give them plenty of enrichment and all that, but it hasn't been working out so far."

"I can see that."

"Soo… Any suggestions? What kind of thing does Evil X like? Food? Blocks? I dunno, fake derpcoin or something?"

Xisuma hummed, tilting his head in thought as he gazed at Evil Xisuma, who had clambered out of the lava pool to press their hands against the glass and give Xisuma the saddest, most pathetic puppy dog eyes their LED screen could muster (which, admittedly, were very sad and pathetic) in a silent plea to not leave them here with that madman, they'll be good for realsies this time they promise-

"Well," Xisuma said, turning to Cub, "They like to knit, so maybe they'd like some wool… Oh! And if you can find any old Wormman merch, they'll love that too."

Evil Xisuma's head hit the glass with a despairing thunk.

#hermitcraft #xisuma #cubfan135 #evil xisuma #my writing #dont ask me what possessed me to write this the answer is i have no idea #anyway the museum continues to contain both normal things and creatures

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boiledbirdy · 1 year

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BRAD FUCKIN WAYNEEE

headcannons i have abt this sweet himbo fratboy

This man is the largest in the family, like 6’6 and built like a non-green hulk. He can easily pick up and fireman carry Bruce and Jason

Is the guy in a frat party to sit with girls and hear about them bitch about periods and now carries a little pack with him everywhere that has a few tampons, pads, hand-warmers (for on the go heating pads), and Tylenol and Advil

Where does he keep this stuff and the random assortment of weird things he has, you ask? He wears a fanny-pack

read it and weep y’all he wears fanny-packs, usually the cool way over his shoulder, but mostly around his waist since he carries a backpack almost 25/8

He drives a beater truck (just an old car whose been through like three accidents and is still going strong) specifically a 1991 dodge D250 truck with a scratched up white paint job where there are dents, scratches, and a few patches of off white paint on dents that was sorta DIY-ed

his keys 🔑 have a weird ass mesh of keychains on it like: Ally flag keychain and a flag keychain for every single label a person has come out to him with, also a keychain from every museum, tourist spot he’s ever been, also a beer and bottle opener he’s a frat boy duhhh, he has a little bracelet that is made of sparkles and purple beads that steph gave to him but it was too small so he put it on his keys, a collage logo keychain, a keychain from his local gym and one with rugby on it etc

the keychains and keys are never ending

HE PLAYS RUGBY, argue with the wall.

getting a bachelors and masters in sports medicine

he makes sure to give Duke, Damian, Cass, Steph, and Tim copies of his keys first (the rest of the fam too they just get priority)

A) because they are the kids, and he wants them to know that he has an open bed any time

B) cause he’s the sibling to not get mad if they are intoxicated in any form and will cover for them

This next one is so important to me

He takes Tim to his first midnight showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, same with Damian

He pretty much eats at the Wayne mansion every night but sleeps at his apartment

Shows Damian some good rock’n roll ex Red Hot Chili Peppers, Sublime, Ramones, The Clash, Oingo Boingo, Ghost, Blonde, Foo-Fighters (i can make a playlist if wanted)

Just will sit and have a beer with Jason and sit in silence or talk about weird things that happened today

Steph and him have study sessions together

He will watch any ballet practice Cass wants him to see and he never misses a competition or performance

he sends Tim stupid skateboard tricks and fails videos (tiktok or insta reels) daily and then once a month they take Brad’s truck to a park and Brad sits on a ramp and cheers Tim on like its the Super Bowl

Watches Dick’s dog when he’s away from home and they both watch Barbie movies together

He gardens at Alfred’s request, yes he sucks but this man cannot not say no to the tidbits of Alfred’s life story he learns

Can kick back like 4 kegs of beer with no fucking consequences, he has a liver of steel thanks to Brucie Wayne

He’a the high guy in the bathtub at frat-parties and will give shitty or good life advice its 50/50 honestly

Does stupid white people fraternity things that would kill a normal person but he just is quirkily busting it down and Death just cannot vibe with him

makes (and i cannot stress this enough) the best and i mean best, (Alfred and Ma Kent can’t win in this one) brownies. Whether they are edibles or not they are the best.

has done the Tide-Pod challenge and survived

He is the Frat God of Gotham

Him and Duke are like the best duo

They blast Rock and Rap so that all five cars in every direction can hear it

Duke has the habit of putting weird ass bumper stickers on Brad’s desk and bed frame (at his apartment, they Do Not fuck with Alfred) Brad smiles fondly every time he finds a new one

Brad = Mark, ya know the tiktok sound

Him and Harper simp over women 🙏 together

In his fanny-pack, truck, and various rooms he has stim toys/do-hickeys bins or sections

bc he has Nerodivergent siblings and he was just trying

he asked kinda rude blunt questions, he didn’t know anything and he kinda (really) sucks at subtlety and reading a room but he was just trying to understand

He will take Damian to amusement parks and zoos pretty much bi-weekly

The girls can put on a horrible outfit and makeup and he will think he looks fabulous and no one will ever tell him that he’s sporting fashion and makeup crimes

has a small hidden bookcase of Wings of Fire, Warrior cats, Land of Stories, etc.. cause Damian is embarrassed to admit he actually likes reading them

Watches the trashiest brain rotting tv shows like Dance moms or keeping up with the Kardashians

Goes to any march or parade his siblings or friends are going to so: A) he can be that decked out ally tank of a man passing out water bottles and granola bars B) so if the police are back on their BS he can protecc atacc and throw that tear gas bacc

*Sniff 🤧* I have something I need all of you to know, I say this with a heavy heart *holding back tears 😥* Brad is a former highlighter kid— *single tear falls*

This fucking himbo stud-muffin has slept with, kissed, crushed on, and went on dates with men, but still doesn’t realize that he’s Bisexual

his favorite flavor ice cream is pistachio and carmel

KNOWS NOTHING and i mean nothing about zodiac signs

Has been caught in the middle of Gotham Rouge and does not understand what the fuck is happening

He either Teddy Bear fratboy golden retriever energies them to friendship or friendly acquaintance or annoys them to the high hells of mosquito bites on your butt

^I can expand if wanted

His phone you ask?

Screen cracked like rice crispys

apps more disorganized than the random shit drawer in someone’s house

he has a model 6S and will not upgrade or replace it to save his life.

he has an otterbox case and we all know it, no more denial

Okay thats my time yall see ya

#brad wayne #batfam #batfam hcs #batfamily #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #stephanie brown #cassandra wayne #cass cain #duke thomas #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #brucie wayne #brads contact for Bruce is infact Brooshy dad #He infact has paw patrol bandaids #If damian gets a scrape with brad paw patrol bandaids only

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oncomingnight · 9 months

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Yandere! Actress ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

I wanted to thank each and every one of you for 700 supporters, we've grown an immense amount. I hope you all enjoy this piece and never hesitate in requesting and talking to me in my ask box.

Vivienne was an incredibly well renowned french actress, the main genre of film she'd appear in was horror. It was to the point where she earned the nickname, "scream queen". If Vivienne Beaufort was seen in the cast of a movie, everyone knew it was going to be absolutely amazing.

Nothing could get in the way of Vivienne expressing her devotion towards you, in her point of view, you strictly deserved the very best. Do you enjoy painting? Well, then she'd renovate an entire room inside of her Mediterranean home that's reserved for you and your craft. She'll even rent out an entire restaurant for a date night. Vivienne will order for custom clothing pieces to be made for you with add-ons she knows you'll enjoy.

Her past relationships were nothing to be flaunted as she was never fully appreciated by her partners, this shows in the way she needs constant physical reassurance from you. She'll lay her head on your tummy, give you sloppy and gluttonous kisses, reaching for your hand to hold and following you everywhere around the house.

She never gets tired of yelling out, "honey, I'm home!" when she arrives back from work.

The greatest motivation in her life is you. Vivienne takes on dozens of acting jobs so she's able to make you feel secure, she doesn't want you to worry about the absolutely anything. Just let her take care of you, okay? There's nothing in the world that could make her happier.

Every morning, you'd find her dressed in a silk slip dress with her hair being secured into a bun by a claw clip as she works on breakfast for the two of you. You would offer to help her with preparing the food but she'd always adamantly reject your attempts. "No, honey, please just sit nice and pretty for me at the table, okay?" she says as she smiles, the slight gap in between her teeth making a beautiful appearance. In just a few hours, she'd set the table with a wonderful assortment of meals served with porcelain plates.

Whenever she could, Vivienne would take you to visit the city in which she was born in. The two of you would visit street markets, eating something light at several cafes, wandering about in art museums and eating traditional cuisine in restaurants she'd frequent as a teenager.

As any normal person would, she gets incredibly enraged when someone attempts to take you from her. The funny thing is, she doesn't love like the average person and she's aware of that. Vivienne will track the culprit down and strike when they're most vulnerable, permanently injuring the person and spewing dozens of threats towards them to where they would rather die than speak against her. If she's unsure of whether or not someone is an actual threat to your relationship, she'll simply intimidate the person till they back away. Sometimes, they try and tell you about how she's mistreated them but you can't bring yourself to believe the stories they're telling.

They can't be talking about the woman that cries until her eyes turn puffy as she watches romance movies, the woman that still sleeps with the teddy bear her father gifted her on her fifth birthday, the woman that points towards elderly couples walking down the street and whispers into your ear, "that's going to be us in 50 years." An angel such as herself would never say such things to anybody.

You're the best thing that has ever happened to her and she's never going to let you go, but it's not as if you'll ever WANT to leave.

Vivienne only ever calls you the loveliest of names such as, "sweetheart", "mon bébé", and "ma princesse". She rarely calls you by your real name but when she does, she says, "My sweet y/n."

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evansbby · 2 years

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hey, i love poyt sm🥹 but I was wondering, does omega get along well with Steve’s other friends (not including Bucky/Sam?) and what about any of the popular girls or cheerleaders that hang around the jocks? does that make sense?? anyways, love this story so much!

Hey, this makes perfect sense! Omega is too shy and doesn’t really speak to any of Steve’s friends! As for any girls — poyt!Steve isn’t really friends with any girls as he is very misogynistic and thinks of them as objects. But there are some cheerleaders that hang around with Steve’s jock group so it would be interesting to see how omega would get on with them! (This will kind of be in part 4, but I wanna write a short drabble on it too!)

(This is a drabble for my alpha Steve fic, preying on you tonight)

Warnings: smut, daddy!kink, a/b/o dynamics, dark Steve, bullying

(let’s say this takes place after Steve mated with omega but before she found out she’s pregnant)

“Look how adorable she looks in her little apron!”

“Aww, are those little cherries? So cute!”

“She’s so cute!”

You shuffle uncomfortably on your feet, unsure whether the girls are being genuine or if they’re making fun of you. More often than not, it’s very difficult for you to tell.

You’d been minding your own business, in the kitchen making Steve a sandwich because he’d said he was hungry. And then the doorbell had rung and about five jocks and three girls had entered the house - much to your horror. You couldn’t even escape back up to Steve’s bedroom because you’d have to cross paths with the alphas who were all congregated in the living room.

The girls, on the other hand, had gathered in the kitchen; and you can feel their eyes on you while you concentrate on cutting the crusts off of Steve’s sandwich. One of them addresses you directly:

“Where’d you get the apron from?”

“Uh, Steve got it for me.” You answer awkwardly. Which is true - he’d thrown it at you a few days ago with an oddly excited look on his face, saying something about you looking like a “proper housewife”. You had simply thought the print was pretty, but didn’t miss the glint in his eyes as he’d made you put it on for him.

One of the girls is chewing on a piece of gum, ogling at you as if you’re some kind of specimen on display at a museum.

“So, is Steve like, your boyfriend?”

You purse your lips together, not really knowing what to say but deciding to give the less complicated answer: “I-I... I guess he is.”

“Could we see your mark?”

You cough, feeling your chest tighten up slightly. You’re sensitive about your mark and the memories of how it was given to you. And anyways, it’s personal to you. You really don’t want to show them.

“Oh my God, you can’t just ask people to show their marks!” one of the other girls huffs, and the three of them burst into a fit of giggles while you force yourself to laugh along with them, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute.

“You’re lucky. Steve’s probably the best-looking guy in college.” The girl with the gum sighs.

“Totally,” The second girl agrees, “Although Ari could give him a run for his money.”

“So, what’s Steve like in bed?” The third girl asks out of nowhere.

Another question that catches you off-guard, and you feel your cheeks heat up.

“Come on, Priya. Why would you ask her that? As if you don’t already know!” More snide laughter, and now you freeze in the middle of cutting the sandwich into triangles.

“I think we all know.” The gum-chewer giggles, “Oh my gosh, remember Halloween night, when Steve took both of us to his room? Of course, he was with that bitch Sharon at the time, but that never stopped him, and-”

The knife makes a loud cluttering sound when you drop it on the marble counter-top, promptly turning on your heel and leaving the kitchen, sandwich forgotten. You’ve also seemingly forgotten about your own shyness because you walk straight into the living room, past all the jock alphas who leer at you, making a beeline for Steve.

He’s sitting on the couch, legs spread and beer in hand, laughing at some video Bucky’s showing him on his phone. And that’s when you hesitate, wondering whether he’d be nice or mean to you in front of his alpha friends. But you can’t help it, tugging at his sweater sleeve anyways until he looks up at you.

“Can we talk?” You ask softly.

“Aww, look at Stevie’s little girlfriend in her cute little apron!” One of the alphas whose name you don’t remember booms. You cringe inwardly, wishing you’d taken the darn thing off before you’d come in.

Steve smirks, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you down on his lap. And you aren’t kidding when you wish you’d rather bury your head in a hole than be sat on Steve’s lap in a room full of beer-drinking, weed-smoking alphas but here you are.

“You look so sweet, baby.” He whispers in your ear, taking your hand in his and playing with your fingers. But that doesn’t seem to be enough physical contact for him, he grabs your face and presses his lips onto yours, tongue gaining entrance almost immediately as he licks into your mouth.

Eyes wide, you can’t believe he’s just casually making out with you in front of his friends, but you don’t dare push him away unless he gets mad.

“Steve, please, can we talk somewhere private?” You ask against his lips when he pulls away for breath - and immediately you hear booming laughter erupting all around you.

“Talk in private. That’s code for ‘I’m horny, please fuck me.’” A brunette alpha you vaguely recognise from your politics lectures - Andy - guffaws, with Sam and a few others joining in.

“Shut the fuck up, Barber.” Steve frowns, pushing you up to your feet before following suit, his hand fast holding on to yours, “Don’t talk about my girlfriend like that.”

You keep your head down, letting Steve drag you out of the room and into the nearest bathroom, sighing in relief when he shuts and locks the door behind him. But that relief doesn’t last too long because in an instant, he’s on you.

“I-I need to talk to you,” you say softly, but you’re sure he hasn’t even heard you, your beefy alpha grabs you from below your thighs, picking you up and setting you down on the marble sink, immediately spreading your legs and slotting himself between them.

“Mmm, you’re so hot. I’m happy my friends got to see you in your little apron, busy in the kitchen like a good little omega.” Steve’s bulge presses against your belly and you let out a squeak, his lips sponging wet kisses up your neck while his hands freely explore your body, “Now they know how well I’ve got you trained.”

You lose yourself to his touch for a moment, melting when he cups your face in his hands, almost tender until he yanks you into him, kissing you so fervently, you feel like you’ll pass out.

Meekly, you push against his chest, “Steve. Please. I just wanted to talk about one thing.”

Steve’s lips drag down back to your neck, back to his favourite spot - your mark. Licking over it repeatedly, kissing it, grazing his teeth over it till you’re jelly in his arms, he smirks against your skin, “Talk then. I’m listening.”

“Well... I... I was talking to those girls back in the kitchen...”

“Mm, yeah? What did you talk about?” His hand slips underneath your blouse, infinitely more interested in what’s under there as he squeezes your breast roughly.

You try to focus on the issue you want to bring up, hoping to ease into it... “Well, first they asked me if I wanted to go out with them this weekend.” (This was true, they had asked you this when they’d first come in.)

“Oh? And what did you say?” Steve draws back, blue eyes finally making contact with yours, fingers deftly grabbing the hem of your skirt and flipping it upwards along with your apron.

“I said I would have to ask your permission first.”

Steve kisses you again, “Good girl. You can’t go, by the way.”

Him forbidding you to go out with the girls doesn’t bother you in the least - you’d much rather stay at home with Steve and Steve Junior than spend an entire night guessing whether you’re the butt of the girls’ jokes and whether they’re being genuine with you or not.

“They... They also said that...” You pause, mulling over how to say it. “They said that last Halloween...”

Steve’s already refocused his gaze between your legs, yanking your panties down past your thighs.

“Have you slept with them?” You blurt out, cheeks heating up even more.

There’s cold fire and confusion behind his blue eyes as they narrow down at you, “What?”

“They said they already know what you’re like… in bed, because they’ve been with you — slept with you — before.” The more you say it out loud, the tighter your chest becomes, and you haven’t even noticed it but you’ve got your hands clenched into fists.

“Mmhm,” Steve goes back to kissing you, not giving your words any importance except this time you turn your head to the side.

“Steve, please. I just want to know—”

“I don’t remember. Maybe. Probably.” He’s acting too casual, continuing to make out with you, forcibly capturing your lips between his.

You feel a sharp pang in your heart at his answer. And what follows next is perhaps a tad over-dramatic, but it’s like you can’t help yourself. You sniffle softly, reaching up to wipe your eyes.

Steve stops short, looking down at you incredulously, “Are you… Are you crying?”

“N-No.”

He gathers you in his arms, carrying you over and sitting down on the covered toilet seat with you in his lap. And by this point, you can’t help the tears that trickle down your face. And you can’t understand why. You always knew Steve had a reputation for sleeping with a lot of girls — all the alphas on the football team did.

But hearing those girls say they’d slept with your alpha… right in front of your face! And hearing Steve confirm it… Suddenly, you want nothing more than to trudge upstairs and get into your nest and cuddle with Steve Junior. Your emotions have been all over the place lately, and you can’t seem to figure out why...

“My little baby omega,” Steve coos, “are you jealous?”

Another sniffle, “I know I have no right to be. It’s in the past. And it’s not like I was a virgin when I... when we...” Your voice trails off when his face flashes with annoyance, his grip tightening on your arm and fingers digging into your flesh.

“What have I told you about mentioning him?”

“Sorry, alpha.”

He loosens his grip, “I barely remember fucking any of those girls, so they probably weren’t that good in the sack anyways.” He brushes your hair back, tucking it behind your ear and stroking your head like you’re his pet. “Baby, they’re all worthless sluts - not like you, you’re wife material.”

Wife material. Why does that compliment make the omega inside you want to spontaneously combust with happiness? But like spiderwebs lurking in every dark corner, the doubts creep into your head to combat the light-heartedness you feel because of his praise.

“You used to call me a slut.” You say quietly.

Steve huffs, brushing blond strands away from his forehead, “I already told you... I did that to keep you safe, to keep all those other alpha dickheads away from you.” He cups your face in his hands, making those butterflies in your stomach awaken again, “They would’ve taken advantage of you, baby.”

Believe him? Don’t believe him? You don’t know what to think, but it’s better not to think at all, better to just focus on his lips that are back to kissing your neck. That sensitive spot where your mark is - his favourite spot - and you throw your head back and whimper softly when he grazes his teeth against your gland.

But you can’t get the sinking feeling out of your tummy, this sinking feeling that’s been brewing inside you ever since those girls came into the kitchen and started speaking to you. Once more, you risk Steve’s wrath by pulling away.

“H-How many girls have you slept with?” The question comes out in a timid, weak tone. You’ve never asked him anything this forwardly before. In fact, you don’t ask Steve too many questions anyways, because he either ignores them or changes the subject.

“I don’t know.”

You gape at him. “Y-You don’t know?”

You really don’t understand what’s up with your emotions because this news brings on a fresh wave of tears – because I don’t know probably means his number is in the double digits – or triple, even! You swallow harshly, unable to ignore the lump in your throat. So many girls – all of them probably prettier than you, sexier than you, more refined, ore knowledgeable about pleasure… And the list goes on and on and on.

“Stop crying,” Steve orders you stiffly, pressing his lips to yours, tongue swiping against your mouth slowly, “Or don’t, actually. It turns me on when you cry. See?” He grabs your hand, placing it on top of his hard crotch. But you’re not in the mood, despite his scent, despite his touch, despite everything.

“Wanna go upstairs.”

“Mm, but the guys won’t be able to hear me fuck you if we go upstairs.”

You bury your head in his shoulder, wishing you had Steve Junior to cuddle with because Steve himself only has a one-track mind. How could you ever have expected him to understand, to comfort you? What had you expected?

“Please. Wanna go to bed. Steve, please.” Again, you swipe at your eyes as tears somehow continue to well inside of them.

“Hey,” He cups your face with both his hands this time, stroking your cheek in the way that only he knows how to do, in a way that makes you melt into him despite anything, “I told you – those girls meant nothing to me. You’re my one and only. You’re the one I’m gonna knock up, my omega who’s gonna have my babies. You should be happy.” He wipes your tears with his thumbs, the act surprisingly gentle although his words still confuse you.

He's got about a hundred explanations and a hundred excuses, and why is it that you believe each one? Are they excuses? Or maybe he’s being genuine now? He’s being so sweet – well, as sweet as Steve can get. You bite your lip; wondering why alphas like Steve don’t come with a manual, a manual explaining his intentions because damned if you’re ever able to.

Believe him! The omega inside you screeches, and you find yourself biting your lip again.

Steve frowns, “Don’t bite your lip. Or I’ll bite it for you.” And with that, he rips your apron off you, cherry print rags on the floor as he begins to pop the buttons of your blouse, one by one. And that’s when you smell a fresh whiff of hot summer days and freshly mown grass and that woody, musky scent that has you going weak.

Alpha is good, alpha chose you. Not them. You. You, you, you! The omega inside you chants.

Steve’s tongue is tantalising as he licks up your salty tears from your face, pushing your bra strap down your shoulder, “I’m gonna fuck you right up against the bathroom door, omega. That way they’ll all hear it, hear you scream for me, know who you belong to. The girls will hear it too, and you want that, don’t you?”

You squirm, suddenly feeling hot all over, emotions washing away as quickly as they’d rained over you. Now, all you can feel is his thick dick underneath you, straining against his jeans and poking up against your ass, as if promising to fuck you good.

“Answer me, omega. You want those girls to hear me wreck your little baby pussy, don’t you?” He grabs your hair, twisting your head backwards and pressing his forehead against yours, “I know you do. Because I know you...”

You feel your pussy throb, and you can’t help it when you fervently begin to return his kisses, letting him pick you up and walk you across the bathroom and up against the door, just like he’d promised.

“Done being an emotional little cry-baby?” His tone dances between cruel and condescending, but for tonight it seems like you’ve given up trying to understand him - not when his touch feels so good. And now the source of your tears is the overwhelming pleasure you feel, and Steve licks them up readily.

“Cry some more, sweet omega. You know daddy loves it when you cry.”

THE END! Tbh, idk about this! i just wanted to write more and explore more about this pair, especially in the one month they’re together that we kind of gloss over in part 3!! None of this really advances the plot of course, it’s just a long drabble, and i’m not sure why i wrote it except that i just... wrote it. idk! please do tell me what you think!!! i know many of you probably expected smut but... this pairing is very interesting to me and i love writing them when they talk!! okay, i’ll shut up now.. please let me know what you thought!!

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #poyt drabble #poyt ask #steve drabble #Chris evans #Chris evans x reader #x reader #Steve rogers fanfiction #dark steve rogers

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 6 months

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Forgive These Bones I'm Hiding (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Serial Killer Marcus Pike x f!Reader (Reader is a police officer with the nickname “Cricket”)

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: This is a Spoooooooky fic for Halloween season. Please heed the warnings; this is not darkfic, per se, but it explores dark themes and contains elements of suspense and horror. The following subjects are mentioned in the context of cases that the reader deals with. I do not go into explicit detail about any of these themes and any violence is implied rather than seen, but please heed the warnings for: child abuse, domestic abuse, alcoholism, drunk driving, implied sexual assault, suicide, drug use, drug overdoses. Whew. Okay, for the story itself, please be warned that there is: derogatory language (someone calls reader a “bitch”), murders, body horror (corpses!), Marcus Pike being a bit unsettling, Very Enthusiastic Pussy Eating, unprotected PIV sex (this is fiction! use protection and also maybe don't fuck a serial killer!)

Summary: When five paintings are stolen from their frames, an unusual crime for your small-town precinct in Hannibal, Missouri, it's easy for you to project your insecurities about being a female police officer in a tiny, Midwest town onto the handsome FBI Agent from Washington who arrives to help with the case. But as your disposition--and the solid walls you've built around yourself--begin to soften, you quickly find you have bigger problems than the charming man you can't help but develop feelings for. One by one, bodies are starting to pile up. Bodies that all seem to share one connection… You.

A/N: This story is about Marcus Pike if he were a serial killer. If this concept gives you The Ick, please do not read this and then come to me telling me that you think it’s icky. You have been warned. Dead dove don’t eat, etc. I *have* taken pains to ensure that Marcus is not a bad man. He’s a murderer, yes, but he only kills the worst that humanity has to offer. He’s a serial killer AND he’s my perfect, unhinged baby. Cool? Cool. Thank you to @littlebirdsbookshelf for encouraging this nonsense, letting me scream about it on Discord from day one, and reading through it and helping me with the police procedural bits!

Masterlist

When the call comes to your desk at 8:30am on a Monday morning, you can’t deny that your initial response is excitement.

Who could blame you? Not much happens here in Hannibal.

The waver in the elderly museum docent’s voice reminds you to temper your eagerness. With a steady, even voice, you patiently repeat the information she gives you. You don’t bother pointing out that she really should have called 911, rather than the police station directly; she’s one of many older residents in this town who prefer to skip the middle-man, so to speak, and you don’t really mind being the first voice people hear after a crisis.

“Window broken… alarm power cut… five Norman Rockwells,” you murmur to yourself as you scribble down the details on a post-it. “CCTV nonfunctional… broken… cameras for show only… Yes ma’am. Yep, I know the place. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“What was that?” Your CO asks from his office, not bothering to get up from his chair and come out into the bullpen. If you could even call it that. You’re the only regular inhabitant.

“Mrs. Ingram from the Mark Twain Museum. Someone broke in last night and cut five paintings from their frames.”

CO Hubbard squints, taking off his reading glasses and perching them on top of his head and staring at you like you’ve grown an extra head.

“Someone stole from the Mark Twain Museum?”

“Crazy, right? I’m heading there now.”

The older man grunts and nods, placing his bifocals back on his nose and returning his gaze to the Hannibal Courier-Post’s crossword.

You don’t bother turning on the lights on your squad car. The streets are damn-near empty on a Monday morning. Most of the residents’ shifts began hours ago at the factories downriver, leaving the small town to appear almost abandoned. For being the famed birthplace of one Samuel Clemens, it sure doesn’t bring much tourist traffic to Hannibal, Missouri.

Julia Ingram has been the Museum’s curator, docent, and gift shop operator since before you can remember. Despite her age, it seems as though she’s hardly changed from the time you visited the museum with your school group as a child. She greets you over thick wire frames kept in place with a whimsical beaded chain. Like most residents of Hannibal, she calls you ‘Cricket’–the nickname that’s stuck with you since your youth on account of your habit of sneaking out at night to stargaze. It’s hard to have much authority with the older citizens when they all remember you as a knobby-kneed preteen with a wild streak and a wilder imagination.

You let her lead you to the gallery of Norman Rockwell art on the second floor of the old building. You walk past old editions of Tom Sawyer, a collection of Mark Twain’s childhood possessions, and a life-sized raft similar to what Huck and Jim might have used on their Mississippi River journey.

The Norman Rockwell collection consists of fifteen paintings done for special editions of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. Today, though, there are only ten. Five frames are empty; broken shards litter the floor where the thief bashed through the glass to retrieve the priceless papers within.

“Why did they have to go and break them?” Mrs. Ingram asks in a tearful voice as you snap pictures on your little point-and-shoot camera you take with you for cases.

“Takes up less space,” you shrug. “Framed art is conspicuous. The perp probably rolled the illustrations up for ease of keeping them hidden.”

Mrs. Ingram shudders at the mention of rolling up Norman Rockwell illustrations, and you give her a sympathetic look.

“I’m going to call in a forensics team from the St. Louis office,” you tell the elderly woman. “They’ll be able to dust for fingerprints. In the meantime, the museum stays closed. No visitors. And don’t go around touching anything, okay? I should be able to get a security guard to watch the crime scene until forensics is able to come in. If you need anything, you call me,” you tell her, handing her a business card with your cell number.

You rush back to the precinct with the intent of calling an old schoolmate in St. Louis to try and expedite the forensics team, but Sergeant Hubbard is out in the bullpen for once, and seemingly waiting for you.

“I promised Mrs. Ingram that I’d get a forensics team down there ASAP,” you say, trying to sidestep the man and get to your desk.

“This won’t take long,” the Sergeant promises. “And actually, you won’t be needing to send a team. I’ve got that covered.”

“You do?” you ask, frowning skeptically.

“This case is of National interest,” Hubbard explains. “The FBI has a dedicated team of Agents that specialize in art crimes, and the State has all but ordered that we go through them.”

“You’re going to involve the FBI?” You try to keep your voice calm and even, but you can hear the volume begin to rise in indignation. For once you’ve got a case that’s different, interesting even, and it’s slipping through your fingers after barely an hour of being under your purview.

“If we do this by-the-book–”

“I can handle this myself,” you can’t help but interject. “And since when do you give a shit about ‘by-the-book?’”

“No one is questioning your capabilities–”

“Oh yeah? Is that why I’m always being stuck with every domestic violence case that comes through the precinct while you always handle the bigger shit?”

“You need to watch how you speak to a commanding officer,” Hubbard growls.

“Like it or not, I’m the one with a personal connection to both Mrs. Ingram and the head of Forensics in St. Louis. The FBI is going to come here with all the subtlety of a jackhammer, and–”

“It doesn’t really matter what you think, because I’ve already contacted the head of the Art Crimes Department in Washington, D.C., and someone should be here tomorrow morning to take the case.”

Your mouth is a thin line, your jaw tensed, and your eyes dark. “Anything else, Sir?”

“The precinct is behind state quotas for speeding tickets,” Sergeant Hubbard says. “I want you to try and catch people coming from Illinois on I-72.”

“Understood,” you bite out through clenched teeth.

Armed with a coffee and bagel from Java Jive, you settle in one of your “favorite” hiding places along the interstate. After putting the driver’s seat as far back as it will go so you can stretch your legs, you take a long sip of your latte. You flip on your radar, but rather than watch for speeders, you instead scroll aimlessly through the news on your phone.

Everyone’s gonna be going the speed limit today, you’ve already decided it.

The Waterhole isn’t exactly a reputable establishment, but as the only bar in Hannibal, the options for getting a cold beer aren’t exactly pouring in. Every patron looks warily in your direction when you enter–it’s tough on your social life, being one of three cops in town–but you’re hardly in the mood for conversation. Everything about you says “Fuck off”: from your mud-covered work boots to the flannel you use mainly to take out the garbage in the winter. You can’t remember the last time you threw it in the washer, but there’s a chill to the air tonight, and everything else was either dirty or far too heavy for the weather. Your dour expression probably does most of the work, though. You scowl at the floor as you plod heavily toward the end of the bar and sit yourself on a rickety stool. The footrest is predictably sticky, and the bartop never looks clean no matter how many times the long-time bartender, Palmer, runs a wet cloth over top of it.

You hold up two fingers in greeting to Palmer, who nods cordially and hands you your usual.

The first sip is always the best–and dammit, you intend to enjoy it. You close your eyes, letting the liquid wash over your tongue before swallowing. It’s just cheap lite beer, sure, but this is the first moment you’ve allowed yourself to truly relax all day, and you can already feel your shoulders begin to relax and your jaw unclench.

Casting your eyes around the establishment (a habit you can’t ever seem to get rid of), you take inventory of the patrons. Just about everyone you’ve known since childhood. There’s Ellis and Danielle Hewitt, high school sweethearts from the graduating class just above you, in the corner sharing a plate of sad-looking nachos and twin Miller Lites. Tommy Blevins, the high school quarterback who, if you were a betting woman, was probably in the middle of telling his Tinder date about that big game back in ‘02 that cemented his reputation as a Hannibal ‘celebrity.’ Most of the men playing pool were fresh off a day shift from the oil plant in the next town over.

Yep, all of the usual suspects.

Plus one anomaly.

Once you see him, you aren’t sure how he evaded your notice from the moment you entered the bar. For one thing, he’s the only patron wearing a suit; everyone here only ever wears jeans. For another, he’s got that look of an outsider about him. You can always tell who’s from out of town: they have that subtle hint of insecurity with their surroundings that comes from being in a new place. His dark eyes look over the bar scene with a fresh, discerning gaze–seeing it for the first time, rather than for the three hundredth.

Like you, the man seems to instinctively people-watch. He’s not obvious about it, or anything, but you can see his pupils flitting from the Rams game to scan the crowd as if he’s looking for something.

Or maybe waiting for something.

Given this behavior, it shouldn’t surprise you when your eyes eventually meet. Embarrassed at being caught-out, you give him a crooked not-really-a-smile. He smiles back–a genuine one, that exposes a set of perfectly straight, white teeth and a small dimple on his right cheek.

Your manners are hard to come by this evening, but you manage a friendly, albeit stiff nod, raising your beer bottle in a silent toast.

The man’s smile widens.

A commotion from over at the pool tables draws both of your gazes to the group of men–now seemingly arguing about the score. The main agitator is, predictably, Bobby Pearson. You drain your bottle with a sigh, shoulders tensing automatically as you anticipate the inevitable way that this ends.

You can see the glassy sheen to Bobby’s eyes from where you are, the way he’s swaying slightly as he gesticulates wildly with the hand holding the pool cue. You don’t need a breathalyzer to know that Bobby is way over the legal limit. Hell, all you have to do is spend more than a week in this town to know that this behavior is the norm, rather than the exception.

You feel bad for the man, really. It’s no secret that he came from an abusive home. You remember the horrifying stories you'd heard about his father when you were his classmate in middle school. He was a nice enough kid-you remember him well–but when he grew up and got married, he wasn't ever able to escape the demons of his past. His erratic behavior was enough for his wife to leave with their two children. Last you heard, they lived in Maine. Probably about as far away as you can get from Hannibal without actually leaving the continental US. What he needs is therapy, but those types of resources are damn-near impossible to get out here. Everyone in Hannibal looks the other way as he drinks himself into a stupor every night.

Occasionally, though, there will be an incident, and Bobby has to spend the night in the holding cells. You have a feeling you’re about to witness one of those incidents right now.

The waving of the pool cue becomes more violent; he switches his grip, wielding the stick like a weapon as he continues to yell, spittle landing on his cheeks and his shirt as he slurs another insult.

Getting up from your stool, you carefully approach the scene.

“That’s enough, Bobby,” you state calmly. “I think it’s time to head home, how about you?”

“I think it’s time for you to mind your own fucking business, Cricket,” Bobby slurs back.

“Good one, Bob. Got anything else you wanna say to the off-duty cop?” You shouldn’t be taking the bait–you know it even as you say it, but you’ve had a shit day, and sometimes we all say things we regret, right?

“Yeah. I wanna say… maybe you wouldn’t be such a fuckin' bitch if you had a good dicking.”

Several of Bobby’s pool buddies back away, eyes wide as dinner plates.

“That’s enough. Go home. I don’t want to have to place you under arrest,” you say, trying to regain control over the situation.

“I could give it to you," Bobby sneers. "Give the uptight police lady a nice, hard, fu–"

With a heavy sigh, you retrieve your cuffs from the back pocket of your Wranglers and maneuver Bobby onto the nearest pool table. He's so drunk that he falls on his stomach without much effort on your part.

"Aw, fuck I was only jokin’," he mumbles into the green fabric.

"And it was real funny, Bobby. Hilarious even," you deadpan as you click the handcuffs into place. "Come sleep it off at the precinct, and you can apologize in the morning."

"M'shorry," Bobby groans as you manage to wrench him upright and guide him to the exit.

It's only then that you notice the newcomer at the periphery of the scene–standing back, not intervening, but making it clear that he's on guard should things go south.

"Are you okay?" the stranger. "Need help?"

His nosiness annoys you. "Got it handled, thanks," you snap with a little more hostility than you mean to.

It's been a shit day.

You wrestle Bobby into the car and slam the door. On the way back to the precinct, you glower at the road in front of you while the man in the backseat begins an ear-splitting rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. On tonight of all nights, you grumble to yourself.

He's asleep before he even hits the threadbare pillow in the holding cell. You nod to your nighttime counterpart, Evan, who gives you a sympathetic smile.

"What was it this time?"

"Some argument over pool at the Waterhole. Get him something substantial to eat when he wakes up, okay?"

"Always do," Evan replies. "You all right? He give you trouble or somethin'?"

"Just a shit day."

"Go get a drink and relax."

"'S'what I was trying to do," you gripe. "In fact–shit–I skipped out on my tab. I'm gonna go back and settle, and try again in the comfort of my own home. Dunno why I even go out."

“Beer’s cheaper at home, anyways,” Evan comments with a wry grin.

“Another excellent point,” you throw over your shoulder, giving him a crooked grin as you walk back out of the building.

Palmer is waiting for you with his hands on his hips when you return to the Waterhole.

“Not sure what you’re giving me that look for, Palm, you know I always settle my tab.”

“Better late than never,” he grouses.

You bark out a laugh. “You say that like it’s been a day, and not–” you check your watch, “–an hour.” You slide your debit card across the stained counter.

“Not gonna have another?”

“Nah, I’ve got better shit at home than the swill you serve here.”

You and Palmer stare each other down for a few moments. You aren’t sure who breaks first, but it’s almost always Palmer. The bartender chuckles and sticks his hands in his pockets.

“Shit, Cricket, you know you can’t stay away from the finest establishment in Hannibal.”

“It’s a good thing you’re the only establishment in Hannibal.”

“And it’s a good thing you’re a good tipper, or I would have banned you years ago.”

“Doesn’t seem smart to ban any of your customer base, considering the local population. It’s shocking you haven’t gone under.”

“Beer is always in demand,” Palmer says with a wink. “No matter what the economy’s doin’.”

“You’ve got me there.”

You glance around the bar. The crowd has thinned out quite a bit; day shifts start early, so the nightlife is pretty limited past eight pm. A few stragglers remain, including… him. The stranger.

The newcomer in the suit is watching your conversation with the bartender with an amused smile. When he notices you looking at him, he raises his glass in salutation and gets up from his stool to approach you.

“Buy you another?” he asks with a smile.

“I just settled,” you say evasively.

“On me,” the man insists.

“Surprised you’re still here,” you comment lightly. “Shouldn’t you be back on your way to St. Louis, or something?”

The man lets out a surprised, pleased laugh. “You’re observant.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’re not from around here.”

He gives you another one of those wide, toothy smiles as he raises two fingers to Palmer, who nods.

“Well, you’re partly right. I’m not from around here, but I’m not from St. Louis.”

“Where are you from?”

“Let’s save that little nugget for later,” he suggests, sticking out his hand. “Marcus.”

You shake his hand, still feeling a little wary of the newcomer. If Marcus is bothered that you don’t offer your name right away, he doesn’t show it.

“...Cricket, right?”

You laugh in surprise. “That’s what everyone calls me ‘round here.”

“What can I call you?”

“Officer.”

Palmer sets two bottles of beer down on the counter in front of you, and you shrug and take one of them. Marcus gently taps his own against yours and takes a sip.

“To new horizons,” he says with a smile.

“To doing the same shit every damn day,” you respond with a wry grin.

“Do you do that every single day?” Marcus asks, jerking his head in the direction of the pool tables, referencing Bobby’s arrest.

You let out a huff of laughter and take another swig. “More than I’d care to, I’ll say that much.”

“He have a history of drunk and disorderly conduct?” Marcus asks.

“He’s got a history of that, and a whole helluva lot else,” you say with a sigh. “He’s mostly harmless, though. Doesn’t do much else but drink and cause trouble nowadays.”

“He did worse in the past?”

You shrug and wave Marcus off. “It’s a tale as old as time,” you say. “Grew up in an abusive household and then turned around and perpetuated it himself when he grew up. Pushed away his family, his wife, his kids, everyone really. But now the only one he ever hurts is himself.”

“He said some pretty awful things to you earlier,” he points out.

“If words had any effect on me, I wouldn’t have made it a week in the force,” you say. “Takes a lot more than that to rile me up.”

“Can’t really imagine you all riled up,” Marcus says, his eyes twinkling with playfulness.

He’s flirting with you.

“I save it for special occasions.”

“So what, you just arrest this guy over and over again, letting him sober up in the holding cells until he does it again?”

Your smile fades. Tipping your bottle back and draining it in three large gulps, you set it down heavily on the table and give the man across from you a stony look.

“I don’t know what big city you’re from, Marcus, but this town is different. We take care of our own, no matter how difficult they’re being. We’ve done everything we can–tried to get him into rehab, into therapy programs, support groups… it never sticks. At this point, he’s spinning out, and the most I can try to do is to treat him with kindness and make sure he gets a decent meal while he’s sleeping it off in the drunk tank. Enjoy your night.”

You get up, spin on your heel, and you don’t look back at the man again.

You don’t know how you didn’t put two and two together until this moment–the minute you walk into the precinct at eight am sharp to meet the FBI Agent assigned to this case–your case.

The suit. The discerning, assessing gaze. The bravado. The big-city attitude.

Marcus is the FBI Agent.

His eyebrows raise for a moment when you walk into the bullpen, but other than that, he doesn’t appear surprised. He introduces himself as Agent Pike, sticking his hand out for you to shake as if it’s the first time he’s done so. You give him your last name–and only your last name–and grip his hand a little more forcefully than usual.

It only causes his smile to widen.

You exchange a quick conversation with Evan, who fills you in on the rest of the night (uneventful) and lets you know that Bobby is already out of the drunk tank and back at home.

“Did he say anything?” you ask.

“Like what?”

“Like an apology.”

“Should he have?” Evan asks. “Did he do something last night?”

You shake your head. “Nah. It’s fine. He probably doesn’t even remember, anyway,” Turning to look at Marcus, you add, “Ready to head to the museum?”

He takes up all the space in the passenger seat of your squad car and then some. You do your best to ignore him as you drive, but your eyes keep returning to his dark, slightly mussed hair and the way his broad shoulders fill out that suit of his. It’s hard not to notice how attractive he is.

"So. Washington."

"Huh?" Marcus looks at you, questioning.

"That little 'nugget' of information you said you'd save for later. You knew, didn't you. You knew I was the cop on this case."

"Well, it wasn't hard to guess when I had a copy of the Hannibal city directory and there was only one female officer on staff."

"Guess you've got us all figured out, huh," you mutter irritably, and the car returns to silence.

“Mark Twain Lighthouse,” Marcus reads from a road sign, breaking the quiet. “Mark Twain Memorial Library, Mark Twain Museum.”

“Bet you can guess what this town is famous for,” you quip.

“How many guesses do I get?”

“I mean, I’d hope you already knew about our claim to fame, if you read even one sentence of the case file we sent you.”

“You mean the case about the five missing original illustrations by Norman Rockwell from Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn from the Mark Twain Museum?” Marcus says wryly.

You scowl at his nonchalance. You knew it; you knew the FBI would send some big city asshole who didn't give two shits about the town's heritage.

"I'm sorry," Marcus says, suddenly looking concerned. "Did I say something wrong?"

"This was my case, you know," you mutter, keeping your eyes on the road. "Finally, something besides domestic disputes handed to 'Officer Cricket,' and I have it for less than twenty-four hours before some Washington bigwig comes and takes it off my hands."

"Wha–hey, hang on a second. That's not what this is," Marcus insists.

"Isn't it?"

"No. No, it's not like that. I'm here in a consulting role. You still get credit for being the lead officer on the case, but it'll be our forensics team and our analysts providing support. That's it."

You look sidelong at Marcus. His expression is open and unguarded, and you can't detect any dishonesty in his body language.

"That's it?" you repeat cautiously.

"Is that what all the animosity was about?" Marcus asks, without any malice in his tone.

You mumble something about having a chip on your shoulder, and Marcus chuckles beside you.

"I wasn't always from Washington, you know," he says.

"No?"

"Little town called Bastrop."

"Bastrop?" you laugh. "Never heard of it."

"Little place just east of Austin," Marcus says, letting a little bit of southern drawl slip into his voice.

"You're from Texas," you say, surprised.

"Yes ma'am," he answers playfully. “I worked out of the FBI field office in Austin for almost ten years before getting promoted to HQ.”

“Congrats.” You give him a small smile as you pull into the museum parking lot. “This is it.”

Marcus charms Mrs. Ingram immediately, which doesn’t really surprise you at this point. The man seems to be made up of mostly charm, with a side of goofy jokes. The FBI’s forensics team won’t be at the museum for another hour, so Marcus takes inventory of the crime scene, snapping a few photos while you chat with Phil, the security guard.

When Marcus’s team arrives, the scene is a flurry of activity. Evidence is bagged, frames are dusted, and more pictures are taken. True to his word, Marcus defers to you, letting you run the scene despite clearly having a relationship with most of the team.

The day is a busy one–after spending the entire morning at the museum, you head back to the precinct to complete all the paperwork. Marcus buys the precinct lunch, and as you eat, he ends up launching into an informal, unintended lecture about art preservation, restoration, and how important it is to properly care for stolen art that his team has recovered. It makes you see him in a new light–not simply a representative of a faceless, uncaring organization that’s coming in to take over your case, but the leader of a team who cares deeply about every item they’re tasked with recovering. The man himself is painfully competent, every sentence out of his mouth demonstrating his level of experience and his love for the field.

Despite not knowing much about art yourself, you find his enthusiasm addictive. You can’t help but engage with him–asking about past cases he’s been on and listening intently to his stories, which range from the mundane to the incredibly dangerous.

“...so a couple of us ended up going undercover and smuggling our own recovered artifacts back across the border,” Marcus is explaining, waving the remains of his sandwich in the air as he smiles fondly over what sounds to you like a harrowing escape from a Mexican cartel.

You know you’re hanging off of every word, although you try very hard not to look like you’re hanging off of his every word. Still, the lunch break runs long, and suddenly you remember you were supposed to be back on patrol an hour ago.

“Shit,” you hiss, checking the time, making Marcus wince sympathetically.

“Listen to me, rambling on and keeping you from doing your job,” he says self-deprecatingly. “Seriously, tell me to shut up next time.”

He stands when you do, offering his hand for you to shake.

“Here,” you say, handing him your card instead, which has your work cell on it. “Just in case there’s any issues.”

“Thank you,” he says earnestly, looking into your eyes. “Thanks for entrusting this case to us–I know there’s always a level of territoriality that comes with involving the FBI, but I’m here to promise that the whole point is to work with you–not to come in and take over.”

You nod, and finally accept his hand, shaking it firmly. “We got off on the wrong foot, but I’m glad you’re here. You’re obviously more than knowledgeable about the field–more so than any of us–and I know I can speak for all of us when I say we appreciate the extra support.”

Marcus’s hand is warm against yours. The handshake might be firm, but it still feels as though he’s cradling your hand gently–as if he’s holding something delicate and precious in his palm. His eyes are endless; you feel as though you could read every emotion within them if you looked long enough. As you look, the corner of his mouth pulls up in an adorable, crooked grin.

“It was good to work with you today,” he says with finality. “See you bright and early tomorrow.”

You aren’t expecting the call that comes in the next morning–before you can even show up at the precinct to work with Marcus on the art theft case.

Bobby Pearson’s landlady, barely understandable through her hiccuping tears, explaining that she usually lets herself in to give him his mail, found the man hanging from the ceiling fan in his living room.

Your heart hammers dully in your chest as you notify the coroner and drive–lights on, this time–to Bobby’s place, with Sergeant Hubbard in tow.

“Cricket,” his landlady sobs as you get out of the squad car.

“I know,” you say soothingly, putting a hand on her shoulder to provide what little comfort you could.

“It’s awful. Oh, God, he’s just hanging there, and–”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it. Why don’t you stay out here and wait for the Coroner while we go in, ‘kay?”

You take a deep breath to center yourself, then open the door to Bobby’s little duplex apartment.

“Jesus,” Hubbard mutters behind you.

You swallow hard at the sight of the man suspended from the ceiling fan. The inherent wrongness of witnessing a dead body never ceases to unsettle you. You think you could do this job for five hundred years and still never become desensitized to death. It’s the stillness that disturbs you the most; no one realizes how much bodies move until they aren’t doing it.

You glance around the room, taking in the toppled chair a few feet away. Fuck. You knew Bobby was spiraling, but you had no idea it was this bad. You think back to the other night–were there signs that you missed? Something that could have alerted you to the fact that he was in crisis?

The flash of a camera lights up the dim room, and you flinch.

“Sorry,” Hubbard mumbles. His face is grim as he snaps a few more pictures–the rope, the chair, Bobby’s puffy, swollen face–

Feeling nauseous, you look down at your shoes.

Somewhere in the apartment, something beeps.

“Fuck was that?” Hubbard wonders.

“Sounded like it was coming from the kitchen.” You move further into the house to investigate. In the kitchen, nothing immediately stands out to you, until you realize the microwave timer is blinking the word “END” in perpetuity, alerting an occupant who can no longer hear that his food is ready.

Frowning, you open it, taking in the reheated frozen dinner sitting–cold, but unfrozen–on the turntable.

“That’s weird,” you mumble.

“What’s weird?” Hubbard asks behind you.

“He made dinner, but didn’t eat it. If he was planning on killing himself, why make dinner? Why leave it in the microwave without eating it?”

Hubbard shrugs. “Forgot, I guess.”

Your frown deepens as you stare at the colorless potatoes and rubbery salisbury steak. Awareness tingles at the base of your spine–a little nagging voice whispering This isn’t right.

The sound of the front door opening again makes you jump.

“Hoooo, boy…” the Coroner breathes upon entering. “Dammit, Bobby.”

In your years as a cop, you’ve already learned that dealing with a body is an all-day affair. The day seems to pass you by as you deal with the fallout–phone calls, paperwork, and of course, the solemn affair of cutting Bobby down from the fan in the most respectful way possible. You don’t even remember to look at your phone until just before your shift ends–so the text message from Marcus that reads, “Time to jump on a quick call re: forensics?” is hours-old by the time you see it.

You tap out “Sorry, had a work thing come up that occupied the whole day. Connect tomorrow am?”

The reply is almost instantaneous. “Buy you a drink after a rough day?”

Your thumbs pause over the keypad. On the one hand, going out for drinks with Marcus makes you feel uneasy. There’s a mutual attraction there, you can tell that much, and you don’t trust yourself not to indulge in a little stress relief if Marcus tries to initiate it.

And you have a feeling he might. Try, that is.

On the other hand, coming home to an empty house with nothing to keep you company but the image of Bobby Pearson’s oddly dangling feet that’s branded on your eyelids makes you physically recoil.

“I’d ask where, but I think we both already know the answer.”

“I’ll be there around seven,” comes Marcus’s response.

At home, you turn the knobs in the shower until the temperature causes steam to fill the entire bathroom. The water burns your skin, but the pain is welcome, and you aren’t sure how long you remain unmoving under the stream until the hot water abruptly runs out. Yelping in shock, you hastily squirt some body wash onto a rag and frantically rub it up and down your body, then spin around under the stream three times as fast as you can to remove the suds before turning off the faucet.

Shivering and dripping wet, you suddenly start to laugh.

Marcus is already seated at the bar of the Waterhole when you arrive. The suit coat is gone, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows as he nurses a whiskey. You’re suddenly conscious of the fact that you’re dressed quite a bit nicer than you were on the night you met him–you even wore the non-muddy boots… and the jeans that you know make your ass look good.

“Hey,” you say by way of greeting, sliding onto the barstool next to him.

Marcus slides an identical cocktail glass over to you. “Thought you might need something a little stronger than beer,” he comments.

You snort. “How did you know?”

He shrugs, a faint glimmer in his eye as he watches you take a sip and wince at the burn in your throat.

“Had a hunch,” he offers.

“Well, it was right,” you sigh. “Might need a few more of these tonight.”

“Must have been one for the record books.”

It’s your turn to shrug. “Not really. Just another fucking day.” You take another sip, and the burn is more welcome this time. “I think the fact that it’s so common is what so fucking depressing.”

Marcus doesn’t ask you what you mean, and for that, you’re grateful.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” you grumble to yourself. “Suicides, or Fentanyl overdoses.”

Your companion is quiet for a long time. You aren’t in any shape to try and steer the conversation, so you take a few more sips of whiskey and stare into the middle distance.

“What made you want to become a cop?”

You snort again, even more unattractively this time. “Ten years ago I would have told you it was to help people and keep the community I grew up in safe.”

“What about now?”

Only one more sip remains in your cocktail glass, so you throw your head back and drain it, setting it down heavily on the counter. Palmer glances in your direction, a question in his eyes, and you nod.

“I don’t fucking know,” you sigh. “Ask me tomorrow, maybe I’ll have a better answer then.”

Palmer brings over the bottle of Crown and pours another finger into your glass.

“What about you,” you ask, only because it seems like the correct way to continue the conversation. “What made you join the FBI?”

Marcus grins, showing those perfectly straight teeth of his. At this distance, it seems less friendly and almost… predatory. You blink rapidly, shaking your head to dispel the thought.

He tips his glass against yours, then drains it himself. “To make the world a better place, of course.” His smile is wry as he signals Palmer for another.

“How’s that going for you?” you ask. The question is tinged with sarcasm.

“Depends on the day, I suppose.”

“Ha. Fair.” You take another sip. “Guess it’s the same for me. Some days it feels like I’m making a difference. Other days it feels like I’m filling speeding ticket quotas so that the town gets enough fucking tax revenue for the year.”

“Hey now, getting the funds to fix potholes is a noble and worthy cause.”

“I dunno where it fucking goes, but judging by the state of 36, it ain’t going there,” you chuckle.

“I happen to think you’re making a huge difference,” Marcus says soberly. “You get to do real, concrete things to help real people. One of the things I had to get used to in DC was that I didn’t feel like I was helping individuals anymore. It’s so much more high-level, sometimes I feel like all I do is send emails and have meetings. That’s why I like consulting,” he says, grinning at you. “I get to go to towns like this and actually talk to people.”

You pause with your glass halfway to your lips. “I… I guess I’ve never thought of it that way before.”

“You do good work,” Marcus tells you softly. His voice is full of sincerity; his eyes are deep, endless pools, and it feels as though they’re drawing you in. Licking your lips, you can feel the effect of the whiskey already by the way the skin of your tongue tingles slightly.

“Thanks,” you say quietly. You aren’t sure what else to say.

Your second glass is emptier than you thought. Had you really drunk it that fast? You huff a small laugh out of your nose, and swallow the last mouthful of whiskey. It barely even burns anymore.

“‘Nother?” you ask, blinking hopefully at your companion.

“If you like,” Marcus replies, giving Palmer a polite wave.

“Ain’t nothing at the bottom of the bottle,” the bartender teases, refilling both of your glasses. “You two seem to be convinced otherwise, though.”

You ignore him and quickly take another sip, making Marcus laugh.

“They say there’s only two kinds of people,” he says. “Those who drink to remember, and those who drink to forget.”

“If you’re about to ask me which kind I am, then you haven’t been paying attention to the conversation we’ve been having,” you tell him.

“You drink to forget,” Marcus supplies. “You’re right, I don’t need to ask to know that.”

“Then what was the point of… of the thing you said?” you ask, frowning in confusion.

“I drink to remember,” Marcus says quietly, staring soberly at his glass.

“Remember what?”

“People. Old loves, old friends.” He takes a small sip. “The living, and the dead.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. Your tongue feels thick in your mouth.

“What else do you want to forget?” Marcus asks gently.

“So I dunno if you are aware,” you say, swaying slightly in your seat as you gesticulate, “but female ossifers–officers–uh, they’re often handed sexual assault cases, domestic abuse, fuckin’... fuckin’ child neglect, that kind of shit. And I’ve had… I’ve–” you break off with a shudder.

“Had your fair share of those, huh?” he says, covering your hand in his.

“Mmm, ’s'warm,” you remark, closing your eyes and basking in the feeling. “It’s… it’s the ones that weren’t brought to justice that keeps me up at night,” you whisper, eyes still closed. “Sympathetic judges who give rapists light sentences. Wives whose request for a restraining order went ignored. Kids who–” you let out a tiny sob, “–kids who are spending their childhood in foster care because both of their parents overdosed in front of them. I… I fucking tried. I fought hard for them, and in the end, does it matter? Does it matter, when they’ll be fucked up for life anyway?”

“It matters,” Marcus says, his voice suddenly firm. “It fucking matters, Cricket.”

“Every time they walk free, it eats at me,” you continue, emptying your third glass.

“Tell me,” he demands softly as Palmer automatically pours you another. “You’ve been carrying their names with you for years, maybe this is how you let it go.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal

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pharawee · 7 months

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I've been meaning to make a list of spooky (Thai - because negl that's 99% of what I watch) BL series and movies and what better time to post this than in October?

Spooky BL are my favourite flavour of BL. Turns out, there's actually a lot of them (maybe because Thailand does horror so well). These are only the ones I've watched (and enjoyed) so this list isn't complete.

*On another note: horror doesn't faze me at all so I can't really accurately say how scary some of these are. If you have squicks or triggers like jump scares, gore or bad endings please feel free to ask and I will do my best to give you a heads-up.

✨Spooky Thai BL✨

He's Coming To Me | Probably one of the first series everyone will think of. Not that spooky but a solid ghost(love) story with a murder mystery at its core.

Hidden Love | This is a budget show filmed under serious constraints during the worst of the covid pandemic. It's clichéd. It's over the top. But it's also got its charms. It comes with a tragic ghost (love) story that completely overshadows everything else with its many flashbacks and plot twists. If you manage to get over the camp. I warned you.

Dear Doctor I'm Coming For Soul | This one has reapers and ghosts and lots of bittersweetness. It's not that creepy since the supernatural elements are very matter-of-fact. It will make you cry though, sorry. :(

Ghost Host, Ghost House | Spooky with incredible chemistry between the leads and a cast of characters that you will immediately fall in love with.

He She It | A three-episode miniseries with a haunting soundtrack and a nice plot twist. This will make you miss JeffGameplay. :(

Low Frequency | Not spooky at all, and a bit slow and empty at times, but it has ghosts (in a way) and a sweet enough couple.

Make a Wish | Unfortunately, this has never had an inter release. There's inofficial subs floating around on grey sites but as of yet the series hasn't been fully translated. Which is a pity because it's a cute show about angels and spirit possession and (some) murder mystery.

Midnight Museum | I'm stubbornly putting this under BL. This show has everything and everyone. It's genuinely spooky at times but mostly draws on folklore, the mystical and an absolutely stellar cast.

On Cloud Nine | Short and beautiful. An indie production that's more ethereal than genuinely spooky.

🎞️Red Wine in the Dark Night | The oldest entry in this list. Admittedly, not very spooky (and instead rather surreal and sad), but it has one (1) vampire and Fluke Natouch in a role that's more grounded than we're used to nowadays.

Something in my Room | A spooky show with ghosts, mystery and romance that hides a lot of commentary behind metaphors and allegory. Criminally underrated because it didn't have a wide enough release. If you want to binge something fun and spooky for Halloween then this is the series to go. Prepare tissues.

✨Not a BL but hey, I know that actor!✨

Enigma | Win Metawin (and surprise guest!) in an incredibly well done 4-episode series about the occult with interesting worldbuilding and the promise of a second season.

🎞️Ghost Lab | Tor Thanapob and Ice Paris in a genuinely gruesome, shocking and scary horror movie. You've been warned.

Girl From Nowhere | One of the best things tv has to offer, and genuinely dark as well. Up Poompat, Pepo Nutchapan and James Teeradon feature in some of the loosely-connected episodes.

🎞️Hoon Payon | Phuwin Tangsakyuen, Up Poompat and Bank Nuttawat in a classic spiritual ghost story. More shocking than scary.

🎞️Inhuman Kiss | Oab Oabnithi and Great Sapol (sadly, not as a couple) in a sad and romantic take on a classic Thai legend.

Let's Fight Ghost | A Thai remake of a fun and somewhat spooky kdrama with spiritual themes. And Saint Suppapong.

🎞️Pee Nak 1, 2, 3 (and soon 4) | I'm biased because I really like this movie series. It's spooky but in a fun way. It has queer characters (as comedic relief - but not in a degrading way) and can get surprisingly deep. Watch this if you want to see (baby!) Tar Atiwat grow up on screen (because he's in all four movies). The third movie rewards you with some surprisingly sweet MeanPlan that might continue into the fourth movie.

School Tales | A Thai horror anthology centred around students at various schools. This series has Fiat Patchata, Kay Lertsittichai, Pepo Nutchapan, Mark Siwat and, most prominently, Saint Suppapong and Chimon Wachirawit in well-paced 50-minute episodes.

The Stranded | One of my favourite series ever. If you watched LOST then you know what to expect. This has 3 QL couples (Perth Tanapon & Mark Siwat, Win Pawin & Tanthai Tatchapol, Ticha Wongtipkanon & Chaleeda Gilbert) but don't expect any of them to get a happy ending. Sadly, this series ended on a cliffhanger and won't get a second season due to the lead actor's tragic passing and Nadao's dissolution.

✨Upcoming Spooky BL✨

7 Days Before Valentine | Death Note but make it even more of a BL. Patrick Rangsimant originally wrote this so I'm really excited. Plus, it will begin airing in November which is almost as good as October.

🎞️After Sundown | A period ghost movie that hit Thai cinemas this summer to great success. There's currently no news on an international release.

🎞️Death Is All Around | Saint Suppapong coming through with another spooky production - this one about death and the afterlife. This also has Seng Wichai, Bas Suradej and Dun Romchumpa (presumably as a couple).

The Hell Guards | Chains of Heart but make it spooky. Oh, I am so excited for this!

My Imaginary Boyfriend | Based on another one of Pat Rangsimant's novels (my favourite, atually). This one is more grounded, and spooky in a more psychological sense.

Mystique in the Mirror | Another one of Pat Rangsimant's novels (and psychological horror too, by the looks of it). This one started filming back in early summer so it should be airing soon.

Shadow | This series will air its first seven episodes on Halloween and that should tell you everything you need to know. It's a suspenseful (ghost?) story set in a Catholic private school.

Spirit Reborn | This has the potential to be very spooky, with curses and spirits and past lives.

SunsetxVibes | This is going to be messy and spicy but the short pilot trailer did have spooky undertones and possible spiritual themes.

The Whisperer | More psychological horror but this time not penned by Pat. Apparently, this has been in production for a while so hopefully we'll get some news soon.

Zomvivor | The only zombie series on this list has entered pre-production and is slated to be released in 2024 (hopefully before October). Will it have BL? I don't know, but it stars pretty much all of domundi's acting couples (and more).

1000 Years Old | Will it be spooky? No idea, but it does have vampires and sometimes that's enough.

#thai bl #thai drama #thai movie #bl series #bl movie #spooky bl #jane watches stuff #bl meta #idk what else to tag this #also this is not a complete list #if you have recommendations or additions please let me know 💜#i'm always on the lookout for more spookiness

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dnickels · 7 months

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"The house is a character" goes without saying, on Ghosts and other shows about people trapped in an old crumbling house that hates them (by God, is that Julian Fellowes' music?), but Ghosts makes good use of the house as a site of contention. It is a very old pile of bricks and masonry in disrepair, that's what it is, but it means to various people-- who live in, who live around it-- is a much thornier issue. Robin, who predates it by millennia, doesn't really give a shit, and to Allison and Mike by the end of the first episode its a huge liability they would bulldoze if given the chance. A windfall, an asset, a stone around their necks etc. But to the people who lived there it was/is a world unto itself. We get to see just how much history that place has, which is a meaningless thing to say, because any square foot of Earth outside of Antarctica has untold millennia of human history, but its a history that's real and alive and present because people remember it, and live out that remembering.

Who does it belong to? Legally to Allison and Mike, by the vagaries of fortune and inheritance law. But what does it mean to try and share the place where you live, currently, with centuries of past inhabitants? The show makes the issue literal but its an ideological struggle that happens constantly when it comes to preservation. People do have to live. Not every beautiful old building can be preserved as it was forever with no changes or updates, although it doesn't stop me from wincing when a new block of 5 over 1s goes up. If you wanted to talk about the long arc of the show, its from episode one where the Ghosts can only watch in horror as the wrecking crew comes in to the last (penultimate?) episode where they make a negotiated peace with the idea of change. (I haven't! Not a golf course! Allison noooo its so bad for the environmeeeeent etc).

I am a little surprised the blue plaque issue got such a brusque treatment-- I was wondering when the Coopers would come up against whatever local heritage society objects to them putting in modern plumbing, or tearing out the old lathe-and-plaster, to say nothing of the government agencies who hand out historic protections etc. But on the other hand, maybe the history of the house feels "more important" than it is because we, the audience, got to experience it so closely. Yes it was the site of a duel, a witch-burning, a murder, a WW2-era weapons development project, a plot to murder Queen Elizabeth-- but so were lots of places. It's not, in the grand scheme of things, an especially important house and yet it means so much! What do you mean, Cap doesn't get a blue plaque for having a very minor homefront position from 1939-1945! What do you mean Fanny doesn't get a memorial for being pushed out a window! Those are my friends!

There could have been a season-arc about someone outside the house trying to 'save' it, make it into a museum etc, but maybe that would be a more byzantine and thorny issue than the half-hour penis joke format would allow. I do still cringe whenever they sell off pieces of 'the collection', or destroy a painting etc, but the point is that its not a collection-- its furniture. People are still living on it, using it, etc. i do hope that any future plans (in the canon of the show) include some kind of way for people to learn about the ghosts' stories-- Allison could write one hell of a book, though how she would source it is a nightmare to think about. But maybe its for the best that the house doesn't become a stagnant museum that's locked up at night. If nothing else, the ghosts would get bored again.

#the themes are rich is what I'm saying!#I could keep going but I am about to be so late for work #bbc ghosts spoilers #ghosts season 5 #bbc ghosts

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mediocre-quill-ink · 1 year

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Medic relationship headcanons

He loves to have his hair played with

He loves, and I mean, LOVES the feeling of you lying on his chest

If his doves ever have babies, he'll absolutely let you name some

He'll absolutely give you morbid things as gifts.

Once, he tried to give you a whole ass heart. Still bleeding and everything

He'll give you neat teeth and bones if you'd like

He'd certainly appreciate if you did the same

If you found him curiosities as gifts as well he'd fawn over you oml

Vintage medical equipment, old medical records, jars of teeth, skulls, etc

I'm sure he'd love a date at the atsus Museum of osteopathic medicine

He doesn't like a lot of pda. If you're both at work and try to flirt with him or feel him up, he'll be dismissive. Just waving his hand and going "not now, love I'm busy" or "time and place, dear" or "I'm trying to plant explosives in his organs, later darling." But when your both home alone it's a diffrent story.

Extremely affectionate and caring.

One of his main love languages is physicality. Kisses, hand holding, caressing your curves. Man is in love with your body.

He studies your body a lot. Not just in the medical sense, but he's always feeling feeling you up. Taking note of freckles, curves, scars, hair texture. sensitive places, everywhere you like to be touched.

He has you maped out in his head dude.

He probably knows your body better than you do tbh.

He loves late night cuddling

I already mentioned he loves you lying on top of him, but he adores being little spoon, too.

He absolutely talks about you to his doves

Sometimes when you walk in they coo at you and he gets embarrassed.

"Archimedes shush! I told you to keep that private!"

You just smile. No clue what's going on.

When you asked him out, it was a rough start to the relationship

Don't get me wrong he was down right obsessed with you

But man he was shocked when you reciprocated the feelings.

You were perfect. Down right charming. Great fighter. Attractive as hell. But he. He was the insane doctor. The Dr. frankenstein, the mad man, the one to be feared. He was never able to keep a relationship for long in the past.

When you asked him out he straight up said "are you sure?"

You, of course said "yes..." and he said, "I always thought whoever would fall in love with me would be... mentally unwell?"

He was thinking outloud. He meant that as a complement. "Like, oh! Someone who's not a complete freak" but obviously, it didn't sound like a positive thing.

You panicked and stormed out. Definitely avoided him for a few days.

But even everything was explained, clarified, cleared. Once you both were on the same page that there was a miscommunication, and you started dating

MAN

He's a true romantic in his own way.

Again. He'll definitely bring out morbid gifts

Horror movie dates

Get loves SAW and Repo! I'm sure

If your comfortable with it you'll have surgery dates. He'll teach you to do fucked up surgeries too.

"No, my darling. You put the rib back in like this." *proceeds to hold your hands (romantically) and guide you, putting the rib back to where it was like that one pottery scene*

On some dates, he'd play the squeez box for you. Some boyfriends play guitar for their partner, but he? The accordion.

And you gotta give him credit. it's a complex instrument.

He takes literal notes of all the little things you like

He's writing what you assume to be work while you're talking to him in his lab. And he's just taking notes on what you're saying

Info dump to him all you like. He thinks it's adorable.

He's definitely autistic as well.

You both will talk to each other for hours on end about each other's fixations

Once you said someone was hitting on you in a not very respectful way to say the least and he got very defensive.

He offered you, if it made you feel better, that he'd love to experiment on them with some painful new ideas he had. Mk ultra type shit.

He loves going dancing with you. Slow dancing or swinging. He loves to dance.

He finds slow dancing to be incredibly romantic, again. Intimacy is everything to him

But if you wanna to do something more active, like swinging (How did they dance in the 60s?) He's more than happy to

I feel like he just loves to move around. He loves moving his legs around.

Sexual:

To start this man is a switch

100%

So to start. His dom side

Praises you to heaven and back.

He'll stroke you cheek or graise your tight and whisper the sweetest things while your fighting for your life frfr

He LOVES to overstim you if you let him. Rip fr if you do.

He's a sadistic fucker. Don't forget this.

He loves to watch you plead and cry and shake and beg desperately to cum

You'll be tied up and crying, edged endlessly, and begging to cum. It hurts too bad :( and he's just smiling sweetly, the flame after sadism in his eyes, stroking your hair and saying, "Just a little bit longer, my dearest. You can do it, love. I believe in you. Can you go a little longer?" You agree. And he keeps torturing you, this time a bit harder.

"You're doing great, darling."

Overstim, bondage, light cnc, etc. He's sadistic.

But now let's talk about sub medic.

Man, he loves to be tied up.

Especially with his hands above his head

He's into pegging/getting dicked down

He loves being big and scary but man he love feeling fragile and precious too.

Make him feel like he's the only man in the world.

He also likes pain though frfr

Hair pulling, spanking, just being grabbed and thrown around, really. Make him feel like a doll.

I feel like he low key likes being punched sometimes, too

Roleplay.

People always say he's into doctor/patient roleplay which I think is true

But like only sometimes

I feel like he's really into fantasy type shit

Siren and sailor, royal and servent, painter and muse, vampire and victim, etc.

Yes, he enjoys both roles for each one.

#tf2 #tf2 medic x reader #medic x reader tf2 #medic x reader #medic headcanons #medic headcanons tf2 #medic #medic tf2 #tf2 medic

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komotionlessqueenmm · 1 year

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Imagine # 1,042

Gif NOT mine.

If this gif is yours (or you know who's it is) please let me, so I can give you/them credit.

Gif credit goes to - @meph1stophel3s (Unless told otherwise.)

Year posted - 2023

⚠️Warning(s) - Little spicy at one point, you'll see.

*I made up a random name for the book in this story, but odds are there's actually is a book by that title, because to me it sounds so generic so someone is bound to have used it. Just roll with it.

(Y/h/c) = Your hair color

The sound of the tiny electric car approaching rapidly should have been warning enough. But (Y/n) found her nose deep in her latest book, one she'd gone as far as to create a elusive cover for with washi tape. Due to her embarrassment of her latest taste in literature, and considering why she was so enthralled with such stories since she began working nights at the museum. Should she have saved these stories for when she was home, nestled in the comfort of her favorite reading chair, and surrounded with privacy? Yes, she probably should have. But that was easier said than done, considering just how perfect this particular book had been so far.

'He trailed kisses along her pulse point, taking his sweet time as he drank her in. His dexterous leather clad fingers inched slowly from the back of her neck, trailing down her clavicle, to the swell of her breast, where he gave a playful almost needy squeeze. As his nose gently nudged the underside of her jaw, tilting her head back further, and his fingers continued their journey. Fire was left in their wake across her bare skin, and making her ache in ways she never knew was possible. His hand grasped firmly on her hip, as he nudged her legs apart with his knee, whispering sweet nothing's as he began kissing down the valley of her breast. "What a sight you are darlin'." His voice drawled deliciously as he peered at her untouched flower. "Sweet I'll bet." He hummed as he inched his face closer and closer to where she needed him most. "Oh~." She breathed out a soft moan as his tongue-'

"Evenin' darlin'!" Jedediah called out as he and Octavius existed their hotrod. In an instant (Y/n) snapped her book closed with a very audible thump. Then, without thought, she shoved the book underneath her right thigh, as a precaution that no one would learn of what she was reading. Her cheeks flushed as she looked down to the cowboy and centurion, their confession evident on their faces as they peered up at her questioningly. "H-hi guys." She stumbled over her words, clearing her throat immediately afterwards in an attempt to calm her racing heart. "Good evening (Y/n)." Octavius called out to her, attempting to move on from the odd encounter. Jedediah on the other hand, was having none of it.

"Watcha readin' there darlin'?" He asked as he tried to peer at the book only just barely poking out from under her thigh, frowning a little when he realized he could only see the edges of the page and no title. "Oh! Uh n-nothing just a u-um." She trailed off trying to think of a quick lie. "Horror story!" She suddenly belted out, chuckling nervously as she wiped her sweaty palms against her pants, hoping her lie was convincing. "Is that why yer so jumpy?" Jed asked with a tilt of his head, while Octavius looked at him confused, clearly having seen right through her lie. (Y/n)'s eyes darted around for a moment, unable to look at Jed without blushing all over again. "Yes yes exactly, it's very..." She trailed off, subconsciously thinking back on the words she'd just been reading moments ago. "Scary." She concluded in a soft tone, before shaking those thoughts away.

"Perhaps we could read it some time." Octavius suggested, knowing damn well she was lying, and attempting to get her to admit it. "O-oh no n-no it's um... It's not my bo-book I'm afraid!" She cursed herself internally for still being so flustered. "Maybe you could read it to us then." Octavius pushed, a cheeky grin on his face when he noticed just how deep her blush became. "No I uh don't read aloud to well, an-and I don't really have a good reading voice." (Y/n) cleared her throat once more, squirming a little out of nervousness. "Are ya crazy? Your reading voice is real sweet I'll bet." Jed tried to encourage her, unknowingly making her thighs clench at the words 'sweet I'll bet'. But Octavius noticed, and suddenly realized exactly the kind of book she was reading.

"Ah well perhaps another time." Octavius suddenly stated before pulling Jedediah back by his vest, confusing the cowboy as he waved goodbye as he spoke again. "We'll leave you to your story then." He stated before all but shoving Jedediah to the car. "See ya later darlin'!" Jed called out, complying to Octavius' silent demand to get in the car. (Y/n) waved goodbye despite averting her eyes to the rather "interesting" part of chipped tile on the floor. "What was that for? I wanted to-" Octavius cut Jedediah off by simply holding his hand up. "My friend." He started before casting his gaze to (Y/n), who could be seen inching her fingers towards her book. "(Y/n) is reading a scandalous book." He stated as Jed followed his line of sight.

"What do ya mean scandalous?" Jed questioned as Octavius began driving away. "I mean a romance novel that takes a rather lewd turn." Octavius tried explaining without actually saying it, but Jedediah understood this time. "Oh... Oh!" He muttered under his breath before frowning. "How would you know?" He quickly questioned, making Octavius sputter a bit. "This-this isn't about me!" Octavius quickly defended himself, turning Jedediahs attention back to the matter at hand. "Didn't you see the way she was acting? She couldn't handle looking at you without blushing!" The Roman pointed out, his words effectively directing Jedediahs attention elsewhere. "Well... So what?" Jed concluded with indifferent confusion.

"Well that means she's probably reading that story with you on her mind!" Octavius pointed out, as if it was obvious. "No." Jed denied the notion, making Octavius groan as he slammed on the breaks, jostling Jedediah in the process. "Hey what are ya doin'!?" Jed hissed as he readjusted his hat, which had become lopsided. "That means she likes you, you idiot." Octavius pointed out as if it were obvious, which admittedly it was pretty obvious. "Yer crazy." The cowboy shook his head, a faint blush dusting his cheeks at the notion. "Fine if you don't believe me, I'll just have to prove it to you." Octavius decided before making speeding off, needing some reinforcement in order to do what needed to be done.

----

They watched and waited for the precise moment before enacting Octavius' plan. The moment coming when (Y/n) began her rounds to ensure all the doors that needed to be locked were still locked. "Now!" Octavius exclaimed as if they were charging into battle, him and his men along with Jedediah rushed as quickly as they could to cross the room. Then they climbed up to the bench where (Y/n) had left her book lay, right beside her bag of assorted trinkets she would toil with to occupy her mind. Luckily she left it with the spine away from her bag, making it possible for Octavius' men to heave the large cover open. It took a few minutes, and much encouragement from Octavius, before the solid cover of the book swung open and fell with a loud bang. Well... Loud for them.

Octavius and Jedediah climbed up the thick book, walking across it to read the title. "A Cowboys Lust." Jed read aloud, a blush creeping up his neck. He couldn't look at Octavius, so his eyes cast to his feet, where he realized they stood on a large image. And image of a blond cowboy, holding a woman with (Y/h/c) hair firmly against his body as he kissed her throat, her body scarcely covered by a thin sheet as he held her in his lap on horseback. Octavius had been observing the image as well when he realized what Jed was looking at, a smirk spreading across his face as he noted the similarities between the characters in the book and (Y/n) and Jedediah. "I told you so." Octavius stated as he placed his hands on his hips. "Shut up." Jed quickly shot back, sulking away, much to Octavius' confusion.

"Well what's wrong now?" Octavius questioned as he and Jed hopped down from the book, silently signaling for his men to close the book so as to not raise suspicion. "What's wrong?" Jed chuckled bitterly. "What's wrong is I'm not even a fraction of her size! I couldn't... We could never... I can't even hold her hand!" Jed exclaimed dramatically, making Octavius hum in acknowledgement. "That does pose a problem." The Roman mused aloud, making Jed scoff. "Ya think?" The cowboy retorted sarcastically. "Well... Maybe Ahkmenrah can do something about that with his tablet? We've never asked him before." Octavius offered as they stood a good ways away from his men, near the edge of the bench. Jedediah sighed sadly before descending down their makeshift ladder, unable to allow himself to feel any semblance of hope that they could do something about it.

Octavius wasn't about to let it go like Jedediah had, he knew all to well how much his dear friend cared for (Y/n), and he always was a sucker for romance. For two nights Octavius and Ahkmenrah worked in secret, to figure out a way to temporarily change Jedediahs height. And when Jedediah finally found out what they were up to, Ahkmenrah was confident he'd finally figured it out. "Now hold on." Jedediah started, hating the flicker of hope that bloomed in his heart. "Ya can't just-" He tried to argue, but Octavius had cut him off. "You'll thank us for it." The centurion stated before waving an encouraging hand to Ahkmenrah, who with a nod of his head began pressing the appropriate buttons.

The tablet glowed a brilliant bright gold, making all three men's eyes widen in anticipation. But nothing happened. The glowing dimmed and snuffed out as quickly as it had came, leaving Ahkmenrah and Octavius confused, while Jed tried to swallow the knot in his throat brought on by disappointment. "I don't understand, it should have-" Ahkmenrah was suddenly cut off by the sound of (Y/n) screaming from down the hallway. Ahkmenrah quickly snatched up Octavius and Jedediah before dashing out into the hall to see what had happened. But as they locked eyes on (Y/n), they saw that she was shrouded in that same brilliant golden glow that the Tablet of Ahkmenrah had just been bathed in, the sight making Ahkmenrah freeze in his tracks. "(Y/n)!" Jedediah called out to her.

"What's happening?" (Y/n) called out as she locked eyes with the Egyptian Pharaoh. But before he even had a chance to utter a word, (Y/n) suddenly glew so bright they had to look away. And when they looked back, she was gone. "(Y/n)!" They all shouted in unison, panic bubbling within each of them, that is until movement caught their attention. There she was! In the exact same place she had been, only now she stood at about an inch tall. "Put me down!" Jedediah hollered, and Ahkmenrah complied, setting him and Octavius down gently after he crossed the majority of the distance between them and (Y/n). Which was only about 12 feet, but he knew to them it would have felt like miles.

"Jed." (Y/n) called to him with confusion etched onto her face, the wind being knocked from her lungs when he suddenly embraced her in a bone crushing hug, his hat having flown off from the impact. "Jed." She wheezed quietly, making him loosen his grip in an instant. "Sorry!" He blushed in embarrassment, keeping ahold of her shoulder when he pulled back from the hug. "What's going on?" She questioned as she looked around, realizing quickly that she'd somehow been shrunk. "That would be my fault." Ahkmenrah chimed in, smiling sheepishly. "Mine as well." Octavius cut in. "But we were trying to make Jedediah grow!" The Roman quickly added. "I'm not sure what happened." Ahkmenrah mused as he looked to his tablet. "It shouldn't be permanent though." He added as he looked back to (Y/n).

"Shouldn't?" She breathed out fearfully. "I'm sure it will be fine." The Pharaoh reassured her, again smiling sheepishly. "Why exactly where you trying to make Jed grow in the first place?" (Y/n) asked as she looked to Octavius, her gaze turning back to Jedediah when he released her shoulders, to instead hold her hand between both of his. "Well darlin'... It's because I've been wanting to ask ya out on a date." Jed explained anxiously, his piercing eyes gazing longingly into her own. "You?... You do?" She asked in honest surprise, not realizing that Ahkmenrah and Octavius were slowly leaving to give the pair privacy. "Course I do. Do ya have any idea how incredible ya are?" Jed mused with a large smile, using his right hand to turn her head to look at him, when she bashfully looked away.

"I'm serious (Y/n), yer incredible." He whispered softly, slowly leaning in for a kiss. (Y/n)'s eyes widened at the realization of what was happening, and when a fleeting thought that this could be her one and only chance to kiss him occurred, she shut her eyes and closed the distance. The kiss was filled with passion and tenderness, nothing quite like anything else (Y/n) had ever experienced before. "Is it bad that I don't ever want the spell to reverse?" Jed asked softly as they parted for air, his question making (Y/n) lightly smack his shoulder with a playful glare. "What?" He chuckled with bright sparkling eyes. "How about that date cowboy?" (Y/n) changed the subject, her words immediately sparking the perfect idea in Jedediahs head. "Come on." He grabbed her hand and swept her away, spending the rest of the night riding around on his beloved horse, simply enjoying each other's company and forgetting about the what ifs of the whole situation.

*Making a custom cover with washi tape on scandalous books is something I actually do. Because I will read them while out and about, and especially on downtime at work, and I'd die if anyone was to see the actual cover and know what I'm reading. And if I ever feel like someone is getting nosey over my shoulder, I snap the book closed and wait until they've gone before picking it back up. 😅 Stupid I know, but what can I say?

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that-girl-glader · 9 months

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My Bianca Di Angelo headcanons before I forget, and because rick riordan didn't give us much to lean on

- She didn't get to have much interests or allow herself to develope an independant personality other than being an adult figure in Nico's life because she had to take care of him.

- She's a pretty quiet person. She only talks in one on one convos because she's kinda introveeted, and she finds conversations tough. She has no clue how to join in.

- This makes her an observer. A listener.

- Her favorite color is dark brown. it's just something about it.

- I saw this on a tiktok that her fav movie is Dorothy and the wizards of oz, and I agree. And since she loves it. Someone introduced her to the chronicals of narnia. And that's like her fav movie series (she also listens to the audiobook because dyslexia so she can't read it.)

- She hates coffee. But she loves cappuccinos/iced cappuccinos and Frappuccinos because they are like coffee flavored slushies (atleast the one I've had is)

- Her favorite animals are rinos and african elephants.

- Her style/aesthetic is dark academia

- Her nickname is Bee. Mostly because that's what Nico would call her when he was like 5 and it kinda stuck, i guess.

- To get kinda child of hadesish in what she's interested. She loves archeology and history which correlate in a way. Because archeology helps you learn about the past.

- She has a somewhat interest in dinosaurs, especially there bones and how they work. So she loves going to museums.

- She's aroace. Absolutely. Idk, it just makes so much sense to me.

- Her hobbies include watching video essays, photography, birdwatching, and doing the thing where you take flowers and squoosh them in a book for some reason. Her favorites are spider lilies.

- She's like that one friend who has zero allergies whatsoever (like me!!!).

- She loves indie horror movies. Like the ones that aren't just scary. The ones that have deeper meanings and lessons, and tell an actual beautiful story. In a kind of poetic way.

- On that note she found herself in the rabbit hole that is dark poetry, and is yet to come out.

Yep that's all for now!!! 🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎

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classickook · 2 years

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anything for you | steven grant

pairing: steven grant x gn!reader

summary: when plans fall through with your friends at the last minute, your boyfriend swoops in to save the day.

warnings: none just fluff!

word count: 1.1k

a/n: if you’re anything like me, you’re still distraught over episode 5, so here’s a random comfort fic that doesn’t really have anything to do with the plot to cheer us all up.

you had received a call tonight, just twenty minutes before you were about to step foot outside your apartment and make the drive to meet your friends, but as it turned out, something came up—between all three of your friends, mind you—and they couldn’t make it.

“i can’t believe they cancelled on me. we had this planned for weeks,” you announced to your boyfriend as you opened the door to let him inside after you had texted him the news, and then collapsed onto your couch, disappointment and frustration evident in your tone. “i was so looking forward to seeing them.”

your shoulders drooped sadly. it was starting to become a trend, you noticed. your friends always seemed to have last minute crises or appointments that prevented them from meeting up with you. at this point, you couldn’t exactly recall the last time you had all been together. being an adult and making time for friends was proving to be harder than you had expected.

“well, it’s a good thing i’m here then, yeah?” steven added happily. his smile was kind, and the way his accent clung at the end of each word, voice soft and endearing in that way you loved, already started to lift your spirits. he was always so good to you. “we can do all those things together that you were planning with your friends.” he pulled you up off the couch and smiled sweetly, dark brown eyes twinkling from the overhead lights of your living room. he actually seemed rather excited, even eager, to be doing this with you, regardless of how silly it might have seemed. “what’s first?” he asked.

steven looked so cute in his glasses, the old frames perched on the tip of his nose and his tongue poking out in concentration. his hands were steady as they slid the small brush across each of your nails in careful and precise strokes. you were honestly impressed; he was doing a much better job at painting your nails than you could have ever done yourself.

the two of you passed the time chattering on about some gossip you had heard the other day at work, steven gasping in scandalized horror at each story. he contributed to the conversation as well, going on to tell you about his adventures at the museum. he always liked to refer to them as ‘adventures’ though he was still stuck working at the gift shop, not yet moving up to tour guide status, although you knew that he deserved it more than anyone. but he made the most of it, appreciating the opportunity to be exposed to egyptian art and history on a daily basis, spending time in different exhibits, hoping to gain additional bits and pieces of information when he could.

the conversation then segued into a retelling of a less than pleasant encounter with his boss, donna, awful woman that she was. you hated hearing about the negative things she said to steven, and you often threatened to storm the museum and give the dreadful woman a piece of your mind, but steven always brushed it aside, saying he was ‘used to it’ by now, but it broke your heart that people treated him so poorly. he was the most wonderful person you had ever met, and you just wished more people would give him a chance and take some time to really get to know him.

once he finished painting the last nail and recapped the bottle, he blew gently over your fingertips to speed up the drying process, leaving goosebumps on your skin. you leaned back to assess his handiwork and smiled widely at him.

he removed his glasses and set them aside. “what do you think?”

“this is perfect, steven,“ you said genuinely, “really, thank you.”

he looked proud yet slightly bashful at the compliment, a pretty blush coating his cheeks. “so, what’s next?”

you both agreed on a movie to watch, him offering to make popcorn as you gathered as many pillows and blankets you could find and placed them around the foot of the couch in a makeshift pillow fort.

he guided you to sit down next to him, draping his arm comfortably around your shoulders and making sure you were covered completely by the blanket. you peered over at him, noticing how the images from the television flashed across is face, strong brows furrowing slightly at the scene playing out in front of him. he must have felt your eyes on him because he turned his head in your direction, expression open as he looked at you expectantly. he was close enough that you could see each individual eyelash framing his brown eyes, and the dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose and over the tops of his cheeks. he was so beautiful it hurt.

“what is it, love?” he asked, concern lacing his tone.

“you’re a really good boyfriend, you know that?”

he smiled shyly, gaze dropping to your joined hands in his lap.

you rested your head on his shoulder and ran your thumb back and forth over his knuckles. “really, i mean it. you didn’t have to do all of this with me. i’m sure there are other things you’d rather be doing—”

his head snapped up at that, the sudden movement shifting you off his shoulder. his eyes widened as he shook his head profusely, “no! oh no, please don’t say that,” he said worriedly. “i loved spending time with you tonight, honestly! i had fun. i would do anything with you, whatever you wanted.”

“really?”

he nodded resolutely.

“so… say i wanted to maybe go to a carnival…” you began cheekily, “you wouldn’t mind doing that with me?”

the look on his face could only be described as pure disgust but he tried to hide it so well, bless him. he swallowed then said, “if that’s what you wanted, i would go with you.”

a giggle bubbled up your throat at how determined and supportive he was trying to be, for your sake, suppressing his hatred for carnivals and the like just to make you happy. the man was far too good for you.

“i’m just teasing you, steven.” a relieved sigh pushed past his lips and you laughed a bit more at his reaction. “i don’t even like rollercoasters, and the food is horrible,” you added.

“oh, thank goodness,” he said, relief evident in the way his shoulders noticeably relaxed. “i might’ve had to break up with you if you did,” he teased and you lightly bumped his shoulder in retaliation.

he smiled at you and you felt really happy, much happier than you would have been had the plans with your friends not fallen through.

“thank you,” you said again.

he kissed your temple. “anything for you.”

you both continued watching the movie until you began to drift off, and steven urged your body to rest against his comfortably as you slept. “goodnight, love,” he whispered.

#moon knight #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfiction #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x y/n #steven grant fic #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant imagine #oscar isaac

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saintsenara · 14 days

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Hi! I just wanted to ask: what advice would you give someone who wants to start writing fanfiction for the 1st time, without any real writing experience? Have a nice day!

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

i'm always honoured to be identified as someone who might have something meaningful to say about writing - and so i always worry about doing justice to questions like this without coming across as being flippant.

because i don't think its ever worth giving advice on writing style or techniques, because these are so inherently subjective. i am an unabashed plantser - i have a vague idea of how i expect a story to go [and i always skip to the ending first, harry burns style], but i let the muses take me where they will otherwise - and this obviously affects everything else about my writing process: whether i like to stick to a specific posting schedule [no]; where i begin in a scene [dialogue]; whether i prefer short or long pieces [yes]; what sort of themes i want to look at; my attitude towards the source material [i believe in the value of canon coherence, but i'm not drawn towards trying to make my work unclockably canon-compliant]; what i find useful to receive from others during the writing process; and the fact that i like to play with genres, themes, and pairings.

if these things don't apply to you - and there's no reason why they should, even after you've been writing fic for a century - then i don't think i'm qualified to give you any advice on how you should go about putting words on a page.

but i do think i can give you something.

because if you want to start writing fanfiction - as is the case for everything else you will want to start doing in your life - there is only one key principle to bear in mind:

fortune favours the bold

by which i mean, at the most basic level, that the only way to start writing fanfiction is to... start writing fanfiction. the only way that you'll ever know if it's something you enjoy doing - and what it is about it that you like, what you find instinctive, what you don't, what your "voice" is, which characters you find harder than others to bring to life, what techniques you'll use to plan, how your work will be received, how that will make you feel, how your style will change the longer you write, and so on - is to grit your teeth and just take the leap.

but i also think that remembering that fortune favours the bold is a fandom principle which serves us all very well in a context broader than just tapping out fics while hunched over our keyboards.

because boldness is synonymous with courage - and writing something and putting it out into the world does take courage! - but it's a courage which has quite a distinctive style.

boldness is not solemn, quietly-enduring, captain-going-down-with-his-ship bravery. to be bold is to be audacious, daring, cheeky, innovative, and a little bit irreverent. it's not someone saying mournfully over your coffin "she fought bravely to the bitter end" - it's someone looking at you in awe and saying "how the fuck did you pull that off?"

and this matters in fandom. because participating in fandom - whether you end up writing fic or not - takes a hell of a lot of brass neck.

after all, each of us has ended up here because we looked at canon and said "sorry - did you think you were done?"

and then - when canon got flustered and started stammering - each of us has rolled our eyes, rolled up our sleeves, and said "don't worry, hen. you can leave it to me."

to be in fandom is to have the audacity to treat the text as a springboard - rather than something which remains behind glass in a museum. it's deciding to fling the characters we love into genres they don't originally come from and revelling in the chaos which ensues. it's finding missing moments and daring them to be just as important as a canon scene. it's the fun of wildly improbable alternate universes - from dystopian horror to coffee shops. it's cheerfully ignoring that there's a point canon thinks its story ends - whether that's finishing narratives which end unsatisfactorily or just playing with happy-ever-after. it's taking two characters who never interact in canon, winking at the camera, and making them kiss. it's taking two characters who never interact in canon, winking at the camera, and making them fuck. it's having the time of your life becoming a malevolent deity and making a character suffer.

while it might not always feel this way, at its core fandom is fun. and it's fun in a way which is quite unusual in this day-and-age - in that it's something we get to shape for ourselves, rather than having to engage with a product according to the whims of the corporation marketing it. it lets us be indulgent without calling us greedy. it lets us chatter away at each other without calling us unproductive. it lets us be sincere without requiring performative earnestness from us. it lets us engage with the uncomfortable and the lurid without the bland sanitisation of respectability.

and it allows us to be hopeful.

and i have always been struck by just how much about fandom rests on hope.

to believe that the dead can live happily in another universe, to believe that time-travel can fix things, to believe that bad people can get their comeuppance, to believe that good people can be imperfect and it doesn't matter one bit, to believe that those who are hurt can be comforted, to believe that justice can be done, to believe that villains can be redeemed, to believe that an insignificant background character matters just as much as the hero, to believe that things can be better - whether your story is overthrowing a corrupt government or letting two people enjoy themselves uncovering a kink, to believe that the most improbable people can love each other - romantically or not... all of this takes hope.

and hope takes boldness.

so be bold and start writing.

be cheeky. take risks. be your own biggest fan. be irreverent. be cunning. recognise that not taking fandom too seriously is self-protective. be self-indulgent. have some self-awareness. be collegiate. gas up your friends whenever you can. be nice to your commenters and try and give them the benefit of the doubt if they express themselves poorly. be curious. regard disagreement as interesting. be compassionate. be tenacious. be prepared to write stuff that flops. be prepared to write stuff that gets left on the drawing-board. be prepared to write stuff people hate. be prepared to write stuff you hate. be audacious. believe you can do it. be hopeful. be daring. be brave. and be bold.

because i promise you that, even if you've never written a word of fic before, you can write your way into and out of anything - any fic, any trope, any pairing, any characterisation choice, any plot hole, any setting, any premise - and have fun and look good doing it.

if you simply have enough nerve.

#asks answered #asenora on writing #fortune favours the bold #shy bairns get nowt #alexa play naughty from matilda the musical #one for the theatre girlies there...

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twig-tea · 7 months

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A question for you because you seem like one of those people who has watched everything: how did you get started watching bl, and what are your ultimate favorite shows?

Double-barrelled! I'm honoured.

How did I get into BL?

The short answer is that ~2016 the YouTube algorithm served me up Lovesick and I immediately went EXCUSE ME WHAT IS THIS and looked up everything else available and watched literally everything I could get my hands on (which at the time was easy because there was only a handful compared to today, but it still felt like a wealth of content to enjoy).

The longer answer is that I used to be really involved in GL (I was the secretary at the first Yuricon in North America in 2002 or 2003) and then BL manga fandom (was in a scanlation group for awhile) through ~2006? so its extra hilarious that this wasn't my route in; I apparently took a break right before they started making live action versions in Japan. But when I got into Thai BL it was fun rediscovering these tropes in a new medium and through the lens of a new-to-me culture, noticing how they differed and how the genre had matured (and how it hadn't), and on catching up on the stuff out of Japan, seeing some of the manga I read over a decade ago come to life! So I mention this history because it's definitely a part of why I stayed (and probably why the algorithm found me relatively quickly).

I only started tracking things in a spreadsheet in 2020 (and it's not nearly as comprehensive or useful as @absolutebl 's), but I did try to backfill the highlights of what I've seen and I have over 550 rows on there, fwiw. I'm a completionist so I do try to watch everything, though that's getting more and more impossible these days.

Ultimate Favourite Shows

This question is so hard. I know you didn't even give me a limit but you have to understand @lurkingshan, I can't choose favourites, I have a draft top ten list that has been blank for 3 years because I can't commit. Okok. I'm just going to list shows as they come to me (not in any particular order):

Thailand: Until We Meet Again, He's Coming to Me, Diary of Tootsies, WhyRU, Ingredients, Not Me, Secret Crush on You, I Told Sunset About You & I Promised You the Moon, Triage, You're My Sky, Make it Right, La Pluie, My Ride, Bad Buddy, My School President, Laws of Attraction, Moonlight Chicken, Dear Dr I'm Coming for Soul, To Sir With Love/Khun Chai, The Eclipse, Midnight Museum, Lovely Writer... Grey Rainbow [ducks, hides, runs away]

Japan: Doushitemo Furetakunai (no touching at all), Kinou Nani Tabeta (What did you eat yesterday?), Our Dining Table, Takara-Kun and Amagi-Kun, Old Fashioned Cupcake, 7 Days (mon-thurs & fri-sun), His (miniseries & movie), I Want to See Only You, Kieta Hatsukoi/My love mix-up, the Cherry Magic Movie, Life~Senjou no bokura/Love on the Line, 180 Degrees Longitude Passes Through Us, Given (anime is my fave version), Tokyo in April Is..., Cornered Mouse Dreams of Cheese, Utsukushii Kare/My beautiful man

Korea: Our Dating Sim, Semantic Error, The Lover [BL side], Color Rush, Blueming, Cherry Blossoms After Winter, Love Class 2, Made on the Rooftop, Discipline Z, Light on Me, To My Star (yes both seasons), Strongberry (faves are Long Time No See, Confidential Coffee Break, and A First Love Story), Sing My Crush, Just Friends?

Vietnam: Goodbye Mother, Hey! First Love, Nation's Brother, You Are Ma Boy, Follow My Sunshine, FOOLs, Tien Bromance: My Small Family, Love Bill

Philippines: Gameboys, Gaya sa Pelikula, Boys Lockdown, Cheat [warning: horror], Your Home, Better Days

Taiwan: Be Loved in House, My DNA Says Love You, We Best Love (1 & 2), HIStory (Crossing the Line is my fave, and second fave is...Make Our Days Count [ducks, hides, burrows into ground]).

Other: Summerdaze (short from Singapore), Stay Still (Hong Kong), HeHe and He (Hong Kong, final season in progress but s1&2 are so funny) and the bromances/difficult to categorize: Scumbag System, Word of Honor, The Untamed, Guardian, Coffee Prince, Bromance (Taiwanese), Great Men Academy, Mr Queen, Sleuth of Ming Dynasty, SCI Mystery

*deep breath* ok I'm stopping lol narrowing it down any less than this gives me pain so I won't try. Also I'm sure I forgot something obvious (and Tumblr was eating drafts of this at various points). All I can say about this list is it's under 100 and that's the best I could do.

Thanks for the ask, and to anyone who made it this far thanks for reading!

#thank you for the ask!#multi bl #rec list #i remain a parody of myself and unable to choose favourites #thank you for coming to my ted talk #ask game #typed so i can stop thinking it

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e-s-willswriting · 10 months

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Writeblr Introduction

Hey, I'm E.S.Wills. I'm still trying to figure out how exactly I want to use this writeblr but I thought it would be good to have a formal introduction.

About Me

I am a writer based in the UK. I can't draw, but I occasionally try.

Focusing on smaller projects currently

I write a lot of things with fantasy and horror elements. I'm a big fan of unique and strange concepts.

Love horror/disturbing media, hate jumpscares.

A lot of my writing is very inspired by neurodivergence and mental health.

Some of my most read genres include fantasy, manga, literary and LGBTQ+

Other things I enjoy are games (fighting and rhythm games), anime and manga and Vtubers.

PUBLISHED WORKS

'Pigeon' in Riptide Journal Volume 16 Museum Pieces

My WIPS

I have a lot of ideas for works, but here are some long form projects of mine that are being worked on.

Short Stories:

The Snatcher's Asssociation (2nd Draft)

Reclamation (1st Draft)

Voyeur (2nd Draft)

One Night Rendevouz

Nightingale Vale

Long form projects:

IAmRiley: Short Horror Film about a Twitch Streamer (1st Draft)

The CRYPT Archives: Urban Fantasy with body horror aspects loosely inspired by the SCP Project. A therapist is hired to work at a secret organization in an experimental project of giving monsters therapy.

The Degenerate: Contemporary Fiction about people, sex, murder and trauma

As stated, I'm still trying to figure out how to use this blog. I'm looking for any more writing blogs to follow and check out some more works/make writing friends. You're welcome to tag me in any writing games :)

Other Places (Review Sites)

My profile on Letterboxd

Storygraph

#writeblr #writer #writing #female writers #writing blog #fiction writing #writers

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respectthepetty · 7 months

Note

Rtp, will you be watching the gmmtv lineup event as it airs? Any predictions?

Non non, I will not be watching it as it airs. That's a Tuesday, so I will be watching Kiseki: Dear to Me and going to work like God and the United States capitalist society intended. It's only part one, so I also don't have the patience for this long con. Watching two parts live is a young person's game. Sad times.

However, I have no predictions, but I do have a long list of "praying to all the saints and lighting all the candles" requests.

10 Prayers I'm Sending Up to Heaven:

Midnight Museum 2 - This better happen or so help me baby Jesus, I will be insufferable.

Tired Gays The Series - Give my "older" gays their time to shine. Give me a BL about a man who is so great at his job, he hasn't had time for love, then he falls in love with his competition or the cute guy he always sees at the grocery story. Give me adults. And GIVE ME PAPANG AS THE LEAD!

Drake?! (you gotta say it like Soulja Boy) - Give him a lead again. Period.

Gym Bros - I need this like I need air. I've always wanted this but seeing Nanon and Pond work out in Dirty Laundry has me stuck on this scenario. What would be the plot? I don't care! Pair up the Joylada crew with Force as the lead, and it'll be like Mama Gogo but for gym rats. Do you see the vision?

JoongDunk - My troublesome tykes must be on my screen every single year, or I'll turn into dust. Joong pops up in shows by himself, but Dunk doesn't, so even if they aren't paired together (THE HORROR!), let Pretty Boy Dunk show up somewhere alone for once.

Fluke Squared - I have a Fluke Pusit-as-the-lead agenda, and Fluke Gawin should be the other half of that equation. If not, give Fluke Pusit and Thor another shot because they did so well in The Warp Effect.

Another TWO GLs - I write "another" even though we have yet to get the first, but I need more appreciation for the ladies, and we can get that with more GLs.

Good Title - Title barely came into GMMTV this year, but has already been in three shows . . . as the bad guy. Can he play someone nice in 2024? I can't hate this man every show. That's rude.

Inn x Title - GMMTV now has Miracle of Teddy Bear's Inn on its roster too. Don't waste these men. Put 'em together!

FirstKhao romcom with Sea as support! - If Ray would get a threesome in Only Friends, it would be with a character Sea is playing. That's all I gotta say about that.

I'll pray about it, but, honestly, I'll take whatever GMMTV gives me. PerthChimon were not expected last year, then the lineup reveal hit with them screaming they "fucking hated" each other, and Dangerous Romance is now my entire personality. GMMTV doles out so many shows, that I'm sure there will be at least one if not six shows I'll look forward to. But if I had to pick one?