#I am living for this regardless lmfao I LOVE this

[essektheylyss]

I do presume Ka'mort is whatever "woke" in this process, but it would be so funny if it's actually the Luxon, historical enemy of the Primordials, being like, "Motherfucker what in the absolute shit are you doing?"

#critical role #cr spoilers #luxon blogging #I am living for this regardless lmfao I LOVE this #anyway I had to say it lbr lmao

[bakugoushotwife]

born sinner (part one)

pairing: crime boss!suguru geto x fem!surgeon!reader series content: blood, gore, realistic descriptions of surgery but like as accurate as someone with access to google has, angst, slow-burn, eventual smut, anxiety as a heavy theme, no curses!au, violence, guns, gang mentions and typical violence, religious imagery, etc. words: 8.5k a/n: omg omg happy new year! the gojo writer takes on suguru geto!! he's so challenging for me in the best of ways and i hope that his characterization is at least tolerable LMFAO!! i got this amazing idea from a gorgeously detailed outline from @antizenin who trusted me to bring her outline to life. i hope you love it!! part two //

the lights are entirely too bright in the meeting hall. it’s nothing compared to the lights in the OR that illuminate the vessels of a heart as you slice into it—finding the clot that caused the fourty-one year old mother of two to collapse in the middle of making breakfast. you saved her life, you save lives. you’re a cardiothoracic surgeon–and a top one at that, though you spent your residency flirting with general and neurosurgery, you ultimately landed on the heart of it all–literally. it was riveting work. it was satisfying work. you got to play god, holding the lives of everyone that came through the hospital doors in your hands. you got to be the one to repair the tear in their aorta, the one to physically pump their heart with your own grip. it was thrilling. until it wasn’t. until you couldn’t stop the bleeding or make the heart beat again. until being god of the emergency room meant sending some people to the afterlife, and realizing that you are no god. you’re just a woman with a degree and a scalpel and a crippling fear that you don’t know what you’re really doing at all.

that’s what got you here. the clock in front of you is just about the only thing to look at in this section of the hospital. the board meets here—the people that convene to discuss fates. it’s almost comically just that the long hallway before the meeting room was barren and hopeless–only the clock’s hands to tick loudly by in mock of you. 7:55 am. just five more minutes until you went from the god above it all to a simple beggar praying to be spared. you were no different from those you operated on. you’re suddenly very aware of how scratchy and hard your chair is, making you adjust and readjust to try to find some semblance of comfort in the last five minutes before judgment day. as a surgeon, you know just how out of whack your vitals are. as someone with a diazepam prescription, you know exactly what’s causing it, regardless of the MD at the end of your last name. shit, you forgot to take your pills again this morning—

there’s a faint sound of heels clicking against the cold tile floor in conjunction with the loud clunk, clunk, ding dong ding! of the clock that signals the top of the hour. it’s time. the secretary calls your name as if you’re not the only person waiting out here, and you nod without meeting her eyes. you know without lifting your gaze that hers is judgmental–like everyone’s lately. 

the problem with being god is that you can’t make mistakes without feeling the wrath of the people that once loved you and championed your name.

millions of thoughts race inside your head simultaneously: if you can’t handle the hardening stare of a measly secretary, how on earth would you be able to function under the eyes of the council, the real gods amongst men. they have the authority to revoke your license if you don’t figure out how to answer to them. the one case, the one incident, the one person’s life that ended because of your inability to handle such racing thoughts drives you to clutch at your chest now as you rise from your chair, back aching. 

“right this way.” she says without another glance, and you’re thankful for that reprieve. she turns, loud heels click clacking their way back down the hall at the same pace of your hammering heart. you love being a surgeon. you can’t lose that. you have to fight for it. saving lives is important to you! you just have to convey this. it’s not hard. swallow your fear and finally fight for something you want, put one foot in front of the other, you tell yourself. breathe in and breathe out—you have to get your sinus rhythm back to normal if you have any hope of getting through this. but it’s so hard when all your senses lie to you like this, the clock’s ticks still rattling across your brain—the long and dark hallway only stretching to be longer and darker before you. you know it’s impossible–just your mind playing tricks. or, more aptly, part of you knows that. but the other part starts to break out in a cold sweat once you finally approach the door. on the other side of the heavy oak were the group of people who would decide what your life was worth: do you get to stay a god amongst men, or will you be cast out like the devil himself? 

you can hear the different voices speaking in low whispers before the secretary has even pushed into the room. you know they must be speaking about you from the way their eyes dart all over your timid form in front of them as they shuffle their papers—reports of every mistake and triumph you’ve ever had laid out in front of them, reducing you to a datapoint. it’s a medical license hearing, but you feel like a freshly hit opossum standing before the vultures just waiting to pick your bones clean. maybe being roadkill was more freeing than this. 

this room is much darker than the lobby you waited in, dimly lit by reading lamps positioned to the right of each panelist–five total. three men and two women would decide if your mistake was enough to ruin your career. their desk towered above you, so much so you had to tilt your chin back to be able to take in their disgruntled, disappointed, and disapproving stares. your saliva feels like liquid cement when you go to swallow it down—though it tastes like bile.  

“good morning doctor.” the man on the furthest right says. he has the kindest eyes of them all, though your brain catches his deception. he’s just acting. the other panelists give you tight lipped smiles of greeting and head nods of acknowledgement. you clear your throat a little and give them a bow. 

“good morning, board of internal medicine. i’ve…prepared a statement?” you clench your jaw at the shakiness you can hear in your voice. it’s the older of the two women that nod at you this time. 

“you may present it.” she says, a drawn-on eyebrow raised expectantly. you swallow down that bile-cement flavored spit again, training your eyes on a hairline crack in the tile under your toe. it’s fitting. as time passes, this crack will widen and cause that tile to erode and crumble away. this meeting could be the crack in your foundation. the decision made here today could be the first domino of events to ruin the picture perfect life you’ve carefully put into place. 

“..hiroshi nakamura entered the emergency room on november twenty-third at 4:57 pm. he was suffering from an aortic aneurysm. as many of you are former surgeons yourselves, i know you’re familiar with the diagnosis. many of these go unnoticed. symptomatic pain is brushed off, and many times it’s too late to save them, the silent killer.” you shift your weight, doing your best to maintain eye contact despite the haunting memory. “nakamura-san was a patient of mine previously. he was diagnosed with arteriosclerosis three years prior, the exact date escapes me. it was in the summertime. july maybe. later that day i performed an endarterectomy to reduce the atheromatous plaque in his carotid artery. we kept him for the next three days for observation, his vitals improved and he was discharged with instructions to receive regular checkups. when he was brought back in…i knew immediately that the buildup must have returned, making it harder for blood to travel until it turned into a clot. when i opened him up, his pressure started dropping. he had an aortic dissection, which i’ve run into many times. but the size of nakamura-san’s was significant. i hesitated, deciding between a graft or a stent for treatment. i took too long to choose, and nakamura-san…bled out on the operating table.” you grimace, looking down at that cracked tile again. the line was shaped like a lightning bolt, its jagged curve leading straight under your shoe. you can feel your chest tighten, so you close your eyes and try to push back against the wave of emotion sitting in your throat. “i had to tell nakamura-san’s family what happened. his wife of forty years, his thirty-four year old son, thirty year old daughter, and twenty-eight year old son as well as his young grandchildren. i’ll never forget what my mistake has done to their lives, and i believe it is punishment enough.” 

you step back once you’ve finished speaking, heart still hammering away in your chest. the members of the board nod, seemingly unaffected by your words. the man in the middle of the massive mahogany table picks up his stack of papers, licking his forefinger before flipping through them. “how long have you been prescribed diazepam, doctor?” 

your blood stills. your anxiety was clearly well documented, and you knew it would be on their list of questions. “since i was a teenager, sixteen i believe.” 

he hums, eyes focused on the paper before him. “and how would you say it helps you manage your generalized anxiety disorder?” 

you would do anything for that ticking clock right about now, for this room is so quiet you swore they could hear your thoughts. “it helps considerably. i’ve stayed on it for over ten years now.”

“your prescription history is spotty. were you trying alternative therapies?” the younger woman asks, manicured red nails clutching your entire life between them via vulturous paper reports. 

you open your mouth to answer–no, argue–but realize that won’t help you anymore than the truth will. “no. i…had not.” 

she raises her brow just like the other woman did, except her eyebrow was real and also well taken care of. “so what happened? it seems like you’ve forgotten to pick up your medicine three times this year—one of which was during nakamura-san’s surgery?” you are a cardiothoracic surgeon, one that was considered proficient enough to pick her specialty. you are no fool. you can see the trap she’s laid before you even unmedicated. 

this is the end. all because of your busy schedule and long hours at the hospital. sometimes you missed pharmacy hours, other times you just forgot about it altogether, mind racing with diagnoses and cases that wait for you the next day. but that won’t matter now, you can feel it before you even answer. they knew what they were going to do before you ever walked in this room. “my business hours are usually reserved for saving lives at this hospital. sometimes i’m not able to make it to pickup.” 

“how long until your death toll matches that of your successes, doctor?” the final man at the left asks, punctuating their line of questioning. he shuffles the edges of his papers against the flat top he sits behind. “i think our decision has been reached. you’re no longer licensed to operate in this hospital or any other, effective immediately. take your medicine.” 

he has his doubts, but he supposes that is his nature. it feels strange to organize a meeting between two warring sides, hoping for a somewhat amicable and fortuitous outcome. hope is a foreign concept in this world, in suguru geto’s reality. he runs the west side of tokyo—keeping businesses running and funding local projects as well as controlling the streets with his biggest means of profit—guns for hire. he was a local historic monument. a ghost–everyone knew of him but pretended not to. everyone from bar owners to bakeries, lawyers and school teachers alike all under his influence, his pulse on the town. that’s how he knew the rival eastside head planned to make a move on his territory, and he’s been able to orchestrate a negotiation between them based on the opinion of his mentor and right hand man. 

traditionally, suguru would eliminate his problem at the source. there’s no need to play politics when you make your own rules. but he trusts wholly in his sacred few, the ones who have been with him since the beginning of his reign, and even before then. suguru’s best friend, satoru gojo was his best assassin and loudest mouth. choso kamo was a younger pup, but loyal and hardworking—very protective. and then there was toji fushiguro, the most valued of all. he’s shown suguru the ropes of this industry while still respecting and protecting him. geto entrusts his life to toji. if the man believes a meeting would be wise, then they’ll have the meeting. 

besides, there was no arguing with his logic. if they were able to pull this off, then his men will have free reign in the east, able to expand their territory into shinjuku, and have a working alliance with their only competition. so why was he having second thoughts? he blames satoru and his creepy blue eyes staring at him in the mirror he’s checking himself over in. 

“do you not trust me?” he asks the other man, tugging the top half of his too-long black hair into a neat knot. it reveals the long dragon tattoo that creeps up his neck, eyes glowing with anger at whoever looked. his own golden eyes flicker with unease as they survey the only person in the room. suguru hated how opinionated satoru could be at times, and valued it in others. though he usually didn’t know which way he felt until after the fact. 

the arctic-haired boy scoffed, kicking himself into stride from his previous position leaning against the wall. “oh i trust you. i just think it’s weird. i mean–toji’s so gung-ho, let’s slaughter ‘em all, and now we’re supposed to believe he’s become a diplomat?”

“i didn’t know you knew what diplomat meant.” suguru comments drily, sidestepping his friend’s critique of their teacher.

satoru shoves his round sunglasses back up his nose to conceal his eye roll. suguru was technically his boss—though he could get away with more than most. “hey, you asked. i just…have a bad feeling about this.” he shrugs–a knock at geto’s door causing both men to go on high alert immediately. satoru reaches for his weapon, always expecting an ambush. such is this way of life. 

“geto–sama, the car is ready.” the driver says from the other side of the wood, and satoru relaxes at the realization that it was just ijichi–a man so weak and cowardly that an ambush at his hands would be impossible. suguru releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding onto. he fastens the final button on his shirt, glancing over himself in the mirror once again. he wanted to appear polished and professional in his all black attire—and it worked. he seemed larger than life and as intimidating as ever. 

“perfect. i should get going.” he nods to his best friend–who, due to his abrasive and blunt nature, will not be attending this meeting. suguru adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves, strapping his guns to his torso and giving satoru a tight lipped smile. the latter gets the door for him, mockingly saluting. 

“i’ll hold down the fort until you get back, boss!” he chirps, nodding to ijichi before making his way back to the data room. 

toji meets them in the car. it’s a bulletproof black bronco, a fitting vehicle to cart around a high-profile crime boss. suguru’s confidence is bolstered at the sight of his most trusted companion, and he genuinely smiles as he ducks into the backseat with him. 

“hey kid, big day.” the older man says gruffly, his gravelly voice making it sound like he were sixty years his senior instead of a mere fifteen. suguru was no child, and didn’t appear to be one either. the twenty-eight year old man towered over six feet, thick with muscle and riddled with scars of experience, but to toji—suguru was a helpless kitten. 

suguru hums, eyes already scanning for potential danger as the car rolls out of the garage. “big day indeed. you’ve spoken to him already this morning?”

toji claps his broad hand down on suguru’s even broader shoulder, chuckling. “we wouldn’t be headin’ out if i hadn’t. sukuna’s ready for us.” he assures, noting how strong and steady suguru looked. toji was proud, geto has grown quite bit from the scrappy little boy he once was. if he was nervous, he was keeping that close to his chest. 

“good. i think he’ll find my proposal beneficial for us both.” he nods, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. sukuna’s crew mostly pushed petty crime and even pettier drugs—suguru’s bunch could elevate their product and offer more riches for the notoriously greedy ‘cursed king’ ryomen sukuna. 

toji snorts a little, amused by his arrogance. “let’s hope so.” he nods, checking the rearview and windows before they fall into silence. 

the ride is smooth due to the expensive tires and ijichi’s careful nature, leaving geto plenty of peace and quiet to brainstorm all of the ways this could go down. he’s doing a genuine good for japan–sure, he has to break a few laws to do it, but the people of tokyo—well, his half anyway—are prospering. he hopes that even the arrogant man that ryomen is can see what banding together would do for them both. then, it could be just a matter of time before he can branch out into the rest of japan. 

there’s that word again. hope. he feels silly each time he catches himself using it. it’s akin to faith to him. something ideal in entirety, hardly true to the touch. he only believes in what he can see–things like optimism and god are lost on him, they are only fantasies. 

“ijichi! watch the right side—” toji commands gruffly, sitting up straighter in his seat to get a better look. suguru is grounded with a shot of adrenaline, leaning over to peer at the black suv hot on their tails. this highway is busy—civilians in their own cars without a clue in the world littered all over the roads at various speeds. it could be nothing–except geto knows better than to hope that the tinted windows on the car were meant to block out the sun instead of concealing identities. the large suv switches into the left lane, speeding up to catch them. “idiot! step on it!” he calls, and suguru draws one of his guns to be prepared ahead of time, a lesson he learned from the man sitting to his right. 

“is it one of sukuna’s?” he asks aloud, cocking his .45 as the first shots ring out from the vehicle beside them. they bounce right off his armored car, but one knicks the tire. geto curses under his breath, cracking the window enough to pop off a few returning shots of his own. the cadillac is impenetrable too–though he had hoped to flatten one of their tires in return or even get one under the hood. 

ijichi starts to lose control on the vehicle as the tire blows—just the metal rim scraping against the concrete with a deafening hiss. the bronco starts to fishtail, the car beside them only furthering the inevitable by nudging the rear quarter panel into the median ahead. “i’m losing it! we’re gonna flip!” ijichi cries out in panic, prompting suguru’s eyes to widen. 

there’s a loud crunch of metal on concrete before they’re airborne. geto feels a sense of finality wash over him as they turn, his seatbelt the only thing keeping him from breaking his neck. there’s another gross sounding scrape of the driver’s side scraping on the road briefly before they rotate again—heartbeat erratic. this is it. all of his hard work would end in a fiery car accident. he can’t even feel it as his head bounces off the window, only thinking about how satoru was right. he should have appreciated his friend more—he’s probably the only person who will mourn him when he’s gone. the roof caves in when they fall onto it this time, shrapnel scratching his face and making him realize they had stopped. they’re on their back–he’s hanging upside down, but he’s alive. he can smell oil and gas and the inevitable smell of fire, so his numb fingers fumble for the seatbelt’s release button. the car alarms are going off—and he knows if he doesn’t get out soon, the relief of being alive won’t even have time to sink in before it’s ripped away again. he looks around the car—toji’s door ripped off in the accident and his body nowhere to be seen. 

“goddammit–” he growls, clicking the button on his seatbelt over and over, unable to get free. there’s a million alarms going off—the car’s sensors, the airbags, the bitter hum of gunshots ringing in his ears still, maybe even faint police sirens heading this way. none as loud as the one in his head telling him that he had to get out soon–fighting until the button finally releases him and he lands with a thud on the sunroof portion of the now mangled bronco. he crawls toward the only exit, toji’s exit, grimacing at the sickening sound of crunching glass digging into his side as he drags himself through it. he thought dying would be more peaceful—that he would be ready for it, even if he hadn’t finished his work yet. in this business, there is no tomorrow, yet he found himself fighting for one. this wouldn’t be the end of him, some sort of voice in the back of his head told him so. it wasn’t his own, in fact he didn’t recognize it—but it made him take the pain and push forward, out of the car and onto the street beside. 

the sunset would be prettier under better circumstances, but he’s grateful to see it irregardless. his head hurts, and he can’t look around as fast as he wants to without getting dizzy, that ringing deafening his senses. he sees the cadillac–still on the scene– with a group of men huddled outside of it talking. 

he sputters out a cough, clearing his lungs of some of the debris he’s inhaled. it catches their attention—and all geto can process is a pair of dark boots stomping over rubber scraps and glass shards until they’re inches from his face and the legs attached are squatting down to get a better look at him. 

“eh, shoulda known you’d survive it if i did.” he grumbles, a voice so unmistakable suguru’s blood stills in his veins. the sole of the man’s boot shoves into suguru’s shoulder, kicking him to his back. “you trust too much kid. why would sukuna negotiate when he could just take from you instead? shame. you coulda been great.” he says, fumbling behind his back for a 9mm piece, the sobering click of the safety and familiar cock of the gun clearing out all the other noises. geto’s too devastated to speak—though he knows there’s nothing he could say. he lived through the accident just to die with the truth: his mentor betrayed him. 

bang!

getting shot doesn’t feel like you think it does. it’s white hot and instant, a blistering intensity that tells you you're dying. suguru’s hand flies to cover the damage to his chest, eyes wide in disbelief still. he must have already died and gone to hell. he can’t hear anything now but the ringing of the gun and toji’s sigh. 

“meh–just to be sure.” toji yawns, scratching his head with the barrel before turning it back to suguru’s chest. 

bang!

it hurts to breathe, but he has to gasp for air either way—bleeding out on the pavement below. the ringing in his ears is replaced by tires spinning out—signifying that the rival crew had left before the cops could arrive. suguru holds his crimson soaked hand up above his face, clenching his jaw. the pain was hitting him in waves, the clawing feeling of glass embedded in his skin mixed with the burn of being shot, the inability to take a deep breath and his growing weakness, he really was dying this time. 

no. 

that voice again. he’s annoyed by it, but intrigued. why? why not give up? he asks himself, coughing despite the excruciating pain it puts him in and the wetness that seeps out of his mouth—something even he knows is blood. 

there’s so much life to live. fight. revenge, love. there’s more for you. 

he stares up at the pale outline of the moon hanging in the sky, growing brighter as the sky darkened. revenge. that was something he’d like to see. he didn’t know about the rest of it–but was confused by this…guardian angel of his. is this god? he was a born sinner—far away from anything holy. this must be an imagination of his—yet it was motivating enough to get him to move again. they wrecked just outside of harajuku. he knew of a dive bar under his business portfolio that he could try to get to–he could hang on until satoru found him and got him to the hospital, though that was a whole new set of problems. he had to get moving, the ringing of sirens getting closer by the second. 

his vision is blackening and he doesn’t even know how close he is to the bar. his breathing is ragged, everything screaming and aching, body telling him to give up but that voice urging him to keep going. night has settled in fully by now, and he’s thankful for that cover. this area of town is avoided by anyone with good intentions, hence its emptiness at this hour. it couldn’t be too late, 8 pm at the latest, but the only traffic moving through this district are giggly college students and no good drug pushers meeting up with customers in the dark. but it’s reassuring to him, it means he’s getting closer. that’s when the reminiscing hits him. he’s able to see some bright flashing lights—a telltale sign that the bar was just ahead. the shelter of the alleyway gives him some reprieve. maybe if he stops just stopped for a second to catch his breath he’d be able to get to his feet and walk inside, or just getting a phone call in would be enough to save him. he thinks about satoru, how he’d come running as soon as he picked up the phone all while cursing him out for not listening to his warnings sooner. he feels embarrassed that the only person he has to think about is his sarcastic best friend, left to wonder if things would be better or worse if he had a family to think about instead. the last thing he thinks about is that mysterious voice calling out to him to stay awake—but his body is done fighting. all is black. 

what better way to end the worst day of your life than getting shitty at the shittiest bar in town? there were probably lots of better options, like conserving your money since you didn’t know where your next source of income would stream from—but that was tomorrow’s problem. tonight’s problem was drinking your sorrows away next to the attractive man buying all your drinks. he was tall and his hair was spiky to look at but you knew it would be soft to the touch–or maybe that’s the vodka talking. his smile was more akin to a smirk rather than a genuine grin. he was trouble. but trouble was buying, so you’d keep batting you lashes and whining about your sorrows so the shots kept coming. the top-shelf vodka the man offers each time is working to its desired effect, numbing the ache in your heart and the bickering thoughts in your brain. it almost cloaks the mildew scent in the air—rose-colored glasses making the nasty blue carpet and hideous wood paneled walls of the bar look like a dream come true. you finally feel light. you almost forget about the man eyeing you like a predator in wait to your left, consciousness floating high in the clouds. 

you used to hate drinking. as a surgeon, you need a clear mind at all times. who knew when you’d be called in for an emergency case. well, needed. plus, you’ve always been an angry drunk, overly emotional and yelling constantly. it wasn’t a pleasant sight. not to mention the hangovers, ugh—your long-term psyche had always beaten out the short-term pleasure, but tonight you owed it to yourself to feel as bas as possible tomorrow. that’s why the clouds clear—your light-hearted joy short-lived as the bartender slides you another shot before muttering. 

“that’s your last one, doctor.” he tilts his head down, used to serving your fellow surgeon friends when you did have a well-timed night off, though he’s never seen you drunk as the most responsible member of your group, you were always designated driver. not anymore, you’d be lucky to get a text back from any of them now that you were disbarred. maybe that’s what actually makes you mad instead of being cut off. it’s the realization of all the things you’ve really lost–-including the right to drown your sorrows out with a swollen liver. 

“what the fuck?? and i know ya heard me talkin’...not a doctor anymore!! so let me have my vodka, i deserve it!” you whine, stretching your upper body over the scratched and chipped wooden bar keeping you from jumping across at his dumb stupid fat neck—

“no can do, miss. you’re over served as is, ‘s my job on the line.” he shakes his head, eyeing the man next to you to get you under control, assuming he knew you better than a few hours of tipsy talking. you scoff at his insinuations–both that you’re too drunk to handle yourself and that this wallet has any sway over your motor-mouth. 

“don’t look at him—fucking look at me! i’ll kick your goddamn ass, you know that?” you’re fuming. this is the proverbial straw that broke the hypothetical camel’s back. after the day you’ve had, you’re surprised it took this much to get you this rowdy. how much was one person meant to take anyways? venting out your anger would help you plenty, you think to yourself as you lift your knee up, prepared to crawl over that wooden plank saving that man’s life. 

“security!! come get ‘er. she’s wasted.” he scoffs, taking your shot away and making your blood boil even more. “they’ll get an uber for ya. take it easy, doc.” he shakes his head, making you feel remarkably judged all of a sudden, every eye in the place was on you as a guard even bigger than the man next to you drags you off the bar as carefully as he can. you don’t make it easy, kicking and screaming out despite the burning sensation in your cheeks.

“you’re scared of a girl? that’s fucking embarrassing!” you bellow to cloak your own, getting tossed on your feet gently— outside of the dingy building. 

“come on, little lady. let’s get you a ride home.” the security guard says, another one of them making their way outside as some sort of backup–like you were some genuine threat. you scoff, folding your arms. 

“fuck off—don’t need your shitty help, i’ll get home on my own!” you kick his shin, throwing your hair over your shoulder before marching off into the dead of night. 

in one of the worst parts of town. 

the cold shocks you awake, the fear putting you on edge and pushing back the drunkenness that fought so hard to claim you. every rustle of the bushes, each twig snapping has your head on a swivel. you just need to make it to your car, though it was daytime when you foolishly parked it a few doors down to avoid the traffic of drunk people leaving later in the evening. you’ve already made half the distance, the connecting alleyway just up ahead. 

you don’t make it two hundred feet before everything hits you again—and you’re bawling at your own stupidity. you should have made time to pick up your pills. you wouldn’t have to be worried about being kidnapped or murdered in the middle of the night if you had just taken your medicine. your life if over—and you couldn’t blame anyone but yourself. you’re a mess. you’re nearly gasping for breath already—the dark alley mocks you with long shadows reflecting from the moon and stray cats that hop out of the dumpster just to make you fear the worst. you wipe at your cheeks, desperately sniffling to try to regain your senses, eyes aching from the downpour. you’re constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure you’re not being followed, entirely too focused on what’s behind you to notice the log in front of you—you’re sent flying over it and towards the pavement. luckily you take the impact on your shoulder, nothing more than a shocked, “ow–” leaving your lips before you realize you’re not hurt at all thanks to your coat absorbing the brunt of it.

it’s just another strike of your famous luck then, something annoying enough to inconvenience you on a day chock full of them, but not enough to take you down. you push to your hands and knees, looking back towards the offending log—only to realize it’s breathing and has long dark hair strewn about its head. you gasp–the fog muddying up your senses clearing instantly at the realization that this was no log, but some severely injured man! you can hear his struggling breaths, springing into action immediately. it’s nearly second nature to you as you push his hair out of his face and away from his neck. it’s much too dark for you to make out specifics–but his chin shines with something you can only imagine is blood, the same wet liquid pooling in front of his torso, the man laying on his side in an almost fetal position.  

“sir–can you hear me?” you try, placing your fingers where his heartbeat should be. it’s weak and much too slow, but it’s there. you can save him. “sir what happened to you? what’s your name?” you ask loudly, trying to get him to wake up. you groan when he doesn’t respond, blindly fumbling around for the wounds. your heart is racing, any slowness from the alcohol was killed by the adrenaline consuming you now. you gasp out again when you feel glass shards and bullet holes, a good fifteen minutes away from home even if you step on it. you’re not sure if this man has fifteen minutes left in him—the reasonable part of your brain telling you to call the emergency line to get him helped. though, they’d take just as long to show up despite how serious his wounds are. “you’re gonna have to help me a little, big guy.” you groan even louder, trying to put him on his back. it would jostle him less and was the only shot you had at getting a man of his size back to your vehicle on your own. 

you swear you hear him chuckle, but perhaps you were still a bit tipsy. you grab his hands, trying to be careful of the one riddled with glass, situating them in your own at the best leverage point. you’re strong—you can do this. you need to feel useful again–and this man needs to be saved. he’s so heavy, nothing but dead weight as you tug him along behind you. you have to bend a little and pray that your legs can make it to your car, just a final push to get to safety. 

you’re grateful when you see your mom-mobile waiting for you. this was your ambulance, and you were running out of time and the strength to keep pulling, gnawing nervously on your lip. what if he died anyway? what if you couldn’t save him at all, and were only chasing highs you’d never feel again? 

no. you’re skilled. if you couldn’t save this man then… the truth was that no one could. so determination overrides your anxiety for the time being, and you pop the trunk of your sporty suv, looking down at the man with a heart sigh. “okay–i can do it. what are ya, 200, 220?” you muse, squatting down and fixing him over your shoulders as best you could—a fireman’s carry of sorts. your hips and thighs should support you more than your exhausted arms, so you heave up with a strangled grunt. you throw him in a little harder than intended, grimacing. “sorry!” you huff, circling to your driver’s side. at least he’s in, even if your arms are jello and you know you’ll have to get him in the house somehow. you aren’t even thinking about how his blood will stain your tan interior—the rush of saving a life quieting any background noise in your mind. “you gotta hang in there. hang in there, please.” you mumble, weaving through traffic. 

you back up as close to your garage as possible, trying to think ahead for anything that could make this easier on yourself. you throw the car in park, hurrying to get him out of the back. he’s running out of time, and a surgical god you may be–but there’s only so many miracles you can call in. you get him in the same hold from earlier yet you let his feet touch the ground, muscles burning at the exercise. you have to breathe in short bursts, crushed by his heaviness, adrenaline helping you accomplish something you normally wouldn’t be capable of. you stumble with him, still half dragging him. it’s a battle you’re worried you might lose, but you get him on your dining room table, splayed out like a gurney. then you’re prepping your OR, getting the lights on, all the tools and dressings you would need, and most importantly—scrubbing in. infection would kill him if you weren’t careful now. 

“you stumbled into the right hands, mister. or well…i guess i stumbled over you–but you get the point.” you roll your eyes at yourself and glove up, stretching the vinyl over your fingers and flexing them, all part of your pre-op routine. you get your first good look at him then. he’s terribly hurt, it really is even worse than you thought. bullet holes and all this blunt trauma–he must have endured something horrific. but beneath all the bruising marring his olive skin, you can tell that he’s a beautiful man. his inky hair gleams under your bright dining room lights, somehow looking silky despite the tangles bunched up throughout the mane. you sigh, turning your attention to the blood soaked shirt he had on–two perfectly round entrance piercing his front, but no exit wounds. in his case, it was probably saving his life, those bullets possibly lodged in important arteries—scary, but better than bleeding out. he’s already lost quite a bit of blood–and it’s not like you have any history on him to know what type he is. there’s no time to worry about tests–you’d have to get your emergency stash of o negative. it was universal–your own blood that you kept on hand in case of the worst. it looks like this is it. you flawlessly install the iv, watching the slow stream shoot through the clear iv catheter and into his body. it helps with his paleness after a few minutes, and you smile in relief. this was a good sign. you rip his shirt with the last remaining strength you’ve got left, buttons flying to expose extremely bruised ribs and those gaping bullet wounds. “this isn’t gonna feel great, i’m sorry.” you grab your cheap bottle of house vodka, taking another shot from it to steady your nerves before pouring a decent amount over his chest. “i have to get in here—i’m happy you can’t feel it–now, anyway.” you take a deep breath and reach for your scalpel. you decide to perform a sternotomy—cutting between his breast plate to the web of arteries beneath. “i can see the bullets. you’re gonna make it.” you whisper, more encouragement for yourself than for him. your retractors keep his chest open for you wide enough for you to get your forceps in, aiming to pull out a bullet out of a vein close to his heart. “it missed the aorta. you’re actually really lucky.” you chuckle humorlessly.

you wedge your forceps in and take a deep breath. it’s not the aorta, but it will spew blood anyway. “not my preferred method of grafting—no catheters here but. i gotta fix it somehow.” you growl a little in annoyance. you have to squint and move slowly, but you’re able to repair the first leak with a shifty little graft. you’re onto the next one, dropping the offending metal into a bowl—complete with a little clink. “we’ll get you to the hospital just to check my work, yeah?” you sigh, hoping that this would be good enough to save his life. your hands steady over the second bullet, and you repeat the same motions as before. you’re relieved at the sight of his heart literally beating underneath your working hands, knowing that he’s still fighting for his life. you remove the second one and get out of his body—sewing up his chest, letting the blood bag refill his own supply until the bag is drained. you push some saline to clean out the line before hanging a bag of morphine, the pain this mystery man would wake up to would be excruciating. 

once you’re done with the intense life-saving measures, you sit in a chair to pluck the glass from his skin and apply ointments to the road rash on his face and arms. it takes another hour or so of work, but you don’t mind. it’s strangely relaxing to feel like you’re doing your job, and it’s so rewarding when you check his pulse every ten minutes to find it getting stronger and stronger. you hate that you hadn’t invested in a stat monitor, having to check his blood pressure the old fashioned way, but that looked like it was perking up too. you grin, proud of yourself. losing your license didn’t mean you lost your touch. you decide to get the glass and rubble out of his hair, pulling it back away from his face for a second time tonight. you take another lengthy look at the man you’ve saved, still grimacing at the ugly bruises and scrapes when something else catches your eye. the man had several tattoos that seemed unremarkable at first, different dark lines tangling into patterns you didn’t recognize. but the dragon creeping from his collarbone to peek over the collar of his shirt—it’s a yakuza trademark. this man wasn’t a poor soul caught up in a tragic accident—this was a dangerous man. you just saved the life of a war-monger, countless lives ended due to his line of work. part of you wants to open his chest back up and make your grafts fail—but the other part of you wants to feel the success course through your veins when he wakes up. besides, what makes a surgeon and what makes a gang lackey? is it a good childhood? morals? options? who’s to say this man had killed anyone? god knows you wouldn’t want to be judged based off of a few sneak peeks. you sigh, piddling off to your room to get him some new clothes. 

it’s invasive, changing a stranger. but you’re at fifth base already right? saving his life gave you a get out of jail free card, even if he was in the most dangerous crime syndicate in japan. you get his matted jeans off, making yourself look up at the ceiling in modesty and respect. you shimmy the plaid pajama pants up his body–thankful that your ex never came back for his stuff. you decide against wrestling a shirt around all the bandages on his arms and chest—knowing you could hurt him just as much as you’ve helped. you decide to try your luck one last time, pushing your table the short distance to your living room to let him rest on something more comfortable than the cold marble slab. it’s an easy shove to get him onto the couch, and you finally take a deep breath and sigh it all out. success is sweet–surgery is exhausting. you pull a little blanket over him, setting hourly alarms to check on your patient until he wakes. 

he wakes up to the smell of something cooking. the light pouring in from the curtain makes him squint–definitely a sharp adjustment from the darkness that consumed him before. he hears a woman humming a few rooms away, only furthering his confusion. he didn’t die? but how…he didn’t call anyone, and he knows no one in that area would willingly bring the sirens in to help him–and where exactly was he? all of these things hit him at once, but nothing harder than the deep ache in his bones. he couldn’t describe it, something so sharp and throbbing he could hardly get his body to obey his mind’s orders to move. 

sitting up is pure hell. every red flag and stop sign goes off, making him grunt in agony. but he knows he has to get going–get out of whatever trap he’s got himself into. he doesn’t recognize the room–for all he knows, sukuna’s men followed him and have him here to torture. 

but that woman’s voice, he knows it. that doesn’t mean this isn’t a trap still. the humming stops, and footsteps pad closer until a bright face pokes into the room, an ‘o’ shape forming on her face before she enters–complete with a plate of food. 

“you’re awake–” you gasp in surprise. you had just come to do your rounds, deciding that eating with him would help you better watch out. you weren’t expecting him to already be up and at ‘em, he must be very strong. though you still notice how rigid he’s holding himself. “you really should lie down, you…” he cranes his sore neck, flashing you a glimpse of that black ink. you suddenly remember just how dangerous he is, and he looks like a dog backed into a corner, narrow black eyes sizing you up—distrust all over his feline features. 

“who do you work for?” he tilts his head to one side, and your brows furrow in confusion, oh–he was worried you worked for a rival. you shake your head, eager to defend yourself. 

“n-no one, no one right now!” you blurt out, anxiously shifting your weight foot to foot. you look down at the breakfast in your hands, holding it out for him to take instead. “here! eat, as a sign of my goodwill.” 

he analyzes the plate, then looks back up at you–peacocking his shoulders back and hissing at the pain the stretch brought him. now you know just how weak he is—and he can’t make another target out of himself. “i hope you know i will have you killed if you’re lying.” 

despite the way his glare makes your skin crawl and the hair at the base of your neck stand up, you can’t help but laugh at that. “i wouldn’t lie. i saved your life, why would i waste my time?” you shove the plate out further, basically putting it in his hands–one still heavily bandaged from dragging himself through the wreckage. 

he takes the plate from you. if he’s shocked by that, he doesn’t show it. he only watches you as he eats your food, grunting in pain every so often. you took the iv out while he slept, not sure how he’d react when he woke up to wires. “i uh…i have medicine…for the pain.” 

“who are you?” he returns without a second passing. he takes another reluctant bite of food, stomach growling in thanks. 

you tell him your name, stealing a few glances at the heavy furrow of his brow. “you were badly hurt. i am a doctor..so i helped repair what i could. you should recover. i imagine you need to lay low?” you ask with a raised brow, betraying your intellect. he knows you must have some idea of who he is. “you can stay here as long as you need. you might want to shower–but you’ll…probably need some help.” 

his expression shifts before your very eyes. his clenched jaw and steel brow relaxes into a soft look of…gratitude? truthfully, he was baffled. a doctor stumbled upon him, realized that he’s a criminal, saved him anyway—and now offers her home? he almost worries about how naive you really must be—but he owes you a debt he can never repay. you have given him a second chance—made revenge possible when he had given up completely. “thank you, little ebi. i will take up your gracious offer.” he nods, smiling kindly. 

you smile, heart going awol inside your chest. it was the right thing to do, he was injured and needed to be cared for. you’re a doctor who suddenly has a lot of time on her hands. it means nothing–but that you still have empathy left in you. you know you’re close to shaking, but you turn to leave before it can show. “i’ll grab you a change of clothes. don’t move too much until i get back.” you hum, and he hums in acknowledgement. 

he’s rather polite for a yakuza, his refined calmness even in the most dire of situations rubs off on you easily—you hold your head high as you pilfer through the tote of clothes your ex left behind, trying to find something for the big scary man in the living room. you finally decide on a plain black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. you even nab some of those painkillers you offered earlier, hoping to ease that stiffness he carries himself with to mask his suffering. 

but when you get back to the living room the only thing waiting for you is the empty breakfast plate and a few hundred dollar bills—your curtains blowing in the harsh wind. your heart sinks for an unknown reason, and you tell yourself it’s because your patient wasn’t dressed for the cold.

#jjk x reader #kyleewritesjjk #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto #jjk geto #geto suguru #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #geto x reader #crime boss geto! #doctor reader #fem!reader #jjk x fem!reader

[themanifestingbrat]

I manifested a new job!

But not just any job, this manifestation is pretty much life changing for me as I get to work in my desired city, make lots more money, and also live there for a discount!

✭ How it started✭ Obstacles✭ How I used my Imagination ✭ How it manifested

✭ How it started

So I already was tired of the job I was currently at and I needed a change. I had a difficult manager, annoying clients, and I wanted to move to another city.

I occasionally checked my company's website for new positions and kept my options open for a good month. During this month, I was still deciding between what I wanted but once I figured that out, a new opportunity was posted. It was literally calling my name! It was my desired location and a brand new building. So I immediately told my manager for her approval and applied.

✭ Obstacles

I didn't hear anything for two weeks and in those two weeks, I started feeling anxious because I got a random thought that I would be fired from my current job. It was totally random and it gave me a really bad feeling but instead of fighting it, I decided to flip it and affirm that I got hired at the new job.

After weeks of not hearing anything, I checked back to my work email (that I never use) and saw that they denied me because they couldn't get a hold of me! I almost freaked out but remembered who I was and stayed calm. I reached out to the manager to apologize and ask for a interview and she said YES!

My co-workers, although very supportive, kept putting negative thoughts into my head of how my manager would react to me wanting to transfer because she's so strict and needy. I didn't take it personal and I would affirm to myself that my manager adores me and supports me.

After my first interview with the new manager, she said she would reach out the next day for a second interview with another higher up. I didn't hear back for another two weeks but instead of assuming the worst, I returned to the state of someone who got the second interview scheduled. I even chose a day that she would email me back and when I would have the interview and it manifested in a week!

✭ How I used my Imagination

Now, I didn't do this to get anything or see results, I naturally did it to fulfill myself and also for fun.

I used affirmations here and there. No, I didn't track how long or when I would affirm. If I caught myself falling out of state, I would just shift back and maybe affirm once or a few times until I felt confident.

I imagined before bed of me working at the new job. This is something I naturally did because I love visualizing exciting possibilites before bed (sometims too exciting and I wouldn't fall asleep haha). I imagined what the office would look like, what my new coworkers could look like, what I would wear, etc. I created different scenarios that could happen.

After a few weeks, it did feel natural. I was bragging to my family that I would get the job. I even made a pinterest board of all the new outfits I needed to buy, I chose a new hairstyle and nails, basically thinking from.

✭ How it manifested

Regardless of what the 3D showed, I had the mindset I already had the job, cause "how can I lose if I'm already chose?" lmfao. After basically going through 3 interviews in a span of three months, the new manager called to offer me the position! I also forget to mention I wanted to manifest higher pay and the pay ended up being a few dollars over (hourly) than what I was okay with!

This job offers an opportunity to live onsite at a discount and it's a brand new luxury property! Now I am going to manifest living there at my desired rent, move in date, and all the other stuff that come with getting a new place!

#loa manifestation #manifesting #loassumption #manifesation #neville goddard #living in the end #law of assumption #loa #loa affirmations #loa success #loa blog #successstories #success #success story #mine<3 #loa methods #manifest #desired reality #mental diet #dream life #success<3

[stardustjmk]

sorry stardustjmk but i AM a jake girl so I will just continue to request jake LMFAO buttttt I would like to request maybe jake and reader watching a movie and it makes the reader cry and like they are not emotional for any reason in particular other than the thing that happened in the movie was sad but jake comfort and teasing about it pls pls pls❤️❤️

Note: LMAO no need for apologies - I used to be a Jake girl, and now happily sit in twin lane, so i’m all for the Jake requests. 🫶🏻 Also, this idea is so cute i’m obssesed. Also, this is more of a blurb than a one-shot, but I still hope you enjoy! <3

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x GN!reader | Genre: fluff | Word count: 1k

Movie nights became a regular thing in your home wirh Jake during quarantine. You could only do so many off-screen activities given the circumstances, so by the end of the day, the thought of cuddling up and binge watching a few movies always sounded perfect to both of you.

Now, the movie nights are fewer and further between, but still a common occurrence. Common enough for you to still have candy left over from one of your last movie nights, you find as you rummage through the cabinets in your kitchen. An excited smile plays on your lips as you gather the assortment of candy, then bring it out to the living room. You take another trip back to the kitchen to grab the bowl of popcorn you’d made, along with drinks for you and Jake.

Just as you plop onto the couch, Jake joins you in the living room. You watch as he walks to the couch, taking the short period of time to take in just how cozy he looks. He wears a soft grey t-shirt, with plaid pajama pants, and you can tell

that he brushed his hair, then ran his fingers through it at least twice since he did it, giving the locks a tousled look. It reminds you of when you first started dating, which in turn makes your heart swell.

He plops down next to you, and instinctively, you snuggle into his side, and his arm lays across your shoulders. You two never stay in the same position for that long, but your cuddle sessions usually start like this. “Did you pick a movie?” Jake asks, the gentle rasp in his voice like music to your ears.

About the movie…you knew from the trailer alone that it would likely make you cry, or at least make it hard not to cry. Do you still want to watch it regardless? Absolutely.

So, you nod and grab the remote, having already pulled it up. Jake isn’t concerned about the movies contents, trusting your taste. Not to mention, you could probably get him to watch the strawberry shortcake movies if you really wanted to, just because “I love you, and I just like spending time with you. So, i’ll watch whatever you want to watch, baby.”

At some point you and Jake find yourselves laying on the couch together. He’s laying flat on his back, with you nuzzled in between his body and the back of the couch. Your leg is thrown over his torso, and your hand rests on his chest. Your other arm rests beneath his neck, and you find yourself mindlessly playing with the ends of his hair as you watch the movie.

You knew there was going to be at least one gut wrenching scene, but here you are, on the second one, and the twist is something you couldn’t have predicted. You try to suppress your tears, but a shaky breath is all Jake needs to know you’re getting emotional, and he then has to suppress a smile. Which, if anyone were to be seeing this out of context, the image of your boyfriend grinning while the scene on the television plays out, would be questionable.

Tears fall from your eyes, landing on his shirt and leaving temporary stains. You can’t help it at this point, the tears flowing freely. You sniffle as you try to blink away some of your tears in order to see the screen, but you almost regret it as the image displayed makes your heart twist even more. Jake remains silent and still, aside from a hand on your back that rubs soothing circles into it. He’s quiet, and you’re almost shocked to think that you’ve escaped any teasing from him, but as soon as the credits roll, he lets out an amused chuckle. You carefully push yourself up, and he lets his legs fall off the couch to give you more room.

You’re certain that your eyes are red, your lashes wet with the tears you’d been crying consistently for at least twenty minutes now. Jake sits up, and you refuse to acknowledge the shit-eating grin that spreads across his pretty pink lips. “Honey, it’s just a movie,” he coos as he reaches out to caress your cheek, swiping away some of your tears. You’re torn between leaning into his touch or being dramatic for the fun of it, but you can’t resist him. So, you settle for somewhere in the middle. “You would say that,” you huff, nuzzling your cheek against his warm palm.

He scoots forward and wraps his arms around you, and you sob. It’s meant to be a funny, dramatic sob, but more tears roll out of your eyes. “I guess you didn’t learn your lesson from the last sad movie we watched, huh?” Jake hums, kissing your head. His tone is the perfect mix of teasing and sweet, making you melt and scowl all at once. “I’ve learned my lesson this time,” you sniffle, lifting your head.

Jake cups your cheeks and plants a kiss on the tip of your nose. “You say that now, but i’m sure you’re gonna find another movie like this, that we have to watch, and we’re gonna be right here again.” He explains, and you know he’s not wrong. “Whatever,” you grumble, but you aren’t mad. His hands are still on your cheeks, and he wiped away your tears again.

Sure enough, a few weeks later, you’re raving about this new movie, and when Jake looks it up one day, he can only smile to himself thinking about you being torn up over it. And no, you won’t escape his teasing that time either.

#greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet x reader #gvf fic #gvf x reader #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka x reader #jtk x reader #jake kiszka x you #jake kiszka fluff #jake x reader #jake kiszka x y/n #jake kiszka blurb #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fluff #jake kiszka fic

[reides]

today is the FIVE YEAR ANNIVERSARY of the dnd campaign that i am a member of...!! so you know that a long rambling post is 100% in order.

five years ago, i played dnd for the very first time. (the date on that post says the 16th but that's because we played for like a billion hours and it went past midnight. because of course it did.) i remember being so, so nervous about it bc i seriously knew next to nothing about dnd. i had never watched any tabletop shows or anything and i was pretty much totally new to improv. i had no idea what a d20 was. i wish i was kidding. i truly just dived right in there. (fitting, i guess, since the character i play is a triton... LMFAO).

i'm so glad that decided to try it out regardless bc it has paid off in ways that i can't even begin to express fully... this campaign has accompanied me through so many life events - both the good and the bad - and i cherish each and every one of our Merry Band of Misfits' adventures. even when shit hit the fan and encounters got tense or chaotic in some form, it ended up making for some absolutely wonderful memories. i'm so glad that that reides - my lil blue fish lad!!! - is a member of the champions valoris.

reides is a character who is extremely near & dear to my heart and he has really awakened a creative side of me during these past five years. i always strive to be a player who can live up to him and do his character the justice that it deserves. even 'beyond' the campaign, i have so much fun writing stuff related to him, making crafts related to him, coming up with art ideas for him and getting comms of him... simply rotating him in my mind. you know how it is. really, i think it's impossible to sum up what reides means to me because he's just... REIDES!!! (also, peep the original token i had for him vs his current one... so cute. just so cute.) i seriously love all of the stuff that everyone else at the table makes for their own characters, too! playing pretend with your friends is fr one of the most healing experiences ever; we all gently feed off each other's creativity in such a lovely way. the passion we all have for our respective characters and the overall setting of the campaign is infectuous, and that passion - coupled with a whole lot of hard (yet fun!!!) work - has made for a story that is nothing short of legendary.

so i just wanted to take a moment to express my gratitude and say that i am honored to share a table with these incredibly creative individuals who have saved me in so many ways!!! big shoutouts to my fellow player, @mintflavoredwindows, who plays kilwin, the EXTREMELY blessed (teehee cleric joke) blond lad standing next to reides in that little chibi line-up of our characters (and who also takes the time to write AMAZING!!!!!! session synopses which all of us read time and time again; they are fr a lifesaver not to mention an immortalization of everything we've been through), our dungeon master of legend, @killdragons, who puts a TON of effort into the campaign setting as a whole and was the person who offered me a position in the campaign to begin with, @brewswain who has accompanied us on tons of different arcs with his absolutely incredible array of characters AND @sangre who has guest starred with his lovely miré (AND WHO HAS SUPPORTED THE CAMPAIGN SOOO MUCH IN GENERAL i love talking abt alethustria with you bree)!!! nathan (who plays jorah) and cj (who plays ashara and played slumberjack during the first season of the campaign) aren't on tumblr dot com so i can't give their urls a little shout-out in this post, but i'm still going to restate that being able to share in this adventure with them - both in-character and out-of-character - has been fucking incredible. the adventurers formerly known as the pog champions are eternal. viva la champions valoris. etc etc etc.

i also want to thank everyone who's supported reides / the campaign as a whole on the sidelines, bc you guys are absolutely amazing. and i can't possibly post this without showing off our lovely campaign wiki. bc it's iconic.

thanks everyone :') so excited for future adventures!!!

#jamietxt

[stormblessed95]

Hey stormy! What are your thoughts on the docuseries so far?

(Hit send before finishing) the pacing feels a bit odd to me, like in ep 3 we’re already in 2019 and I just feel like there’s so much more we could’ve seen of the early days :(

I personally am loving it. But I'm also missing BTS so bad I'll take them anyway they wanna give them to me. Lmfao I also think it's well done enough and is SO SO SO important for ARMYs who haven't seen more of their history yet or who are new to watch this docu series. Learning their history is so fundamental to being their fan and understanding who they are honestly. And this is such a perfect chance to do that in a way that is less overwhelming than "here's hundreds of thousands of hours of content, go get caught up."

I think the docu series highlights how important it is for ARMY, new and old and in between, to go back to their roots and understand their history and where BTS has come from and how's it shaped them into who they are now as people and as idols. And how they relate to and love ARMY and the WHY that is behind all of that too. There is good reasons why ARMYs are so protective of BTS and seeing why first hand and knowing their roots for yourself is better than just hearing why from other people. Learning their history should come first for us as fans.... And this docu series is such a good opportunity for people to do that!

THAT SAID!! I don't disagree with you about the editing or wanting more. I will never stop wanting more about BTS. I devour everything they give me and hoard new information about them like an absolute weirdo. Lol and their editing team is always low-key a little whack. Like their ITS editing is all the hell over the place and so messy 😂😂 it's a choice... They keep doing this. We learn to live with it clearly and love it regardless because we love the content 😂 oh well. It's not *too bad* it does just timeline hop alot which I can see how that can be confusing at times for some people and feeling the desire for even more.

#bts beyond the star

[ironladders]

so i had a thought about ashrah and syzoth and i really dont know how to feel about it so i want your input. and keep in mind i am still new to MK lore and dont understand the ins and outs of it like most other people do. but i read that in past timelines at least, demons of the netherrealm were dead bodies reanimated by quan chi. so i was wondering, how do you feel about the idea of ashrah having been syzoths wife in her past life, probably unbeknownst to her. does it make sense, the implications of it, etc.

hi sorry i was in figure drawing when i got this ask & that class lasts 6 hours 🫠 art school was a mistake

anyways: this is so good and yet evil oh my god??????? it probably wouldn't work in canon unless stuff got retconned, but the implications here are so interesting to me regardless and you could do so much stuff character-wise (especially for ashrah) with this concept.....

first off, don't worry about not knowing extensive details about mk lore. it's bound to be confusing for someone new to the franchise, and even then plenty of us who've been here for a while don't entirely know what's going on either. i had to look up half the shit i mention in this post just to make sure i'm not off by a bunch

syzoth would have the biggest mental breakdown ever if this were a thing. poor guy can't catch a break

this would be a lot for ashrah, if she were to find out or otherwise put the pieces together. i mean, her whole thing is wanting to be fully human, and yet in this idea, she's not aware that she once already was human. that would be absolutely wild and 100% turn her entire world upside-down if she were to ever find out that truth.

the angst in this idea would go crazy. I LOVE IT. i think that syzoth would be reluctant to get close in any way with ashrah (at least initially) because, even if he doesn't know about how some demons are dead people brought back to life, ashrah physically resembling + sounding like his dead wife would mess with his head SO much.

poor ashrah, too; she's trying to learn what it means to be human and make friends with all these new people, and everyone in the good-guys group seems to be willing to be open with her--except for syzoth. and she has zero clue why. of course, because of their similar pasts and common struggles, they'd probably be drawn to each other anyways, but it'd be 10x more depressing than in canon

i imagine in this concept, shang killed her and then gave her corpse to quan chi. i don't think shang tsung would've given syzoth's family the dignity of dying in the living forest, tbh, i personally believe he dragged them off somewhere far away to die (which is also how i imagine syzoth went so long without knowing they were dead in the first place. easier to keep him in the dark about his family's fate if he's not aware of where they are). alternatively, ashrah could be put in a similar boat to old-timeline hanzo, who was a vengeful spirit of the netherrealm after being killed by bi-han, and then continuously manipulated by quan chi. i guess she would have to be somehow turned from a spectre to a demon, but i'm sure they can figure it out with magic lmfao

you're sort of right about the reanimated/reincarnation thing, it just doesn't apply to every type of demon. (more lore explanation under the cut bc i rambled a lot and it got a bit long oops) (if you read up on all this already and this information is useless to you i sincerely apologize in advance)

the lots of different demon types in mortal kombat: imps, oni, the enenera, cambions, and other miscellaneous ones. iirc there was also gonna be another class called "elder demons" (like elder gods but not really???? i guess???) in an older game but that was scrapped.

there’s technically a difference between the oni and other demons, because quan chi in the old timeline was an oni before he turned into a demon after mastering sorcery. so i guess oni are like… lower than demons??? or something?????? i’m not actually sure what the difference is between the two tbh 😓

we know that the enenra are created from the souls of slain mortals, so they'd be an example of an undead person coming back as a demon, as mentioned in this very sad scenario. the only enenra that we've actually met in canon is smoke, who was explained to be one after dying as a child via his mk9 ending

it's really fucked up lol, some cult kidnapped & sacrificed him when he just a kid

so that would be one example of how in this au/scenario/thing, ashrah could've had a human life once and not be aware of it. this tracks pretty well with mk9 smoke not remembering his previous life or death, until his early memories came back to him after so long.

the only issue is that smoke was reborn as an enenra right after he was killed, and after he took out his revenge on the cultists, he woke back up in his human body with no memories of his previous life. so i assume this would apply to any other enenra: they die, come back and do their thing, then go back to their original bodies right where they died with no memories of their old lives. they don't minecraft respawn in the netherrealm, which is where ashrah is from. but if pre-death ashrah in this au was dragged to the netherrealm and then killed, then brought back as a demon that's further manipulated by quan chi's dark magic, i guess it could work?????

(speaking of the enenra: in one of his mk1 intros with ashrah, smoke mentions dreaming of the enenra. so either tomas already died in this new timeline & just isn't aware of it, OR he's gonna kick the bucket soon and come back as an enenra. either way, we should probably prepare his funeral in advance lmfao).

there have also been demons that aren’t enenra, but are still dead people reincarnated by quan chi, as you mentioned. they're really obscure characters -- i had to look them up to make sure i wasn't making this up in my head lmfao -- but in the show mortal kombat: conquest there's siann, mika, and sora. they're undead corpses of the netherrealm that were brought back to life as demons via quan chi's magic

they lived they served cunt they died

from my understanding (i haven't watched mk:c, i just read their wiki page) they were basically being forced to work for quan chi otherwise he threatened take away their living forms, which sucks. also mika might have a crush on quan chi….. for some reason???

the difference between these three and the enenra, though, is that they seem to actually be aware that they're undead lol. but maybe that's just because quan chi keeps threatening them with being corpses again if they don't follow his orders (again, haven't watched mk:c). who knows! their wiki page isn’t that long and doesn’t give me much info so i don’t have much to go off of 🤷🏻‍♂️

ashrah in mk1 does have a canonical demon type; she mentions that her and her sisters are cambions in an intro with kitana, hence how sareena can seamlessly change between her human-ish and demon form. i don’t thiiiink cambions are “reborn”/undead the same way the enenra would be? in irl folklore “cambion” is used to refer to either a changeling — which makes sense given sareena — or a demon-human hybrid. i really doubt ashrah’s the latter, though, so i suppose she just... spawned into existence as a cambion one day. or maybe she has demon parents running around somewhere. idk bro

i guess what i’m trying to tie together here is that in the “ashrah is a reborn dead person but doesnt know it and unfortunately said dead person is syzoth’s dead wife” nightmare scenario you’ve presented to my inbox, it could go a few ways:

she’s an enenra

same situation as the mk:c girls

hanzo-esque situation (although he's not a demon so. idk)

the second one is probably more in line with what you're thinking of, except that unlike the mk:c girls, ashrah would be kept in the dark that she's a reanimated corpse of a human woman.

and, i said this earlier, but i'll say it again: this would be a wild twist for ashrah character-wise. imagine: she’s fighting for her absolution, fighting to be a human and rid herself of her demonic nature, and then it turns out all along that at one point, there was a time ashrah was human. she had a human life and appearance once, and it was all ripped from her one day and she had no idea. even if her previous life wasn’t related to syzoth or anyone else on the roster, that would still suck. but on the other hand, i think it would give her even more incentive to purify her soul & finally kill quan chi. she'd be hurt, angry, want vengeance for the human woman she once was. the woman that was wrongfully murdered for a sorcerer's selfish gains. the possibilities are endless!!!

i dunno what else to put here or how to end this off, but i've got so many thoughts now... oughh

#not art #ask #ashzoth #angelscales #ashrah #syzoth #iiii am too tired to tag the rest of the ppl mentioned here LOL

[deputy-buck]

Well now you gotta let us know your thoughts on Hawk/Tim puppyplay

!!! love you anon, so much !!! here's Tim's lamb + some other items and photos

Is it a way for Hawk to take more control? yeah, a bit. But is it more so about Tim letting go and being more comfortable with himself? Abso-fuckin-lutely.

I project a little onto Tim, and I HC him being very unsure and over-conscious of his movements, like his physical bodily movements, he's over-aware of anyone's eyes on him to the point he thinks "Am I walking normal? what do I do with my hands? is this a weird way to stand?" It's super fun- I've settled on "Skip" being Tim's pup name :3

Also I'd like to say a super special THANK YOU to @lispenard-street for beta-reading this fic for me!!! Literally every piece of input you had was gold and the absolute correct thing to do, not to mention all the super kind words you had for me even though the draft was in shambles when you first saw it lmfao- So thank you, Gem💚

-

Fetch

Hawk was consumed in drafting a small speech for a function Senator Smith had organized —something about acknowledging McCarthy's threat to the State Department but encouraging diplomacy— when Tim showed up on his doorstep looking like a kicked puppy. His boy promised that he would be quiet and that all he needed was to be somewhere safe while he felt this way. With a beat of hesitance, Hawk let him in, slightly worried no work would get done. Hawk really has no clue how telling a bunch of grown men and women to essentially stand down will do any good for the department, but he'd rather chop off his own hand than go against Senator Smith. 

Tim’s head feels light and full of syrup-damp cotton. He’s quite familiar with this feeling, having been experiencing it for some years; the swirling, strangling, suffocating need to serve and submit. But it’s all different now, knowing that he has someone he can relinquish himself to. Knowing he can let his mind float away and still be safe regardless of whatever may happen around him.

His tongue is wet and heavy behind his teeth, forcing him to swallow the excess spit before it drips past his stress-chewed lips. A warm buzz tingles across every inch of his skin and radiates through his insides; the feeling settles somewhere in his hips and weakens his knees, joints threatening to buckle beneath his weight. The urge to sink to the floor right on Hawk’s doorstep nearly wins but he has just enough sense left in him to know that it would get the door shut in his face.

Instead, he takes a couple wobbly steps across the threshold and into the foyer before giving in to the downward pull and sinking to his knees on the hearth rug that poses as a welcome mat. Tim struggles with bumbling, pawing hands to strip himself of his clothes, only managing to shake out of his coat and claw at the already loose knot of his tie before he lets his hands drop to his lap in defeat. Head swimming, lungs unable to draw in enough air, he looks up to the man standing in front of him, asking —begging— for help with watery eyes, throat resistant to form any sound other than a pitiful whine. 

Hawk smiles and gently peels away the layers of Tim’s human facade: tweed, cotton, tortoiseshell, and gold all in turn. Replacing it with leather and brass, unbinding his pup from responsibility and expectation, letting him be raw and sensitive here where Hawk can protect him—can be the soothing balm to all his scrapes and burns caused by the world.

With a finger hooked in the D-ring of Tim’s collar, Hawk leads his pup into the living room. A little bit of fussing over Tim’s blanket, a brief pitstop at his desk to fetch Tim’s little white lamb, and a soft yet firm command of “Down. Settle, Skip,” later; Hawk redirects his attention back to his speech —leaving his little pup to play at his feet—  intent on making good progress tonight. So he's got a pencil in his hand and three sheets of paper —two already full of his scrawling, thankfully— on an old book in his lap. He's not sitting at his desk for this —his back hurts too damn much— but instead is reclining on the low couch on the opposite wall. 

                                                          ===

Tim nudges his little white lamb into Hawk's lap, propping his chin on the older man's robe-covered knee, huffing and whining when his handler doesn't immediately look at him. The sweet noise catches Hawk's attention immediately, quickly switching his focus to Tim's pouting lips and glimmering eyes instead of the stark white pages.

Those big doe eyes shine with a playfulness that has Hawk's heart seized with warmth and affection for the young man. 

He’s just a boy, Hawk marvels.

Tim had been quietly playing by himself on his rust orange tartan blanket at his handler's socked feet, manipulating the soft toy with his hands and rubbing his cheek against the fluff of its fur, nipping at the tiny ears and tail. But that gets boring after a while, and Hawk hasn’t so much as reached down to pet him in the last twenty minutes. 

A break might do Hawk some good— his eyes are starting to sting anyway.

"Wanna play, huh?" Hawk sets the pencil and makeshift writing pad aside, picking up the small plush and shaking it in front of Tim's face. A laugh bubbles up from his chest as Tim presses his chest forward against Hawk's shin and snaps at the toy, teeth clacking together when a soft, felt hoof gets close to his nose. Maybe he'll catch it one day but today isn't that day.

"Get it, boy." With one last flick of the toy in Tim's face, Hawk tosses the cotton-stuffed lamb across the living room and into the kitchen hall; he had moved the chair that usually sits in the center of the room over, giving his pup room to play while he worked. Hawk is thinking of making this furniture configuration permanent, always allowing Tim to slip down to the floor and be 'Skip' with nothing in his way when his boy’s mind starts to shift and slide to one more canid.

This is a fairly new addition to their play, fetch. It still feels odd to crawl on the floor in nothing but his briefs and collar; bright sconces of the kitchen hall leaving him nowhere to hide. Tim feels a bit exposed, as though his most vulnerable parts are bared for Hawk to scrutinize from his comfortable perch. The skin of his face, chest, and back flush a rosy shade of pink knowing Hawk is watching him.

Hawk rakes his eyes down Tim's body, a ball of heat beginning to wind and coil low in his belly. With a slight readjustment of his robe and briefs, Hawk makes sure to conceal his growing erection, knowing that's not what his puppy needs right now.

Tim clambers his way across the living room, palms and knees softly thumping on the hardwood floor as he chases his lamb. The nickel tag clipped to his collar jingles with each plodding step. He's not going to humiliate himself by trying to trot after it —he knows he'll fall flat on his face— but he's learned that Hawk wants him to crawl instead of get up and walk. Dogs don't walk upright, Skip. Down, boy. 

Once Tim reaches his beloved lamb, he dips down to grab it between blunt teeth. Jaws clamped down on the soft fabric, Tim shakes it side to side like a terrier with a rat or a Beagle with a rabbit: mauling it before bringing it back to his owner for a reward. His hair falls into his eyes as he does so, obscuring his glasses-less vision even more when he turns his attention to Hawk, panting softly, searching for that warm smile he's always trying to draw out of his handler. The one that lets Tim know he's doing good.

He gets it, a sharp show of teeth, the highest value reward Hawk could ever give.

"Bring it here, Skip. Come on." Hawk encourages, patting the top of his thigh to beckon his pup back to him. He loves when his boy turns into his pup, the thorns of defiance and questioning stripped away to sweet, silent submission. Hawk wouldn't change Tim's inquisitive mind and crashing emotions for anything, but it's nice not having to be on his toes, waiting to be thrown off-kilter by a question he hasn't allowed himself to think about. 

Tim ducks his head as he crawls back to Hawk, still a bit too aware of the position his body is in. Hawk had said he likes the way Tim's shoulders flex and strain as he lumbers across the floor on all fours. The memory of Hawk growling those words in his ear while the older man's hands squeezed and kneaded the muscle in Tim's arms prompts Tim to pause once his hands hit the scratchy circular rug. He slides them forward to stretch out in front of himself, chest nearly brushing the floor, fingers clawing at the rug, intentionally tensing his shoulders to make the muscles ripple and cord beneath his skin. Arching his back like a dog who just woke up. His collar tightens around his throat as he does so, biting into his skin, leaving the faintest mark for later.

Satisfied with the shaky sigh and chuckle Hawk lets out, Tim straightens back up to finally bring the toy back to his handler, a little more confidence in his stride. His tag jingles a little louder now. Depositing the lamb in Hawk's open palm, Tim sits back on his haunches, ready to chase and retrieve the toy again, willing to bare himself for as long as Hawk will grant.

"Good boy, Skip." Hawk praises, free hand ruffling through Tim's hair, pausing to gently scratch behind his pup's ear the way Tim loves. "Always such a good puppy for me." 

-

Again thank you so SO much for beta-reading this for me, Gem, you're the best!!

#pup tim #pup skip #tim laughlin #hawkins fuller #hawk x tim #fellow travelers #puppyplay #buck builds #buck backtalks #again sorry mobile users that the time break is off center I do almost everything on desktop-

[bitbrumal]

BLOG REOPENING

hewwo hewwo fellas & fuckos. winks with both eyes. i'm possibly going to slide in around here throughout the holiday season bc the writing itch be itching, so i'll provide an update on the muse list & the dynamics / threads i'd like to keep ( if y'all are also down ) from before my break.

if you would like this post if you're ( still / again / whatever ) interested in writing with me, i'd really appreciate it ! it'd let me know where to get started again ❤ i'm mainly looking for threads over meme replies, although the threads don't have to be lengthy or involved per se. inbox things just aren't doing it for me.

MUSES

UNDER RECONSIDERATION : KHIONIYA / TSARITSA ( open to all )

I wanna keep her, but I've gotta rewrite her. I've been going on pure wishfulfilment MommyTM vibes, but we need a bit more canon accuracy lmfao. Goddess/Archon of Love, yes, but I ought not ignore that she has become like a reversed tarot card :joy:

SCRAPPED : ALHAITHAM

I should be feeling this criminally autistic nerd, but I'm not. Maybe I will some day. I'm leaving him be for right now.

SCRAPPED : CAPITANO

't isn't happening. i'm not... doing what i wanna be doing with him & i also don't care so fwhoop that one's going.

ADDED : WRIOTHESLEY

No-one's surprised. Daddy came home with the milk the moment I called for him, & uh. As soon as I actually fucking play the Fontaine quests I'm sure I'll pick him up. ( I accidentally spoilered myself on his tragicTM backstory & on god this man is a king. ) ( If I fall sideways into neuvilette instead nobody laugh at me. )

KEPT : DOTTORE ( semi-selectively open to all - he's picky & that limits my options ) REGRATOR ( for select fatui threads unless smth Happens ) TARTAGLIA ( open to all ) KAEYA ( open to all ) DILUC ( open to all )

THREADS & DYNAMICS

Obviously I understand if we're not on the same page about carrying on where we left off, no hard feelings. We can start over, pick something new, slap new muses together, or do nothing it all. Issal GucciTM.

LIKE I NEVER LEFT LOL :

I'd love to pick back up where I left off with @galactia, on any & all muses, their dynamics, & also threads c:

The same goes for @bunnyshot, although I see you haven't been online in ages! Regardless, if we're ever on the timeline at the same time again you know I am down to clown. This includes your other muses.

@torrentide HOMIE. HOMIE. HOMIE. HOME BREWSKI. i am down for everything from before & more, idc what.

If @greedbent is still down to clown, I'd love to carry on with what we were brainstorming in the DMs.

Same to you, @howthesleeplesswander!! I see you writing in another fandom on the dash atm, so I get it if you're not in the vibes for what we were brainstorming in the DMs, but I'm still hype to write with you if the mood strikes you. Lmk if you're down :thumbsup: ❤

@xiielians You know idek wtf you're doing right now bc much as the dramatic chinese gaylords captivate me, I haven't indulged in the fandom + I'm waiting patiently on that novel of yours with eyes peeled—but if you wanna play with anything ( whether I know the fandom/char or not ), I'm sure I'll be game!!

@ncrthlandbank I'd love to continue what we were doing with vlad & alyos ❤ if you're down! The thread where regrator terrorizes vlad is one of my alltime faves & still lives rent-free in my head :weary: it's the only time i did him any type of justice & your no-longer-non-playable-characters are awesome.

REBOOT :

Here go all of my moots with who i never fully settled anything ( dynamic / muse / thread-wise ), but was vaguely interacting with on the dash here & there... I am down to clown with all of you, I'd love to start something be it serious or silly. Whether you wanna continue vaguely doing things here & there or you wanna plot something out, idgaf I am so down to clown i am . the whole circus. vamos lmao.

#ooc ✦ we don't leave room for jesus. #makes eyes at the dash hella aggressively #if you'd like this to lmk ur down to clown i'd appreciate it !

[opticfile]

China and reader having a Venti and Zhongli kind of relationship? Like they're both really old nations and are the last ones left of the ancients but they both can't seem to get along (maybe because China's a tsun-tsun), regardless tho they still refer to each other as friends maybe even secretly as something else...

China: (wine name) still tastes the same, but where are those who share the memory?

Reader: Hey

China: No

Reader: I am literally the only one left who's part of those memories!

✧ ITS SO SILLY just them arguing but also having a shared superiority complex bc they're old and outlived everyone else lmfao

—✦ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 // ill-mannered yao and cheeky reader, old man yao, "you kids don't get real art!11!!1!!1!1!!!", mutual pining but no one wants to give in and admit they like each other, discussion of loss and mild grief

Yao exhaled sharply as his eyes fluttered over the artwork before him. It was old as the dirt beneath the museum he stood in, it was old as he was.

The existence of a nation is bittersweet. 

You live long enough to see civilization evolve and change, see great inventions come to fruition and movements rise and fall. You experience every era, every style of art, of music, you experience each century’s creativity at its very peak and watch it fall as a new wave of thinking floods into its place. As a nation, you grow with your people, with time, with history. You are history. 

You get to see the peak of what you love.

But you must also watch its bitter descent. You live long enough to see everything you know and love disappear into time and get shoved into history books and museums that refuse to depict what you experienced and what you saw entirely accurately. You forget things you love, you forget old friends and old favorites. You watch the faces of people you love decay and dissolve until they get buried under the dirt you’ll continue to walk upon for years, and it’s heart-wrenching. Everything you love is torn away, and everything you find will not last. 

And when you’re as old as Yao, very few can share your memories.

Yao has lived with a glare in his eyes and a sharpness on his tongue for longer than most other nations have. He’s seen his old friends rise and fall and he’s kept himself steady throughout, bracing himself for every wave that washed over him and every loss he experienced. There are very few left that can rival his existence. 

“See this? The artist’s use of the brush is impeccable.” Yao clicks his tongue, “Certainly superior to whatever mess modern art is. You’d think that they spilled paint on a canvas. Where is the inspiration?”

The young man beside him shifted on his feet impatiently, boredom painting his features as he looked over to a group of gleeful men, cheering with their drinks.

Yao sneers, “Hmph, as if you would understand, you're far too young.”

(and despite the nation beside Yao's inhuman age, it was clear Yao considered him hardly different than a child)

“So um… I’ll see you around, China.” The nation shuffles away, heels of his shoes clicking the tiled floor as he walked over to those he could relate to a bit better.

And a laugh bounces off the walls, one that makes Yao huff.

“Hello Yao,” you sang, “I’ve see you’ve been terrorizing our juniors again.”

You smiled at the man before you, tilting your head as his arms crossed a little tighter and his lips twitched in annoyance.

“Come now, don’t ignore your old friend.” You frowned, mock hurt echoing through your voice.

“You’d think such an old friend would know when to leave someone be.” Yao bit back, drawing a giggle from your ribcage that made something in his heart remember. 

(but he would never give in to a feeling so traitorous)

You gazed over the old painting, slowly stepping closer to Yao. “The artist’s brush work is immaculate, yes?”

“Yes.” Yao sighed, “Despite your bothersome nature, at least you have taste.”

You pretended to gasp in offense, a hand clutching at your imaginary pearls. 

“If you’re going to reminisce, you shouldn’t call the only person who shares the memories bothersome, how impolite, Yao.”

Yao glared at you in annoyance, “But it is true, is it not? Should I lie just to protect your feelings?” 

“Perhaps,” You smiled, “You never know how much longer we have.”

Something in Yao stutters as he remembers those who faded from his life, nations he outlived, conquered, killed. 

(but he shook it off and told himself it had nothing to do with you)

“We’ll see who outlives who,” Yao said, smugly. 

“So the bet is still on then?” You giggled, “I trust you’ll hold up your end of the deal when I outlive you, then?”

“Might be hard from the grave,” Yao allowed a smile to grace his lips, “Perhaps in my last days I’ll arrange it. Though I suspect I won't be needing to.”

“How confident.” 

What a twisted game it was. Betting on who would die first, who would leave the other’s life. The last pieces of a puzzle lost to time and they do not fit together, but their edges are mangled from years of pushing and forcing and-

What would Yao do if he lost you to time?

“Maybe I should go first,” His voice lowered into a bitter murmur, “This life is taking far too long as it is.”

“And lose? I’m shocked you’re willing to entertain such an idea.”

“A loss more bearable than-” Yao snapped his mouth shut, eyes reluctant to move from your face (lips) as he flushes. “Than having to live another day with you irritating me.”

You laugh.

“That would be the Yao I know so dearly, then.”

“Dearly?” Yao spat, “As if we haven’t been feuding for centuries.”

“Of course, but maybe the hatred has let me get to know you better than kindness would, hm?” You teased, “Such a cruel tongue, you should learn to hold back.” 

“You talk too much, take your own advice.”

“Mmmm, no, you’d miss my voice too much.” You winked, Yao’s face scrunching up as his heart quickened.

“Perhaps the best invention I’ve witnessed is earplugs.” 

“Or maybe a gag to hold back your sharp insults-”

The sharp noise of glass breaking forces the two of you to glance over to the splintered wine glass lying on the floor beside you. You raise a brow as a young nation spews apologies at you.

“How clumsy.” You remark.

“You should watch where you’re going.” Yao tags along.

“So inconsiderate, where has common courtesy gone over the years?” You huff, turning away from the glass and from Yao.

“It seems we are the only ones with any manners left.” Yao turns to the painting as well.

And despite your bickering and teasing and insults your shoulders brush together as you stand in front of the painting and the nations around you still see you as old friends. And maybe the feud isn’t as big as the two of you try to make it. And maybe the pieces fit together better than you think.

#opticfile ✧༺࿐ #opticreq ✧༺࿐ #hetalia #hetalia world series #aph hetalia #hetalia axis powers #aph china #hws china #china x reader #aph china x reader #hws china x reader #yao wang

[mostlymaudlin]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers 💫

thank you @decaflondonfog for the tag !! ill tag @sillyunicorn @starwarned @urban-sith @tea-brigade

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

98!! (woah) plus an unrevealed t&n fest fic, so 99. wow i need to do something rly crazy for 100 lol. what if i do a ridiculous crossover of all my fandoms and everyone in the fandom tags will hate me. 

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

544,914. (again. woagh)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

mostly all for the game and simon snow series, have dabbled in & posted even less for check please, captain america, and one direction! i feel like i’m missing something but regardless my fixations are hardcore, so all except like 4k of that posted wc is for either aftg or ss hahahha

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

all are andreil! boyfriend privileges (4k, T) / Trigger (62k, E) / flashes of intimacy (10k, t) / Would you still love me if I was a worm? (6k, T) / Inside Thoughts (1k,T)

man this is long, rest is going under the cut lol

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

not very often, but i wish i did. i am stricken with a combination of being really awkward when people are nice to me & being bad at interacting with anyone in ways i fear could be perceived as ingenuine. im not sure if that makes sense LMAO. and sometimes when i put a story out, i kind of feel like i’ve said my piece — i’ve put so much into it that i don’t really know what else to say!

anyway, i always reply to questions, because that’s got clear social boundaries hahaha, and i DO love talking abt my stories!! and sometimes i’ll reply to comments that really get me thinking. but yeah, i know i reply less than i could, and i want to like double down on the fact that i am endlessly grateful for everyone who has ever left a comment on my work <3

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i have killed simon snow twice lmfao. i’d actually classify icarus as rather hopeful — it’s about grief & healing. but legacies is just fucked up lmfao

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

oh man, i write a lot of happy endings haha. i feel like even when my story is tonally darker (rare), it still has a happy or at least hopeful ending. this is probably not the correct answer, but i think sing of the moon has a really vividly happy ending. like — the sun rises for the first time in the whole fic! amazing. or maybe my high school au, We Can Live Forever, which is just the happiest thing i’ve ever written. 

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not really, thankfully! people are smartasses sometimes but overall ive been lucky. there have been a couple of fics where ive winced before hitting post, but it usually ends up fine

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

yessss. i guess i mostly write tender smut, bc i write tender things in general. i think my smut tends to be rather exploratory/playful as well? intentionally sloppy and awkward choreography hahaha

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

sort of LOL. once upon a time i was betaing @tea-brigade's medieval snowbaz au, Reliquary of an Arsonist, and there’s this part where three highway bandits mug simon and baz and then get blasted by simon’s chosen one magic. i am sick in the head so im in the google doc like “lol what if its kandreil.” and then i was like… what if it was kandreil….. and so i wrote Reliquary of a Bandit

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i don’t think so

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes!!! and i’m really thankful for everyone who has done so <3333 shoutout to russian aftg translators, yall go HARD

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i recently collaborated with @thewholelemon on our episode of Star Trek: Redemption, Heart-Shaped Box. by which i mean: i wrote the outline & a few scenes, got really overwhelmed, and jenny turned it into something worth reading! 

i also wrote Good Boy in the snowbaz stoner verse with @starwarned, which was rly fun — we sat in the google doc for like, 5 hours trading back and forth on POVs as we wrote pure porn together LOL. it’s funny to think about this, because lauren knows like everything abt me now but we did not know each other as well back then!!! and we were just like “yeah lets write porn together” hahahahha 

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

right now it is deeefinitely andreil… they are everything to me for reasons i just cannot possibly be brief about LOL so ill just leave it at that

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i have a postcanon snowbaz time travel/time loop wip that i was going to try to write for COBB this year but i fucked up the deadlines then the brainrot was like “guess that means more andreil !”. i did SO MUCH research for it and i think it’s rather clever and smutty and fun bc they are yeeted back to watford era! but it’s also dealing with snowbaz, who are in their late 20s and are like in a relationship low point/actively fighting when they end up in the loop… so they are dealing with that tension at the same time as they are trying to get out of the loop. and also fucking around watford to fulfill fantasies HAHAHA

16. What are your writing strengths?

characterization is the thing i care most about! and i think that’s the draw of fanfic in particular to me — i love getting such a grasp on a character that i can translate them into endless situations while still making them feel true to self. i rarely let myself publish anything until i can read through the whole thing without any he would not fucking say that moments hahahha. this is of course pertaining to my own interpretations of the characters, which is the only thing i care abt lmfao

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i rely a lot on body language because im always writing abt reticent fuckers who cant use their words. but i think i sometimes overcompensate, or describe actions that don't actually fit the scene. i've seen this described as "cheek-biting" -- like, throwing in action during a conversation just to delay the pacing/further the tone, but when you really look at it, it's not necessary. (cheek-biting being like, "character bites at their cheek" in the middle of a tense conversation)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i don’t really know any other languages! i think i’ve put a little bit of french in neil/kevin/baz POVs before, but my french knowledge is elementary at best. love the idea of it though.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

one direction babyyyyyyyy !! i wrote quite a bit of it in like 2012-2015 but published very little. there’s 1 on my ao3, some lost somewhere on fanfiction.net (i dont rmr my username lol), and tons in my folders from my old laptop lol.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

hmmmmm. im gonna cheat bc i cant pick a single favorite. i always say i think No Turning Back is some of my best writing from a craft standpoint, and it also includes my favorite type of conflict (andrew self-destructing lol). however, i reread both that fic & We Can Live Forever on a plane trip recently after not having touched either for 6+ months — and the solidness of We Can Live Forever actually surprised me, especially because i wrote the majority of that fic while i was stoned and also view it as just exceedingly silly. the world of it is just very rich, and also very very different from the typical character backstories, and i’m very proud of how much that reread played with my heartstrings.  

ok last one — there are several installments of my flashes of intimacy series that i come back to a lot, because i’m proud of what they each accomplish in 500 words. especially because i often turn to those when im trying to express my own emotions lol. specifically, my favorites are picking fights, i don’t mind, swimming lessons, and practicing gratitude.

that was such a bullshit and cocky way to answer this lmfaooooo. but tbh i am my own biggest fan and that is by design — i write stuff so that i can reread it months later and have it be perfectly catered to my tastes. i love all my fics <3

#my writing

[frecklystars]

You're finally adding your Patrick ship tag! Is there a reason why you didn't? Or maybe you did and I just missed it?

Yeah I'm finally adding the tag onto gifsets. Enough people guessed who the tag was for already so I thought I might as well, lol! I hesitated for a very long time because 1) he was on-and-off the F/O list for a long time until I finally built a version of him in my head that I tolerate, but god it was such... a rollercoaster getting to this point and 2) I don't ship entirely with the movie version of him because there's such a different version of him in my head, that it felt weird adding his ship tag onto gifsets. like. him sitting at a dinner table in a gifset, I'll look at him and think "there's a version of you in my head that I am so heavily involved with, but it isn't You." but hey. christian bale is so pretty.......... and whatever. the version in my head looks like christian bale too. so why not. it's all fiction and nothing is real and we're all gonna die, nothing in life matters :)

It's two months later and I've finally decided he's gonna stay on the F/O list even if he isn't really a... romantic F/O. I mean, he is? But he's not? But he is. But he's not. He's my boyfriend-who's-not-my-boyfriend. He's my serial killer bodyguard. He's my pathetic boytoy I drag around on a leash and if anybody is mean to me I just go "sic 'em, boy" take off his collar and let him go hog wild, and then I give him a treat for being my good dog.

In all honesty the reason why I'm shipping with him is because I need to rewire my brain into believing my F/Os love me, even the villains. Before I went through [vaguely gesturing to the trauma of 2023] a whole year of not being able to self ship without thinking any and all F/Os would hurt me, I was able to self ship with villains without any problems. Now it's insanely difficult to ship with anybody regardless if they're a villain or not, and I'm trying to feel like my old self again. This is where Pat comes in.

Somebody actually F/O recommended Patrick to me in my inbox a few months ago and they didn't tell me that he was a serial killer or a horrible person in general lmfao but they said... I'm paraphrasing here but they said something like "he is very intense, but he would be very protective and devoted to the one he loves" and that sounds like... something I need to get back into the habit of believing: all F/Os are protective and loving, they're not gonna be abusive towards me even if they're abusive villains themselves. Then my friend said "oh that's one of my favorite movies!" and sent me funny meme videos of Pat where he wasn't killing anybody, he was just. sweating profusely over business cards and crying hysterically in a phone booth. and I thought "wow I'm kind of in love with him, this is the most pathetic man I've ever seen in my life" and tbh if you know me long enough, you'll know a fun fact about me, I see a beautiful man sobbing his eyes out and that's it for me. it's over. I am so smitten for a pretty man who's shedding an unnecessary amount of tears. The more pathetic, the better. So then we joked that he was my boyfriend even though I planned to never see the movie (I live at Super Weenie Hut Juniors, I can't handle horror). WELL. I kept coming up with self ship scenarios with him even tho I only knew him from the business card scene and his crying scenes. Curiosity got the best of me anyways and then I realized "hey, if I'm feeling really attached to a villain right now, and if I watch this movie and come up with self ship ideas with him... isn't that healing? In a way? Having a really terrible person find a way to change and become a better person and to love me? Building a version of him in my head and believing he'd love me; isn't that what I'm supposed to be doing with fiction?? This could be a good healing exercise for me"

So then I watched the movie -- AND MY GOD I HAVE NEVER WORKED SO HARD TO SELF SHIP WITH A CHARACTER LOL DUDE THIS GUY IS INSANE. On and off that F/O list every few hours. I have never been on such a rollercoaster of emotions with a character. "I love him - oh god I hate him. I love him! I hate him. Oh this part of the movie is making me laugh so hard I have tears in my eyes. Oh god this part of the movie is so disturbing we need to skip it, I won't even acknowledge it happens. Oh haha I love him. Oh I hate him." Back and forth back and forth. I know he's the American Psycho™ so he's gonna be quite intense. y'know. but this was also my first horror movie just in general and I was very on edge shakily gripping my friend's hand LOL. And then the end of the movie made me feel a lot better because - well I won't spoil it, but the end of the movie really really helped me feel better about it, and if it didn't end that way, then I don't know if I would have bothered trying to put him on the F/O list at all. But I am a stubborn bitch!!!!!!! I want to get better so bad and if shipping with this guy is gonna help me then damn it all he is GOING on that F/O list!!!!

So he's officially on the F/O list now (even if he isn't really a romantic kind of F/O, he's still Something dear to me). Woohoo 🥳🥳 I feel genuinely 100% safe and loved with him, even if it isn't the "canon" version of Pat, there's still a version of him built off of that and that feels like a big win for me considering my circumstances. He isn't a main F/O by any means so he likely won't be sticking around my head for very long, but wrow. I love him. and he loves meeee!!!! and if I keep working very very very hard maybe I can ship with TF characters again someday, bc god I miss them so bad

#anonymous #asks #💕♬♪ Losing you is not an option ☆🔪❤️💥 #so sorry if you expected a short answer. you ask me a question i WILL ramble for 500 years

[alkalinefrog]

Hiya Alka! I just finished what you have up of your Arthuriana AU for HiJack- it blew my socks off!

I study medieval literature as part of my undergrad degree and I was astounded that you included Yvain's story with the lion! He's such an underappreciated knight! And the queer themes with both that tale and Gawain and the Green Knight? AND that Gawain appears in Yvain's tale? *chef's kiss* (is this foreshadowing?)

Thank you for your writing- it's clear that you are extremely talented and that you work extraordinarily hard on what you put out!

I hope you are having a great day!

AWWW Thank you so much omg!!! I'm so glad to hear that you like the Arthurian aspects of it already, especially if you're studying it, WOW!!

Oh thank god I'm not just projecting my own queer themes on them, I'm glad to hear confirmation of that from someone else LMAO. Regardless, I was ready to bastardize them into being gay, but I'M GLAD THERE'S A REAL BASIS TO IT.

Yeah dude!!! When I was first going into this AU I only knew about the basic story with Arthur and the love triangle and Mordred and all that, so this is the first time I'm reading into more of the knights and general lore! I started off by reading "King Arthur" by Daniel Mersey, which I found as an e-book at the library and that was a really great digestible intro to all the different historical origins of the story. It also had a lot of different mentions to the stories about the other knights, so I wrote a list down that I want to read more into (and am still reading into lol). Sir Yvain IMMEDIATELY became one of my faves because of that friendship, and I'm waiting on my hold on the "Sir Yvain: The Knight of the Lion" graphic novel by MT Anderson and Andrea Offermann to look at it more in depth!

Actually I completely forgot that Gawain makes an appearance in Yvain's story too aslfdjasldkfjlkasfdj I'M STILL NEW TO THIS LMAO. I'm not gonna be able to read up about everyone in depth, so it's been a lot of wikipedia article jumping so far!

If you have any book recs (preferably more accessible ones for beginners lol), I'd love to hear them! I'm like, intentionally avoiding watching BBC's Merlin because I want the fic to be its own separate take on the source material and I feel like it'll spoil the fun of researching for me lol. I might watch it after I get a better sense of what the plan is!

I can not confirm or deny what's being foreshadowed, but there's a reason I'm making you read through a bunch of bad live-theatre LMFAO.

Thank you so much for swinging by dude!! This made me really happy to read!

#ask #cutoutdalek #tloa #the lights of avalon

[guitarmasterx7]

Thots on all the members and their dynamics?

good ask, i've been mentally chewing on it for a number of days. this list won't include the past two co-hosts jsyk

chris - the absolute goat, THE oney player. i find his overall dynamic shifting to either counter guests or match their energy really interesting. i enjoy that he seems to play more of a straight man around the sillier guys (cory and adam namely), and it's sweet how much he cracks up over zach's and cory's jokes. when he feels the need to play the role of 'the silly one' he can be kinda overbearing, i appreciate his humor much more when it's unforced. he's very indigo, fuchsia and cyan colored to me

zach - THE funnyman, he's undeniably the highlight of whatever video he's in and i'm here for it. he's got great chemistry with chris and lyle, he works off both of them the best. he can definitely overshadow the others jokes, but i wouldn't say i dislike the dynamics he brings to the table regardless. i'm also a huge fan of his political/pop culture trivia, it's like taking a peak into his brain. he's the colors of autumn; orange, red, brown AND green, what more could you want?

tomar - i'll be honest i'm not as autistic about this guy but i really appreciate how he responds to scenarios. he's like the backbone of the lets plays he's in, he's got the straight man charm without being completely dismissive of jokes. it is still really funny when he's oblivious to joke setups tho i feel like those are the best moments. he's one of those guys you can introduce to anybody and have them get along no matter how different their personalities are. also his voice acting is fucking stellar. he's THE coolest tones of purple ever, and he's got that emerald association to him

lyle - he makes me feel fucking crazy. his humor can come off as disconnected from the others, but i appreciate how he rolls with his own jokes and how willing he is to "yes and" literally any scenario. he builds off the others well without drawing attention away from conversations or gameplay, he's the perfect balance of silly jokester and straight man when it's called for. fits in like a goddamn chameleon that motherfucker. extremely red coded, with hints of green and silver. (a royal purple is in there if you squint!)

cory - i'm in the 1% of people who enjoy the FUCK outta cory, maybe even moreso since he became a regular. i love seeing how his scatterbrain connects dots that don't align, and it's really endearing when he infodumps about sonic or whatever else. he isn't given enough credit for the times in recent years where he catches himself during a tangent, and actually steers the conversation back to something relevant. people talk about him as if he's a contestant on a reality show who's about to be voted off. he's fun, and he radiates a mix of indigo, hot pink and orangey yellow colors

adam - swedish motherfucker who i hate(love). his life fascinates me, it's surreal that he's an actual human being who exists. i love how he makes cory seem normal in comparison to him lmfao. chris acts more mature around him and i fuck with it heavy as a longstanding oneyfan. i think fondly about the time during a now deleted runescape stream he addressed a group of fans as fags (which caused chris to delete the entire video). it can be hard to watch the videos where he's paired up with cory, but sometimes i do need pure brain slop. he's all the primaries, red yellow and blue.

niall - fucking LOVE this guy. wish he had more self esteem, he always pairs well with the others due to their friendship and i think frequently about his living situations between ireland, sleepycabin and rooming with adam. i am really looking forward to whatever content him and adam are cooking up. he's a forest green with some maroon and pinkish purples thrown in.

dave - less on my radar than the others but he's really funny, i appreciate seeing him around more regularly. i LOVE the chemistry between him, jeff, cory and adam. he's my favorite unironic fortniter. you know the classic colors of skittles? he's all of those, specifically the yellow ones. also like, neon green when paired with black.

#ask #oney plays #long post #not tagging this #feel free to ask abt whoever i missed

[ridethehammett]

I COULD TALK ABOUT THIS FOREVER!

obviously kirk hammett 🩷

there’s so many reasons why i love him. he’s super sweet and caring and i relate so much to him because we share a lot of the same experiences. my father would play metallica frequently when i was a child, and his favorite song was enter sandman. i loved this song growing up, but this year when i saw who was playing the badass guitar solo i would pretend to play with my air guitar, i was like oh my god he’s fucking beautiful. i kid you not the whole reason i dug deep into metallica and discovered more about metal in the first place is because an edit of kirk popped up on my fyp!! i just love genuine people and he certainly is one!! probably my favorite rock star of all time i love my husband!! 🫶🏾

dave grohl 🩷

i really forgot how i got into him it just happened. i think it’s because i was like “wait that’s dave from nirvana, he’s the lead singer of foo fighters wtf!?”but i love his personality so much, he’s so strong. it really hit me with everything he went through, losing the people important in his life and still he kept pushing and helps out others. he’s just very selfless and i love him to pieces. AND HE’S SO CUTE LOOK AT HIM!!

sebastian bach 🩷

WOOO JESUS. okay. i was scrolling through pinterest one day and saw this man because i discovered rachel bolan existed and he was in a picture with him. i was like sorry rachel, but your friend is way hotter LMFAO. so the more i looked at him i was like wow i need him. i started looking at videos and interviews of him and i fell in love with his personality! he’s so fucking funny, also the whole reason he got kicked out of skid row is fucking insane and i love seb so much.

chris cornell 🩷

oh jesus, okay. i love chris because you can hear the passion of music in his songs. when i was younger in elementary school my dad would play soundgarden a lot too, his favorite song being black hole sun. i didn’t understand why i felt the way i felt listening to this song being that i was only a kid, but it did something to me. growing up i found myself going back to that song and the more i grew up the more i understood why i felt that way and why my feelings towards that song increased. chris is such a creative mind and i miss him and his beautiful smile dearly.

cliff burton 🩷

i’m sorry to make y’all cry back to back (also this picture i love it so much bye)

but cliff…oh god. when i first really got into metallica i didn’t know he passed. i was just so attracted to his “don’t give a fuck, society is fake” attitude because that’s kinda how i am. he was himself regardless of what anyone else thought and his smile just always made me happy. and oh my god he’s so talented. but he was just there to live life and do what he enjoyed and i admired that so much.

THANK YOU IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR I LOVE YOU AND IM SORRY IF THIS IS A LOT!! 🩷

@gogobo0ts THANKS DEAR! 🫶🏾

#metallica #soundgarden #audioslave #nirvana #foo fighters #skid row

[skrunkly-baloongis]

OK. Theory time, bitches.

TW: manipulation, death, etc.

Honestly, this isn't a wholesome theory/headcannon for this series, but it is something really cool that I want to talk about. A lot of this will center around the motives and even what could have happened to Joseph.

There will be a TL:DR at the bottom so don't worry lol.

Also, fair warning: I am a horrible writer lmfao.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Although Joseph, outside of being mentioned through posts on Twitter by the creator of SDJ, is kind of an unknown character, I love the idea of him being behind a lot of what SDJ does.

He was the original actor for him, and it's safe to assume he died while filming for the show based on context clues from the Twitter. With that info, I think it's safe to assume Joseph took on the form of a vengeful spirit with his appearance before he died: as SDJ.

Now, you may be thinking: but if that's the case, wouldn't SDJ exhibit traits similar to Joseph's? And to that I say I don't know. We know barely anything about Joseph outside of his appearance, his death and what he did before dying. Outside of that there's not much to go off of. But taking into consideration how most would feel after a wrongful death, it's safe to assume he was pissed.

Pissed off to a point that maybe he had to be sealed away, hence the tape he was found in as SDJ. But who would seal him away to begin with? And another question, why? Why not make it so that he could pass on in peace? Could something have latched on to him before death, taking over? Was it even Joseph who took over SDJ upon his death? I'm unsure. (That last bit was just a mini theory I was toying with lol).

Regardless of the circumstance we can safely say that Jack and Joseph are one. However, they are still different, like water and oil, and I find that theory so interesting.

Joseph and Jack are both separate entities sharing a form.

Joseph, at least upon death, being possibly more nihilistic, possessive, obsessive and vengeful;

And Sunny Day Jack being the opposite: bubbly, happy, a bit anxious, optimistic and helpful.

I've made other theories before, and some of them brush up on how Joseph, under the guise of Sunny Day Jack, wants to snatch a body to feel real once more after suffering a wrongful death.

And he will do that by any means necessary, even if it involves emotional manipulation.

The main character, while not exactly weak is definetly not the most stable individual. They're going through shit, and that's just the break Joseph needs to worm his way into your mind and life.

SDJ, most likely genuinely likes the main character, and only works with Joseph because the end goal results in the main character never being able to leave his side. And by that, I mean Joesph takes over your body, and does whatever he wants as you, and SDJ lives on, rent free with Joseph in your subconscious, knowing you can't escape or leave. Which is honestly pretty wild.

Feel free to either add on or debate on this bc I feel like a madman writing this post lmfao.

TL:DR: I debate whether or not its SDJ behind the manipulative work or Joseph, and theorize that both SDJ and Jack work together in the same form to get to their goals, all of them involving you and never letting you go. :3

#somethings wrong with sunny day jack #headcanon #sunny day jack #swwsdj #theory #somethingswrongwithsunnydayjack #sdj joseph #sdj jack #sdj theory #icouldhavethisabsolutelyincorrectlmfao #im not mentally stable #i cant write