#anyway if anyone has a recommendation hit me up

[ktsphere]

Trying to improve my Italian so I went on AO3 and sorted all Italian language fics by most kudos to see what Italian media might be worth watching, and the top fic was hp omegaverse

#anyway if anyone has a recommendation hit me up #most of the other fics were un professore so i might give that a go #im also watching commissario Montalbano #kt.txt

[elliezato]

‪‪❤︎‬She's Jealous‪‪❤︎‬

pairing: modern!ellie williams x reader

summary: Ellie gets jealous when she sees you kissing another girl

warnings: MDNI! cursing, drugs/alcohol, fingering, bathroom sex, public sex??

a/n: This is my first fanfic so idk how to feel about thisss. Also, I feel like this story isn't very original but I keep replaying this situation in my head, helpp. I'm open to recommendations! I will probably only write ellie x reader fics for now but let me know what you want and I'll write it! I get writer's block and need inspo!! Anyway... I hope you enjoy:)

♡︎.You and Ellie have been broken up for about a month now.

Parties have never really been your thing but your friend Dina has been begging you to go to one with her.

"It's been almost a month. You can't keep isolating yourself in your dorm like this."

You lay on your bed while Dina tries to convince you to go out tonight. She's right though. Things haven't been the same since you and Ellie broke up.

"Listen. Come to the party tonight. I hate that this breakup is holding you back. who knows. maybe you'll meet someone!"

Dina leaves and you make up your mind.

You change into a pleated mini skirt and throw on some baby tee you haven't worn since your relationship. Ellie liked it when you wore skirts and you knew that. Some part of you was hoping she would be there so she could see you. You apply a thin wing of eyeliner and put on your docs.

----------------------------------------------------------

Later that night you walk into the party. The house smells of weed and music covers the sound of people talking. You see Dina and Jesse from across the room. They're drinking and dancing with a few other of your friends. You hesitantly walk over to join them.

"Y/N!! thank god you're here!" Dina hugs you with one arm and a drink in the other.

"Damn, this is the first time I've seen you out since... you know" Jesse laughed as he took a sip from a red solo cup.

You sat on the couch and drank as you watched your friends enjoy the night. You hated yourself that you couldn't get up and have fun. The air felt hot and there was nothing left in your cup. As you get up to get another drink you feel eyes on you.

There she was. Ellie stood there with a drink in her hand. Your heart sank. This was the first time you've been in the same room as her since the heat of the breakup. Her eyes were on you as you slowly walked past her to get a drink. You look at the ground as you pass her, doing everything you can to avoid eye contact. When you look up to get another cup, you see Ellie standing in front of you. As she opens her mouth she say something to you, you feel hands on your waist.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing at a party alone?" The girl looks you up and down with a soft smile on her face.

From the corner of your eye, you see Ellie take a sip from her drink and walk away. You feel yourself sadden as Ellie leaves your presence. Fingers run down your waist. You look behind you and the girl is still there. It's been a long time since someone has hit on you. Honestly, the last time you romantically got attention from someone was with Ellie.

"You alright? What's upsetting you baby?" The girl whispers in your ear.

At this point, you'll do anything to get your mind off Ellie. A new relationship isn't what you want but it couldn't hurt. You turn around and face the girl. You've never seen her before but she's honestly really pretty. It wouldn't be hard to distract yourself around someone this attractive.

"m'nothin" The alcohol is hitting you. Usually, you'd feel guilty flirting with anyone other than Ellie, but right now, nothing matters.

She pulls you closer by your waist and passionately places a kiss on your lips. The sudden proximity makes you tense. Her hand travels down your hips while the other grabs your face. Something about this feels wrong but you push the thoughts back.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. I came with my friend and promised I wouldn't leave her" You lied so bad, you almost cringed.

You remove yourself from the girl's grasp and take your drink as you walk away from her. The pain of the breakup is sinking in again. You wander around the party to find Dina but she's off with Jesse. There's no point in being at that party anymore. You down the rest of your drink and walk outside. The air is cold and dry. Snow falls gently as the music from the party echoes.

"What the fuck were you doing? Kissing another girl? Already?" Ellie stares at you with a joint between her lips.

"Ellie." You look at her in shock.

"We've been broken up for barely a month and you're already making moves on other women!?" She laughs under her breath as a cloud of smoke leaves her lips.

"Why do you even care. We're not together" You look at her with sad eyes. The tough act was never your strong suit.

She grabs your face with one hand and tilts your head towards her. You gasp at her touch. Snow falls down on the both of you. Your breath is visible in the cold air and the only thing keeping you warm is the heat of the situation.

"Are you trying to make me jealous, hmm?" She looks at you with lustful eyes.

"No! she kissed me..." Your voice trails off as you feel the touch of Ellie's fingers trace your jaw.

Nothing could've prepared you for this. The last time you two spoke was the breakup. This was a topic that was hard for the both of you. Clearly, the thought of the other stayed lingering in your minds. Her touch felt nice. You could feel yourself practically melting in her hand. The similar scent of weed got stronger as her face got closer.

"It worked." She takes one last hit of her joint before tossing it on the ground.

"What?" You look at her dazed and confused. Your eyes soften as her fingers trail down your neck

"I'm jealous." She admitted as she tightened her grip on your face. "Let's go back inside and show them who you belong to, yeah?" Ellie gives you a dirty grin.

You follow her back into the party. Even with Ellie, you didn't want to be back in there but that didn't matter in the moment. She walks through the crowd of people holding on tightly to your waist. You look over at her face a notice a cocky grin stuck to her lips. You can feel the eyes of the other girl you were with earlier staring at you. Ellie notices the girl staring at you. She grabs your face in front of her and kisses you. You pause as her lips touch yours. You missed this. Fuck. You missed her touch so bad. Leaning in for more, Ellie playfully pushes you away.

"God you're just as needy as I remembered." She pulls you away from the crown and leads you into an empty bathroom.

Ellie pushes you against the door causing it to shut behind you. Her lips passionately press against yours. You let your hands roam her figure. Fingers running underneath her baggy band tee. She grabs your hands and pulls them away.

"You're not getting it that easily" She glares at you as she takes your wrists by one hand and holds them above your head. "I'm going to make sure everyone knows how good I'm fucking you" Her breath is hot against your ear.

Her tongue explores your mouth and her other hand runs up your shirt. You let out a soft moan as her fingers draw circles around your nipple. She lets go of your hands and strips off your shirt. Her kisses move down your neck, leaving marks for everyone to know she you were hers. Her tongue reaches your nipples and she traces small circles around them. Her mouth moves further down your chest. Fingers moving down your waist meeting the hem of your skirt. She stops kissing your body and looks up at you. Her fingers slide up your skirt and meet your damp underwear.

"Fuck- You're so wet and I've bearly touched you" She continues kissing down your waist.

She pulls your underwear down your legs and throws them off. Her fingers finally graze your wet folds. She picks you up by your waist and places you on the counter. The granite is cold against your thighs. She sloppily kisses your lips as she inserts a finger into you. You throw your head back and hum at her touch. She grabs your chin and forces you to look at her.

"Look at me while I fuck you with my fingers." She glares up at you. Her face is desperate to feel you.

Your hands run through her hair as she pulls her finger out. She adds another finger and slams them into you. You hold the counter with one hand and the other pulling at Ellie's half-up half-down updo. You're holding in your moans remembering there's a crowd of people right behind that door. You close your eyes as Ellie curls her fingers inside of you, hitting the right spots.

"Fuck Els- s'good" You quietly whimper trying to hold back.

Tears are forming in your eyes. You can feel the warmth building up in your stomach. Ellie can feel you're close. She stops her motions and pulls her fingers out of your cunt. Your slick coats her fingers, dripping down her arm. She brings her fingers to your mouth. You clean Ellie's fingers with your tongue, whimpering for more action.

"I'm not going to give you anything if you're not going to moan for me. I want to hear you" Her fingers slide out of your mouth and find their way back down to your inner thighs.

"They're gonna hear" You bite your lip as your thighs press together.

"That's the point baby. Tell me how bad you've missed me" She keeps eye contact as she moves her face down to your hips.

She pulls your tighs apart, spreading your folds with her finger. Her tongue rests right above your clit, waiting for you to beg.

"Fuck- I need you Els. I need you to fuck me." You give into her commands wanting to feel her touch.

She finally complies and licks circles around your puffy bud. She thrusts her fingers into you once again while tasting you on her tongue. You squirm under her touch. Pornographic moans leave your lips as she starts to suck your clit. Tears fill your eyes as you look down at Ellie taking you in.

"You taste so good, I've missed your pretty pussy" She smiles against your folds removing her fingers.

The vibrations of her voice cause you to moan as you push her face closer to you. Her tongue slides down your folds and she pushes it into you. At this point, you're a moaning mess. Anyone who walks by that bathroom knows what's happening. Her nose gently rubs against your clit as her tongue fucks you.

"mmm~ i'm gonna fucking cum-" Your hips grind against her face.

She holds your waits pulling you closer. Her tongue slides out and sucks your cunts as her fingers push deep inside you. The heat in your stomach feels like it's going to burst. Only Ellie could have you panting and desperate to cum like this in a bathroom.

"That's it baby, cum for me okay?" She feels how close you are.

Her pace fastens as she gets you to release onto her fingers. Your hips buckle as whimpers and moans fill the room. She continues but slows her pace milking your orgasm. She licks the wetness from your cunt and you pant in her arms.

"I missed you" Your eyes look at her as she moves closer to your face, kissing your lips.

You can taste yourself in her mouth as she sloppy kisses you. She holds your waist and guides you off the counter. You're a mess. Makeup is running down your face and your hair is falling from the ponytail it was in. Eille was still completely dressed as she watches you put your clothes back on. She takes your hand and places a gentle kiss on your neck.

"You're such a slut for me" She grins as she places her hand on the door nob. "I don't want to ever see you tasting another girl's lips, got it" You nod in response.

You realized how hot the room was when Ellie opened the door and you felt the coolness of the party on your skin. She takes you by the waist and leads you back into the party. Ellie wore a cocky smile knowing she was the only person at this party who could get you moaning like that. Eyes were on you when people realized who was in the bathroom.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #tlou2 #smut #wlw #lesbian #sapphic #ellie smut #ellie x you

[ceilidho]

Beta forced into omega behavior is one of the only ‘right’ ways for me

Like I’ll read reader insert omega verse but beta forced into omega (or omega doing their damndest to present as beta) feels right. Feels organic to my experience/personality

Ghost meeting a standoffish beta who wants nothing to do with alphas and deciding she just needs an alpha to guide her through her first heat- despite, y’know, not being an omega

See I completely get this because I also very weirdly identify with the idea of being a normal beta but somehow forced into being an omega. This makes noooooo sense since it’s a completely made up fandom thing but god if something about it doesn’t feel relatable.

Anyway I’m thinking a lot about Ghost two decades into service, on military grade suppressants that have sort of fucked up his instincts because he doesn’t follow his physician’s recommended biannual break to go through rut (he thinks it’s a waste of time and energy when chemical blockers exist aplenty now) and his sense of smell has been permanently damaged from breaking his nose too many times and inhaling countless toxic fumes out in the field.

So when he starts treating the little beta civilian admin worker like an omega that he’s courting, people take notice but no one really wants to say anything or get involved. Everyone just kind of tenses up when he scents you in public or rubs his wrist against your neck - and you maybe have a basic understanding of alpha/omega courting behaviour, but it doesn’t hit you right away what he’s doing because surely you’re just reading into his actions. Surely this beleaguered, decorated alpha lieutenant doesn’t seriously think that you - so obviously a beta that it feels redundant to let him know - are an omega?

Meanwhile Ghost is putting in leave for the two of you and coming off his suppressants cold turkey even though anyone with half a brain could tell him how bad of an idea that is. And you’re going to pay the price for it.

[weast-of-eden]

I've been thinking about how I could contribute to the ACD/Granada Sherlock Holmes fandom for a while, seeing as I'm neither an artist, a writer, or anything actually useful lol. But then I realized something I myself always treasure are curated fic recs, which I could actually do! I've read probably like 25% of all the h/w ACD and Granada fics on ao3, so I compiled a short list for anyone who is just starting out with the fandom. Without further ado, may I present

Eden’s Top Picks for Beginning ACD/Granada Fics:

(edit: i made a second list here!!)

The Adventure of the Doctor's Heart by mistyzeo 12k | Rated E Summary: Holmes has observed much of Watson's habits and tastes over time, which is why it surprises him when his friend objects strangely to a folk song sung at the conclusion of a case. Disturbed by the Doctor's unexpected display of emotion, Holmes becomes determined to lift his spirits by any means necessary, with mixed results. Notes: obviously if you're going to read canonverse h/w, you are going to read mistyzeo. this one is just so good and angsty and features music (!!). it's got some steaminess but it also has wooing. basically it has everything you ever need. this is my odyssey, my iliad, my hamlet, etc.

Cameo by what_alchemy 8k | Rated M | For Archive Users Only Summary: Holmes and Watson become embroiled in a case Scotland Yard refuses to acknowledge. A soulmate AU. Notes: i honestly skipped over this fic for a while, since i'm not the biggest fan of soulmate aus. do not make the same mistake i did, because this shit HITS. this fic has hit after hit: soulmate-mark based case for our main duo, angst, hiatus feels, MORE ANGST, and ofc a happy ending. ugh. read this fic if you enjoy being happy.

A Tide That Does Not Turn by tweedisgood 3k | Rated T Summary: Holmes is a very bad patient with a devoted doctor who adores him. Watson wishes it was safe to speak up, but his friend is a tide that does not turn. Notes: do NOT read this if you don't like angst... ok now i'm sensing a pattern. anyways this is the first hurt/no comfort fic i read for this tag and i literally have cried more than enough tears over it. poor, poor watson :( iconic author though, read everything they write!

The Adventure of the Glad Outlaw by radondoran 7k | Rated T Summary: While Sherlock Holmes solves the mystery of a student's disappearance, Dr. Watson is more puzzled by the changing dynamic between his flatmate and himself. Notes: cute pastiche! a nice little mystery and a nice little get-together. ahhhhhh.... this fic is like cotton candy to me, so sweet and fluffy. defo recommend

Hands by MinorObsessions (draculard) 1.4k | Rated T Summary: Naturally, there are some things Watson thinks about Holmes that don't make it into the books. Notes: i'm also in the star trek fandom, so if you know anything about that then you know that hands are kind of A Thing in both circles and ergo i now Have A Thing about hands. so this is a nice little ode to holmes' hands, featuring some doctoring by watson AND a nice reverse appraisal at the end. it's so sweet :)

Conductor of Light by ColebaltBlue  1.4k | Rated T Summary: A Victorian stiff upper lip won't prevent you from falling in love, but it might prevent you from realizing it. Notes: they finally get their shit together! honestly i would recommend this fic to anyone just starting out with h/w fics in any medium. the characterization and dialogue is A1, and their argument is really realistic to me, idk. also features the iconic HOUN quote for its title so props to that!

A (Mis)fortunate Man by sans_patronymic 1.5k | Rated T Summary: December, 1880. Watson writes a note which may be his last. December, 1899. Watson writes back. Notes: READ THE TAGS BEFORE READING. this was a gut-wrenching read but god i cried at the end for watson. don't worry, this one has a happy ending. ugh now i wish there was a second chapter where watson lets holmes read the letters. to sum up: oof, my heart

The Second Smartest Man in London by FairSinner 73k | Rated E Summary: Dr John Watson returns from Afghanistan to Victorian London, wounded, traumatised and alone. When he meets Sherlock Holmes, his life begins to seem worth living again. But Holmes is a man who despises sentiment and Watson cannot seem to expunge it from his heart. Notes: congrats, you've made it to the end!! so now i must confess that it's been a loooong time since i've read this fic, but the private note i left on my bookmark was just "holy shit", so i'm sure it's a banger. i'm also sure it has angst because i love angst and i love bookmarking angst so i can read it again and again and suffer infinitely. enjoy :)

anyways, now that i've put these all here i realized how much i enjoy angst and hurt/no comfort fics. if any of you guys have a favorite fic you want to link or want to plug your own writing, feel free to!

#i hope this is coherent #or at least helpful to someone lol #sherlock holmes #acd holmes #granada holmes #granada johnlock #acd johnlock #fic rec #acd johnlock fic rec #granada johnlock fic rec

[lightseoul]

all too much (i'm sorry)

synopsis. the last person you want to see is Bakugou Katsuki. the one person you need to see is Bakugou Katsuki.

cw. depression, suicidal thoughts, depressed!reader, gn!reader, college!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (~21 years old), hurt/comfort

word count. 1.7k words

Your eyes shoot open, and the first word that pops into your head is a curse. Fucking great, you think, I’m still alive.

Weakly propping yourself up on your elbow, you reach for your phone to check the time.

5:37 PM. You napped for one and a half hours. You frown, then shake your head in resignation. Better than being awake for an extra one and a half hours, really.

You wince at the feeling of your parched throat, and you contemplate whether or not you should get up and start getting your shit together. Motivation’s been getting difficult to come by these days, though, and your eyes start shutting closed again, but you startle awake when your phone chimes with a new text message.

Patrol’s over in 30. Same time?

Fuck—you forgot. You and Bakugou have agreed to spend Friday nights together to catch up and prevent growing distant. Maintaining your friendship has been a lot of work, but both of you put in the effort, and as a result, your bond has only gotten stronger in spite of the busyness that came with his becoming a Pro Hero and your entering college three years ago.

Your fingers hover over your screen—maybe you should call it off. You’re not in the mood to see anyone, even Bakugou Katsuki. Not to mention you look and feel like shit. Having your best friend and just recently, crush (because apparently, the heavens wanted to fuck you up even more) see you in this state will indubitably be embarrassing.

After a few more minutes of tired contemplation, you finally type out a response.

I’ll have to take a rain check, Kats. I’m studying for an exam this Monday.

Sighing in relief and exhaustion once you pressed send, you drag yourself out into the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water.

The ice-cold liquid burns your throat and your head throbs in response, but at least you feel a bit more awake and alive now.

You’re seated on your couch, mindlessly scrolling through your Netflix recommendations on the TV when a loud knocking breaks you out of your post-nap stupor.

You don’t have the time to feel annoyance or panic over who could this person showing up unannounced at the most inconvenient time possibly be because the incessant knocking doesn’t let up. You rush to open the door and find yourself face-to-face with an annoyed Bakugou, still decked out in his hero costume.

He eyes you suspiciously, “I thought you were studying.”

You try to feign nonchalance, but you end up gulping before you can even think about it. “I was.”

Normally, at this point, you’d step aside for Bakugou to come in and make himself at home, though usually, he’d be in civilian clothes after having gone to his own apartment to clean up and prepare, but today’s not normal. He’s decorated with a few dirt marks from patrol, and that omnipresent scowl he wears is still there, albeit less prominent.

“What, you’re not even gonna let me in?”

You toe at your house slippers nervously, “I really have to study now, Kats. I just woke up from a nap to take a break.”

He frowns, “That why you look like shit?”

Normally, you’d hit his arm in fake offense before bursting out laughing anyway. But again, today’s not normal. His comment is wounding when it’s usually meant to break the ice.

“I…” you start, but resort to shaking your head in defeat. You don’t have the energy for this. “Just go home, Katsuki.”

With that, you turn your back to him and beeline to your bedroom. You end up closing the door far harder than you intended, and it shuts with a slam. You wince at the sound, feeling a sudden pang of guilt shoot you in the chest. He didn’t deserve that, you think to yourself. It doesn’t matter, a second thought follows immediately after.

Sighing for the nth time that evening, you plop on the bed and close your eyes, willing yourself to go back to sleep and hopefully, maybe, not wake up again.

Your eyes flicker open at the soft clanging noises outside your bedroom, and you immediately shoot up upon realizing that you forgot to lock the door before walking out on Bakugou.

In spite of yourself and the raging headache that’s been plaguing you on and off for quite some time now, you hurriedly climb out of bed and grab the nearest makeshift weapon in your room.

A blow dryer. Good enough.

Quietly, you tiptoe towards the door and, slowly, open it while thinking prayers for it not to creak. You didn’t even notice your shoulders were tensed up until you lock eyes with Bakugou through the crevice, the sight of whom immediately soothes your nerves despite yourself.

You stand upright, toss your blow dryer onto your bed, and step out of the room reluctantly. Under the white light of the kitchen, you can now see what he’s doing. Donning your yellow apron over the lounge clothes he keeps in your apartment, he’s chopping up green onions and other vegetables for what seems like a soup dish.

It smells heavenly, and your stomach grumbles in agreement.

“And here I was thinking you were gonna sleep through the entire night already.”

A whirlwind of emotions rushes through your body—relief, fondness, longing, embarrassment, guilt—but the one emotion you can bear to focus on, and is the most familiar, is anger. And you don’t fight it from taking over.

“I thought I told you to go home.”

The sentence comes out in a low tone, and somewhat clipped, though you didn’t mean it to sound like that. In spite of himself, you know Bakugou worries, and he definitely won’t be heading back now if he knows something’s off.

True enough, he visibly stiffens at the sound of your voice, and it hurts to see him uncomfortable around you. Another wave of guilt washes over you. Though it gets masked, yet again, with a familiar sense of apathy.

“I heard you,” he shifts on his feet, “but you sure as hell weren’t gonna cook yourself a decent meal, so I stayed to make sure you ate.”

You expected him to respond with some anger himself, but he’s uncharacteristically calm. It’s making you feel even more ashamed of how you’re acting. It’s infuriating. He’s infuriating.

“Well,” you croak as you shift your eyes away from his face, “I didn’t ask for your help, so you can go home now.”

Silence settles between the two of you. It’s unnerving.

You force yourself to look back at Bakugou, who’s now frowning. “I’m sure you had a long day,” you finished.

Unable to hold eye contact any longer, you turn to head back to your bedroom when Bakugou reaches out and grabs for your wrist.

You turn to face him, ready to spit some venom you probably don’t even mean, but the words get stuck in your throat when you see tears rimming his eyes.

You hurt him.

Yet, he proceeds in a calm, but stern, voice: “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Overwhelmed with conflicting emotions, you finally lose it.

“I don’t fucking know, okay?!” you shout, ripping yourself from his grip, “Quit pressing!”

Bakugou doesn’t flinch, nor does he step back from you. He just keeps his ground.

You took his silence as a sign to continue. “I think I’m depressed. I don’t know. I just feel like a fucking corpse every day and I hate the fact that I have to wake up and go to school and talk to people and take care of myself as if the pain isn’t there!” you cry, “I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Has this been,” he clears his throat, “has this been going on for a while now?” He remains calm, though you hear the shake in his voice when he asks.

You sigh, shaking your head. Shouting drained the last bit of energy you had left in you, “I guess. I don’t know—I just wait it out until I start feeling better and functioning like a normal person again. And when I do, I start wondering if I just imagined all that shit.”

The weight of the situation and your admission finally dawns on you in the silence.

You clench your eyes shut, bringing your hands up to cover your face in shame, “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Y/N.”

You brace yourself for some harsh, reprimanding words but they never come. Instead, your breath hitches when you feel a hand fall softly on your head, and an arm pulling you into a hug.

You can’t believe it—you half expected Bakugou to recoil, or even leave, in shock and disappointment, but he’s hugging you. He’s hugging you.

You can’t help it—you burst into tears. Bakugou’s quick to rub soothing circles on your back as you cry into his shoulder. You’re quickly forming a wet patch on his shirt, but you don’t pay it any mind in the meantime. You didn’t realize how much you’ve been suppressing your pain until now. It’s liberating, yet at the same time, the all-too-familiar feeling of shame is creeping in at the back of your head.

Shame over your situation. Shave over having let yourself go to this extent. Shame over breaking down. Shame over not being able to clean after your own mess. Shame over hurting the one person you love the most.

You clench your fist against Bakugou’s chest. It’s all too much.

His voice is low and gentle when he speaks up, “We’ll get you help.”

The mention of seeking help is enough to make you tense up.

“I don’t know, Katsuki,” you shake your head. “I’m scared. Of it not working out. I can’t afford treatment not working out. I don’t know what else I would do.”

You feel him press his lips to your forehead, fleeting, “It will. We’ll find a way. And I’ll be right here with you.”

At a loss for anything else to say, you mumble a quiet apology.

Bakugou scoffs, but you can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Stop saying sorry, dumbass. I want to do this for you.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #bakugou fluff #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #mha x reader #mehehee #this basically wrote itself #pls mind the warnings!!! #bakugou hurt/comfort

[pandorxxx]

Never existed…

Neteyam (20) x omatikaya fem reader (19)

Tags: @neytirishottie requested a “jealous Neteyam” story so I decided to make the most toe curling, eye rolling smut that anyone has ever read. You’re welcome😎

🔞Minors do not interact🔞

Warnings: SMUT, p in v, pinning, rough sex, oral, and cursing.

For the best reading experience, I recommend listening to I never existed by Chase Altantic. (That’s what I wrote this smut to😌.)

Neteyam watched through gritted teeth as you laughed at his younger brothers stupid jokes from afar. He was somewhat jealous that you were best friends with lo’ak considering that he had a huge crush on you. Neteyam couldn’t help but think that you had a thing for lo’ak. That maybe you secretly liked him, and that you secretly wanted to be mated with him. That you touch yourself to him at night, or that you daydream about him. He hated that lo’ak was living out his dream, but all of that was going to end today.

“What the hell is so damn funny? He can’t be that fucking funny?” He asked through a clenched jaw as he glared at the the two of you in the distance.

“Why do you care anyway? You look like a creep just staring at them.” Kiri explains as she eats her food. She glared at Neteyam with a confused look.

“No way you like y/n? Wether you like it or not, it’s just a matter of time before they mate with each other. Everyone knows.” She says as she takes another bite of her food, side eyeing Neteyam to see his reaction. He quickly snaps his head at his sister with pursed lips.

“You want to bet? All I need is 10 minutes, and I’ll have her hooked.” He explains with an eerie chuckle as he looks back at you, still gawking over lo’ak in the distance.

“First off, eww. Second, I would actually like to

see that. Lo’ak and y/n are obsessed with each other. There is no way you could get in the middle of that.” Kiri explains as she points in you and lo’aks direction.

Neteyam slowly stands to his feet, and looks down at kiri with a dark grin.

“Watch me…” he says as he walks towards the two of you. As he walked closer, he got angrier. Seeing your legs draped over lo’aks as he draws circles along your back. You two laughing as he pushed your hair behind your ear. How close you two were to each other. It made his blood boil. He was now standing infront of you two, going unnoticed. You and lo’ak were too busy in your own world. Neteyams face curled up as he watched you two completely ignore him. He clears his throat loudly, finally earning your attention.

“What do you want, bro?” Lo’ak asks his brother playfully as he looked back at you, earning a laugh.

“Tuk wanted to know if y/n could help her finish this bracelet she was working on?” Neteyam shifts his eyes to you as he scratches his head pointing back at his families hut. You look at lo’ak for confirmation to go, and he nods.

“O-ofcourse, she’s in the hut?” You ask, as you look up at Neteyam with doughy eyes. He almost melted right then and there, but he kept his composure.

“Yeah, come on!” He chuckles as he pulls you up by your arm. You laugh alittle as you didn’t realize that this was his attempt to flirt.

“Hey! chill out, big bro! You know she’s mine.” Lo’ak says jokingly as he shoots a glare at his brother. You bend down to hit lo’ak as you laugh.

Even if it was a joke, those words were like daggers to neteyams heart.

“She’s all yours, bro. But if you would excuse us, we gotta go.” Neteyam winks at his brother before wrapping his arm around you, and walking off.

“SHES MINE, BRO!” Lo’ak shouts as he watches you two walk off. Neteyam fans lo’ak off as he keeps walking towards the hut with you. You walk into the hut first to see no one there. You turn around to see Neteyam closing the makeshift door behind him.

“Where is Tuk?” You ask nicely as you let out a small chuckle. Neteyam turned around to face you with his arms crossed. He tilted his head and looked you up and down as he licks his lips. Your heart immediately sunk to your feet as you finally realized what was happening.

He slowly walks closer to you, as you back up.

“Neteyam, wait.” you plead with him as you put your hand up, still backing away slowly.

“Wait for what?” He says as he walks closer to you, glaring at your curvy body. Your back suddenly hit the wall of the hut, making you jump at the impact. You start to hyperventilate as you notice him getting closer to you. You immediately pull your knife out of your thigh band, and hold it up to him. He surrenders with his hands up as he lets out a low chuckle, still looking at you as if he was starving.

“What is so funny?” You shout shaking the knife with every syllable. He laughs again with his hands still up as he takes one step closer.

“I could ask you the same question. Lo’ak is not that fucking funny, my love.” He says through gritted teeth, as he looks to the ground and then back up at you.

“What’s it to you? what we laugh about is none of your damn business!” You shout as you take a step closer to him.

He growls loudly causing you to jump and drop the knife. You both look at the knife and then back at each other. You both run for it, but Neteyam was faster, and stronger. He picked up the knife and threw it to the side. He starts walking towards you again, as you back up. You back into that familiar wall again as he finally makes his way to you, placing his hand over your head, as he glared at you angrily. He grabs your neck with his free hand, and you shutter under his touch, as you turn your head away from him.

“What If I told you that I could make you feel better than lo’ak ever could, huh? What would you say to that?” He asks as he slides his hand down from your neck to your breasts, and down your slim waist pulling you closer. You would be lying if you said that his touch didn’t make you melt, but it felt wrong. You and lo’ak were going to be mated one day, so why was he doing this?

“Id say you’re crazy! You know that lo’ak and

I are to be mated. I thought we were friends, Neteyam?” You look up at him with tears threatening to fall from your eyes, as you struggle to get out of his hold on.

“You know that we’re way past that, y/n. You and lo’ak are not right for each other. I could do so much more for you.” He says as he wipes the tears from your cheek, softening his grip on your neck. He bends down to your ear, and kisses it causing you to gasp in pleasure.

“If you give me 10 minutes of your time, It be like lo’ak never existed.” He whispers in your ear as he parts your legs with his knee. He slowly squats down infront of you while keeping eye contact. He gently unties your loincloth and throws it to the side. He immediately attaches his mouth to your glossy cunt causing you to throw your head back in pure bliss. He gently lifts your leg over his shoulder to get better access as he starts to attack your clit. You grab his braids and push him into you more. At this point you were a moaning mess. Trying to keep you quite, he reaches up to your mouth to cover it as he’s still devouring you as if you were his last meal. Your legs start to shake, and you loose balance. He notices and lifts you up into the air by your thighs as his mouth is still attached to your cunt.

“Don’t worry, i got you, baby.” he looks up at you with a smirk before devouring you again.

“Fuck, Neteyam!!! Please-“ you scream as you try to get out of his pit bull lock to no avail.

“Please what, y/n? What’s wrong baby?” He groans into your heat triggering your orgasm. You start to shake uncontrollably in his arms, as he sucks on your clit one last time.

“Shhh, you’re okay babe.” He pats your thigh as you are still shaking with your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Shitttt, put me downnnn!” you moan as you try to get out of his arms once more. He chuckles and let’s you down slowly. You immediately fall to the ground once he lets you go due to your shaky legs.

“Ouchhh, neteyammm!” You whine as you reach for him to pick you up. He chuckles, but obliges. He picks you up and pins you to the wall again. He grabs you by the neck and crashes his lips into yours. You run your hands through his braids as you kiss him back. He taps your thigh signaling for you to jump, and you quickly do so.

You moan in his mouth once you feel his hard cock poking at your pelvis. He pulls away from the kiss, and lifts you up alittle with one hand as he unties his loincloth with the other.

“Be a good girl, and help me out? It hurts so bad, y/n.” He pleads with you as he throws his loincloth to the side. He pulls his cock up to meet your dripping cunt, as he pulls you in more. You immediately moan at the feeling of his cock sliding up and down your slit. He lifts you up one more time, and gently slides you down onto him. You shut your eyes and whimper at the new found fullness. He bites his lip at your reaction as he starts to thrust into you slowly. You look everywhere but into his eyes, afraid that you might fall in love. He catches on and kisses you passionately before pulling away to scan your face.

“Look at me, y/n.” he says as he sends you slow, deep strokes causing you to throw your head back as tears well in your eyes from the pleasure.

“Fuck Neteyam!!! I can’t, please-“ you plead as you look down at his cock sliding in and out of you. That image alone made you loose it. Your jaw dropped as your eyes shut tightly.

“Yeah, look at what I’m doing to you. You feel me, baby?” He groans in your ear as he speeds up the pace. You were squirming in his arms as you felt your high coming for the second time. You grab his arms as you let out a high pitched scream before you start shaking again.

“Yes, let that shit go! Give it to me!” He says watched you come undone for the second time. He feeds you a couple more strokes to help

You ride out your high until he finally pulls out and puts you down. You could barely stand up once he put you down causing him to laugh at you. He turns you around towards the wall, and grabs your arms, holding them behind your back. He slides into you slowly, as he leans into the crook of your neck.

“Oh, great mother!” You moan as he starts thrusting into you again. He bites your neck drawing blood, as he licks it up. You whimper at the mix of pleasure and pain. It was almost overwhelming, causing you to attempt pulling your arms out of his strong grasp, to no avail.

“When I’m done with you, you won’t even remember lo’ak, I promise you that.” He moans before sending you one hard stroke, causing you to scream out. He starts to speed up again as his high is slowly approaching.

“Say my name.” He whispers in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he fucks you dumb. You were so delirious that you couldn’t even form words.

“Say my FUCKING NAME, y/n.” He shouts while still holding your arms behind your back.

“NETEYAM, FUCKK I CANT TAKE IT.” You scream as tears form in your eyes, feeling that familiar knot in your stomach.

“Yeah, just like that! Scream my name again! You belong to me!” He says as he licks the tip of your ear.

“neteyaammm!!!! I’m cumming!!!!” You whine as you start to shake, and clench around him. This sends him into a frenzy as he sends you a few more deep strokes before painting your walls white.

“Fuck!” He groans as he rides out his high, throwing his head back. He keeps his cock in you for a few more seconds, before pulling out of you, watching his cum drip onto the ground beneath you.

He kisses you on the back of your neck before Turning you around, and pinning you on the wall again.

“Lo’ak could never make you feel this good.” He says as he kisses your neck lightly. You look up at his huge figure with puffy eyes.

“Lo’ak who?”

Nah hold on cuhhhh!!! This story is low key good I’m ngl. Anywaysss, send more requests yall, I’m bored 🙄!!!

Outtie ❤️🤘🏾,

Pandorxx

#avatar #avatar loak #avatar smut #avatar the way of water #loak headcanons #loak x reader #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam headcanons #avatar headcanons #jake smut #jake sully #loak smut #loak sully #neteyam smut #loak x y/n #avatar jake #avatar neteyam #jake headcanons #jake x reader #jake x y/n

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

anyway if anyone has any cool beetle recommendations hit me up, i really like ones like the Picasso Bug (below) and I'd like to find more with similar bold colours 👀

#insects #bugs #beetles

[bryce-bucher]

500 CALIBER CONTRACTZ Post #12

Dialogue!!!11:

The main thing I did over the past week or so was put together this dialogue system. The system itself was fairly easily to implement, and I think the only interesting part of the process to share is how I went about making the UI. As per usual, I wanted to have a cool mechanical feeling ui, but at the same time a friend of mine suggested an AOL instant messenger inspired chat window. I loved both of these ideas so I decided to combine them into a screen that pops up and contains the aim-like window. The modeling process for the screen was similar to how I went about making the other two bits of ui that are on screen in the above photos, but I decided to include a VGA port.

VGA PORT:

I didn't originally plan to include a VGA port, but I was in the middle of researching monitors and accidentally left a window open on my computer that just had a big photo of one and I went "wait a minute.". With my final two braincells I suddenly decided to slap together a model for the port which I ended up being proud enough of to, for some reason, make an entire section for it.

Sorry if any of the above sentences read horribly. I am going to need a third braincell if you want this stuff to be coherent. Anyway, Blender is so cool. Using the array modifier to make all these lil squares for the holes in the port is just such a satisfying process. I've come to really like makin pre-rendered assets like this.

New Movez:

This is actually a pretty big inclusion, and I probably should've ranked it in my mind above the VGA port. I added some new movement options to the game!

Firstly, I added this melee move where you swing the back of the sniper forwards to propel yourself a bit. It is mainly useful as a bunnyhop that allows you to conserve momentum.

Next up I added this kick that happens if you melee while in the air. It's basically just the one from mario64. It lets you gain a little bit more height and distance. It also becomes way more effective if you have a lot of momentum. A good tool for correcting jumps and reaching new heights.

Finally, we have the big schmovement slide. This slide gives you a huge burst of speed that you can jump out of in order to send your self flyin. Surprisingly, it didn't really break any of the level design and ended up being a really fun addition imo. In order to perform it, you have to do a ground pound and then melee as you hit the ground. Also, I feel like I basically stole this from pseudoregalia. Played through that recently and it has been a good source of inspiration.

Nova!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!:

This is a cameo skin I've been really excited to finally make myself put in the game. Anodyne 2 is a really important game to me, and I love it much. I'm really happy tha folks at analgesic let me put her in here, and I'm p happy with how her model came together. If you haven't peeped the Anodyne games I highly recommend them. The first one was a major inspiration for parts of Fatum Betula.

Conclusion:

Lately I've been playing this game way too much. It has made it impossible for me to tell if it is fun or well designed. Some problems cropped up during playtesting that ima need to address, and I hope that it all comes together into something that one could say is "fun and cool". I think takin this weekend off is gonna do my brain good. Oh yeah also I feel like I should advertise that I'm still doing commissions if anyone is interested. Anyway, have a good 1 and enjoy urself.

#screenshotsaturday #indiegamedev #gamedev #indiedev #game development #indiegames #lowpoly #y2k #y2k aesthetic #indie game #3d platformer #3dplatformer #sniper rifle #50 caliber 3d platformer #500 caliber contractz #50 cal #anodyne #anodyne 2

[grapejuicestyless]

No One Wants To Die In The End.

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: United through grief, Harry and Y/n have to navigate the same fates they witnessed as young children as understanding adults. After all, no one wants to die in the end, we can only hope death comes easy for us.

“Has anyone ever survived beyond the death rattle breathing?”

I hear my mother ask in a hushed tone, the nurse who came to send my grandma away giving her a tight lipped smile.

I sit on the bed pretending not to be able to hear them, pretending the sound of my grandma choking on her own saliva is normal and the staggering of her breathing between heavy wheezes isn’t concerning while I tell her all about what I learned in fourth grade.

She doesn’t remember me, not much anyway. Ever since the illness started taking pieces of her brain, I’ve been stuck in time. She only knows my name now, and my mom warned me on the way here today not to cry if she couldn’t even remember that. It was her illness forgetting, not my beloved grandma.

Mom says she loved me with all my heart, and that once the illness passes through her, she’ll remember me again fondly. I’ll get to tell her all about my life and growing up and she’ll understand what I’m talking about. She won’t give me the blank stare she does now while I hold her hand, and her skin won’t be so frail.

“We usually recommend getting everything in place by the end of the day. Gather her papers and say your goodbyes. We can’t guarantee anything with how much longer she’ll hold out for.” The nurse says, and though my mom doesn’t cry, I can see her skin hugging her throat constricting it and the soft fluttering of her wet eyelashes.

My mom pulled me away soon after, telling me to say goodbye. This time felt different though, even at age nine I knew that. So I told my grandma I’d be back, even if I wasn’t sure just because it always made her smile, and I promised to keep dancing around in my pajamas before breakfast like she loved.

That day at school, the one after I left my grandma with hundreds of promises to live freely and trust with my heart, I found my mother sat out on the front steps by our old white porch with her head in my hands.

“Hi mama. Can I go to Megans?” I had asked her cheerfully, excited about seeing my best friend, my neighbor and my sister.

Mom had this sad look in her eyes, one that told me to come close without her having to say it. And as I stood between her bent knees and felt her hands on my hips, I saw her shake her head.

“Y/n/n, grandma didn’t make it, baby.” She declared softly, and at the time I didn’t know how to process it, the idea of someone being gone forever. As mom told me how she had only left for a minute to go home and shower and came back to my grandma unresponsive in her sleep, I didn’t think about the fact that my grandma’s laugh would fade with the years, but rather how sad it was that she had to go alone. I prayed selfishly under my breath that I would have someone’s hand to hold when I went, that my rotting body would mean more than any shower ever could.

I didn’t tell mom this, my feelings on the death of grandma, the death of her mom, so I did what I knew how to do best, and I ran, begging softer this time to be able to go across the street just until dinner.

When I got there, I was greeted by Megan, and she looked sad. That’s how most people in my life seemed to look these past few hours, ever since the way my grandma breathed changed.

She pulled me into a hug and cried on my shoulder, promising to be there for me always, that it would get better. At the time I didn’t get it, why my best friend as a child would feel so much grief for a woman she barely knew, how she could feel so much more than I did, but grief hits differently in every person, I wished that someday I’d be able to process it openly instead of suppressing it somewhere I’d never find it. I wished that someday I’d learn how to cry.

Grandma didn’t get a funeral, they stuffed her ashes into a pretty vase with golden birds and her favorite flowers and held the wake early in the morning. Most of her friends I’d never met. It was a small service, a slow one. I spent most of my time playing hide and seek with my cousins and stealing the mints the funeral home left out for guests while my mother cried shaking each guests hand.

“How should we send out the letters?” My mom whispered to my father quietly, like it was something she didn’t want her children to know about.

“What’s the difference? Word spreads fast about people like him.”

People like him, that’s how my dad worded it. People like him, veterans who fought in a war they couldn’t even remember by the end of their lives and refused to replace the old wood paneling on their living room walls from the eighties.

My grandpa was the definition of people like him, he had lived enough lives to grow in white hairs by fourteen years old. Fighting alongside Elvis in the war and dancing with his dying wife in the afternoon.

I never met grandma, my dad said cancer took her before I was born, he says that’s why my name is the way it is, she picked it. But, I did meet grandpa.

He had white hair and a soft stomach from all the Swedish meatballs he made in his spare time. War does funny things like that to a man, make someone so against cooking love the simplicity of it, the safety of food consuming him.

I never really liked his Swedish meatballs, I didn’t like how he made them without sauce, when I was ten my world revolved around marinara sauce.

When I was twelve years old, I remember missing the softness of my grandpas stomach when he hugged me and the lingering smell of Swedish meatballs in his kitchen at dinner time. Which was weird because I never liked it before, but maybe my nose had changed while grandpa was changing in his own ways.

Cancer seemed to run in the family, something that was so small nobody ever suspected it was invading their bodies until the doctors became frantic to get it out.

My grandpa has bright white hair before his treatment, and small silver glasses perches on his swollen nose while he sat in his old brown chair and watched his grandkids school plays through the CD’s my parents would send him.

What a lonely life to live as he got older. The death of his wife and the absence of his grandchildren as they became less and less interested in family time and more focused on running outside freely with their friends.

I was so sidetracked I didn’t even know when grandpa died right away. Not until my father sat down on the coffee table in front of the couch where I laid with my mother rubbing his back slowly, a heavy look on his wrinkled face.

“Grandpa passed last night, Harry. He loved you very much.”

I didn’t cry as my father spoke, simply nodding before walking to my room to toy with my baseball cards and gameboy. I didn’t cry thinking about his passing, which confused me because I was twelve. I understood what death meant and how there was no one who had the power to reverse it, but I felt incapable of crying.

I went to school the next morning like my parents hadn’t told me the news, and my history teacher pulled me out into the hall during second period. He looked sad for me, his hands on my shoulders as he told me he would give me all the time I needed, not to try snd jump back into normalcy during such a tough time.

It made me feel embarrassed, which felt weird considering the context. I felt fine, completely indifferent to something I should have been breaking down over. But I guess grief is weird like that, and I wish I had the strength to be weak.

Grandpa had a big funeral, open casket with formal attire. He didn’t look like grandpa with all that makeup on him. I wanted to open his eyelids to see the colors in his eyes one last time. But that’s unacceptable to do, so I simply kneeled by the casket and prayed for him.

A big black limo took us from the boiling hot church to the graveyard where uniformed men loaded their guns and fired at the sky in honor of my grandpa. The smoke smelled like the low tide at the beach, and some people I’d never seen before sobbed a few rows behind me.

A lot of people showed up for grandpa, veterans from around the country and school friends from when he still had all his youth. Looking around at the crowd, I hoped I too would be able to make such a big impact on so many people. I selfishly prayed under my breath that one day I’d too have a large funeral. That people would care enough to come and cry for me because I would matter that much.

“When did you find out?” Harry asked softly, his large hand capturing mine in a paw-like grip over my knuckles.

I swallowed, wondering when I suspected it in comparison to when I finally got the guts to ask someone for help.

“I’ve known for a while, probably since I was nine. It runs in the family, you know? All these health issues that eat away at our brains?” I laughed, but neither of us found it funny, not when I ran my fingers through my hair to calm down and chunks cane out between my knuckles.

“I just thought I’d be gifted more time, thought biology would be kinder to my bones.”

Harry looks at me with a broken stare, one that hits me in the heart. We both tear up, but neither of us cry. We are our parents, we are the spitting image of them sitting us down to break the news. But at least they went peacefully, right? I know no peace, but still I don’t cry for myself, I feel too pathetic to even try.

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask, looking bitterly at the youthful green eyes in front of me, how his curly hair seems even more vibrant than nearly a decade ago. He ages backwards and I am already one foot out of the door.

Harry shakes his head.

“You did everything right.” He tells me, fingers pulling the hair from my hands to hide it behind his back.

“Then why do I feel like I have?”

“Nobody wants to die in the end, Y/n/n. It’s a game of chance, each day we live we gamble on how long we have left. Some people search for that end and others stumble on it accidentally, it’s just the chances.”

When he puts it like that, it makes me feel even worse, knowing how quickly I’ll be gone. How I’ve failed my future children I’ll never get to have, my husband who would have loved me I’m sure, and my poor old dog who waits by the food bowl only to find it empty each day I’m gone.

“I don’t like these chances.” I laugh with tears in my eyes, hands holding onto his as our forehead touch, my best friend holding me like no one ever has, not even Megan, who had long grownup into a woman I barely knew, a friend who drifted from me when we were thirteen and cried to her mother about how she missed me when she was sixteen.

Megan held me when my grandma died that day when I was nine, and I was confused as to why she was so sad, but with Harry holding me now, I understand it all better.

“I’m only twenty nine, Harry. At least my grandmothers dementia took away the intense pain of remembering what she was leaving behind.”

“And she lived not knowing who her daughter was for the rest of her life. She must have been so alone.”

I look down at my lap, my palms still pressed against his.

“I’d never forget you, even if my memory starts to go. I’ll never forget you because you’re too important to forget.” Harry smiles when I say that, pulling his hands away from mine to tap his chest quietly.

“And I’d never forget you, even when I’m old and crazy. I’ll keep photos of us on my walls and talk to them when I get bored.” He promised me, the dull light from the sun making the once lavish room feel less like a clean living room and more like a cold hospital.

As the months pass, my hair has been traded for one of Harry’s favorite hats. My shirts switched out for backless gowns with blue dots on the paper like material. My arms are not decorated with the same ink as Harry, but wires and tubes that come from the table beside my hospital bed.

I am twenty nine, but I must look about sixty now with how tired I am from simply trying to steal back the life that was ripped from me unfairly.

And as I fight to keep up with the beeping of the monitors hooked up beside me, I feel my throat rejecting my saliva and my sick coughs stuck behind my teeth.

I heat the same cracking sounds that my grandmother made when I was nine, and I feel relaxed knowing now that it doesn’t hurt to breathe this way, not right now anyway.

And in the silence I can hear an echo of my mother’s words from outside my door, her feminine voice exchanged for the deep one I’d grown rather fond of.

“Has anyone ever survived beyond the death rattle breathing?”

Harry asks in a hushed tone, the nurse different but her answer just the same.

“We usually recommend getting everything in place by the end of the day. Gather her papers and say your goodbyes. We can’t guarantee anything with how much longer she’ll hold out for.”

It’s happening again, the spirit leaving my bones to join everyone I’ve ever loved before, my father and my grandma. My mother and my old cousins. I only wished I didn’t have to leave Harry behind, I wished I could dance with him in our college dorms just one more time like we used to, and set fire to the box mac and cheese just one last time.

I remember everything about Harry, the nurse warning that my image of him might waver as my blood begins to slow under the skin. She tells him not to worry when my skin gets cold, it’s natural for people to cool down as their heart gives out.

Harry comes in and holds my hand, pretending the sound of my breathing doesn’t bother him and the sound of me choking on my own saliva is normal and the staggering of my breathing between heavy wheezes isn’t concerning while he swears to every single higher power he can think of that I’ll be okay.

And I believe him.

Because while he holds my hand in death, he’s fulfilled the one wish I prayed so hard for a a kid. The one selfish wish I made for myself in a time of need.

When I was nine, standing between my mothers legs with my nails between my teeth I prayed selfishly under my breath that I would have someone’s hand to hold when I went, that my rotting body would mean more than any shower ever could.

And here Harry was nearly two decades later, holding my hand and promising serenity in the afterlife.

What he doesn’t know is that I am one of the lucky ones. Even after my heart has stopped, I am given one last gift as an apology for such a short life. I am given an extra second of my brain living on, the soft cries of “I love you’s” from Harry the last thing I hear as my dying gasp is cut short from my death rattle breathing.

I have a small service, Harry and some college friends standing in line shaking the hands of the few guests who walk by to look at my body. My nephews and nieces place hide and seek with each other until the ceremony was over, mints stuffed deep in their pockets as they filed out of the funeral home like nothing had happened.

Being famous is weird, especially after a loved one has passed.

We send out prayers to the families of those affected, the media says, but how has the death of this person affected Harry? How has Y/n’s slipping away crushed him beyond belief? Will he dedicate his next album to her?

They don’t care about Y/n, they only care about how she makes a good headline for their companies, and it makes me sick to think about. How they profit off of my grief while I try to stop memorizing the sound of her broken sigh as she went.

I wonder if I was enough for her during her final days. If my touch was enough to cure her for just a brief second.

It’s no wonder I turned to move-on pills. Ones that lift me up and break me down further until I am face up on the bathroom floor we once shared, my eyes wide as I choke on my breathing and count how many times the lights multiply as I look up to the sky.

It’s not a shock that the headlines are out by the end of the day, the sirens enough to alert all of Hollywood of my dying dreams and my perfect execution.

My family stands in a line while they put my casket into the hearse, makeup on my face like they put on my grandpa, I dan barely recognize myself as I watch the funeral service from another space.

And as they bury me under the ground, the media announces their grief and well wishes to all that attended and the millions watching from their televisions.

As a kid, I hoped I too would be able to make such a big impact on so many people. I selfishly prayed under my breath that one day I’d too have a large funeral. That people would care enough to come and cry for me because I would matter that much.

But now that it’s happening, I only care for one thing, I only asked for one thing in the letter I left behind. Lay me beside my best friend, so I can keep holding her hand through death, and we can laugh in the afterlife like we did when we were healthy, happy, and together.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #yn x harry #harry x reader #harrystyles #harry styles #hslot harry #yn x harrystyles

[captainremmington-13]

A Lady Made of Snow

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own The Hunger Games franchise, the images above, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, or any of the characters in this fic other than Bellova.

SUMMARY: The 10th Annual Hunger Games begin, and things quickly dissolve into chaos. Bellova grows increasingly furious about Coriolanus’s dedication towards Lucy Gray Baird. When she realizes he has cheated just to keep her alive, she decides to ruin him once and for all.

Warnings: spoilers for TBOSAS, death, violence, cursing, overall dark stuff (it’s the Hunger Games franchise so that’s sorta a given)

A/n: I am using a combination of the movie and book version of the events that occur in this chapter. I sort of streamlined the events to make the chapter less boring. Also, I highly recommend listening to “…Ready For It?” and “Look What You Made Me Do” while reading this chapter.

Other than Sejanus throwing a chair at the screen and screaming that everyone in the room was a monster, Lamina killing Marcus in an act of of mercy, and Lucky’s stupid commentary, nothing much had happened yet. 

Bellova was disappointed that her tribute was dead. Not because she cared about her, but because it meant she was missing out on the mentor experience. The thrill of having a say in someone else’s survival seemed quite exciting. 

If she wasn’t so pissed at Coriolanus for his behavior towards Lucy Gray, she would’ve reconsidered his proposal to work together. 

When the day was coming to an end, the majority of Academy students started to leave for their homes. Only a handful remained, consisting mostly of the mentors.

Bellova stifled a yawn, leaning back in her chair. Things has gotten dull, with the tributes doing nothing but finding places to hide from each other. She hoped that Dr. Gaul had something exciting in store for them soon, or people would start switching to Billi Bumble’s horrible comedy channel.

She picked up her Academy satchel and stood up from her seat. She noticed that Coriolanus was still present and slumped over on his desk, his head resting on his hand. He looked so peaceful asleep, his long golden lashes fluttering slightly. The light from the ceiling made his light blonde curls glow ethereally.

He looked like an angel. 

Bellova suddenly felt a strong urge to wake him up. She had avoided him for the entire day out of spite, but was starting to miss interacting to him. It was routine, bantering and bickering every day. Not talking felt…weird. And lonely.

She sighed. On rare occasions, she wished she could go back in time and change the way they formed their relationship. Instead of it being based on competition and rivalry, it would be full of support and affection. 

Then, an unpleasant thought hit her. 

He had only stayed so late to ensure nothing happened to Lucy Gray while he was away.

Now utterly furious, she slung her bag over her shoulder and started towards the door. ‘He’s such a pathetic sap,’ she thought. ‘He’s acting like a fool, I really should stop associating myself with him.’ 

But she found herself glancing over her shoulder to look at him one last time. And she knew, deep down, that she’s always come back, no matter how much he pissed her off.

She’d never be able to stay away from him. 

Not for long, anyway.

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

Bellova passed out as soon as she climbed into bed, and didn’t wake until nine hours later. She hadn’t slept well in nearly a week, as she was still recovering from her injuries. This was the first time she was able to achieve an uninterrupted night of sleep since before the bombing.

When one of her maids woke her up, it was already 8:00. Usually Academy classes started promptly at 8:00, but because of the Games, the schedule had been loosened a bit. And Bellova, who didn’t feel like interacting with anyone, was in no rush to arrive on time.

After eating a breakfast of fruit and assorted pastries, she slowly pulled on her uniform. She has always hated the Academy uniforms, but with the right accessories and makeup, she had learned to make it presentable by her standards.

Bellova checked her makeup one last time in the mirror and then headed downstairs to meet her driver at the front of her estate. He opened the passenger’s side door for her as she slid into the seat. 

“How are you this morning, Miss Bellova?” he asked, starting the engine and taking off towards the main road.

“Fine,” she said, leaning against the window. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope that once the Games are over, you can rest up properly.”

She nodded. “That would be nice. As much as I like the Games, they’ve caused quite a lot of stress this year.” 

He laughed quietly. “Most certainly. Everyone was so worried about you when you were hospitalized, your father most of all. I haven’t ever seen him so upset in my twenty years of working for him.” 

Bellova sighed. She and her father, Julio Augustus Reginelle, had a nice relationship. But he was rarely home, for he worked almost ten hours a day and often didn’t come home until Bellova was asleep. She cherished the rare moments she had with him. He had taught her to be proud of her wit and her combative nature, even if it sometimes got her into trouble. 

“You are much more like your father than you realize, Miss Bellova,” her driver said. 

“How so?” she asked.

“You are both kind until someone disrespects you. You are incredibly intelligent just like him, and pursue your goals relentlessly.” He paused for a moment. “And, you seem to have the same disdain for certain other Capitol families.”

Bellova raised an eyebrow. “Which ones?”

“Well, he’s not fond of the Cardews, as you know. He thinks they hold too much power for how little work they actually do.”

Bellova laughed. “That’s true.”

“He has never gotten along with the Creed family. He finds them irritating and foolish.”

She smirked. “I’m not surprised. Festus can be insufferable. Who else?”

Her driver sighed. “He despised Crassus Snow.”

Bellova felt her stomach twist. “Really?”

He nodded. “I don’t know exactly why he hated him so passionately, but I’ve heard they were rivals during their Academy days.”

‘I suppose I really do take after him then,’ Bellova thought, remembering her and Coriolanus’s worst arguments. ‘Crassus’s son gets under my skin nearly every day.’

Her driver pulled onto Scholars Road and stopped in front of the Academy’s main building. He stepped out of the car to open the door for her, and she gave him a nod of thanks. 

“I’ll see you later, Miss Bellova,” he said, bowing slightly and getting back into the car to drive off. 

As Bellova walked to the auditorium where the mentors were undoubtedly already at work, she pondered what her driver had said about Crassus Snow and her father. She was eager to know more about their history, but didn’t want to pry too far. Her father had a temper just like her, and she didn’t want to be on the wrong end of it.

When Bellova reached the room and walked through the doors, she immediately noticed three things: one, that Coriolanus looked exhausted and distressed, two, that he has brought his cousin Tigris to watch the Games, and three, that Sejanus was missing. 

She grabbed a spare chair and sat next to Coriolanus. He didn’t greet her or even glance look at her.

“What’s wrong with you today?” she asked, looking at the large television screen in front of them. 

He scowled. “I’m not in the mood for your snide remarks, Bellova.”

“Clearly something happened. Either tell me or I’ll figure it out on my own.”

Coriolanus gave her a sharp glare, but sighed in defeat. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Satisfied, Bellova turned her attention back to the Games. According to Lucky Flickerman, one tribute, Bobbin, had died overnight. However, there was no footage shown of him perishing. 

Bellova found that awfully suspicious. There was such a lack of action in the arena that the gamemakers would have undoubtedly shown the death of a tribute. 

When Bobbin’s death was announced, she noticed Coriolanus tense ever-so slightly. The average person wouldn’t have noticed, but she had learned to read his body language as well as the back of her hand. Clearly, something about his death made him nervous.

She decided to cast it aside for the moment. She’d pry the information out of him later. 

“They aren’t showing us what happened to that little boy,” Lysistrata Vickers said. “He clearly was killed right there. There’s cameras everywhere. It doesn’t make sense.”

“They said they were old cameras, Lyssie,” Festus responded. “Probably just another one of Coral’s.”

“Festus, sit down,” Lucky Flickerman ordered. “Same seats.”

Festus scowled but did as he was told. He and Lucky clearly had some animosity, and it was quite amusing to witness their petty interactions. 

Suddenly, after a few moments, Lucy Gray appears on screen, looking horrified. Bellova had to bite her lip to refrain from grinning. It seemed that the songbird’s luck was finally running out. 

Jessup emerged a second later. He was clearly not well, he looked much worse than he did before the Games.

“What’d you do to me?” Jessup shrieked, backed Lucy Gray against a pile of rubble.

“Nothing!” she responded, her eyes wide with fear. 

“Lyssie, what is he doing?” Bellova heard Coriolanus asked frantically.

“Something’s wrong,” Lysistrata replied, bewildered. “He wouldn’t turn on her like this.”

“Jessup going after Lucy Gray,” Lucky commented. 

“Stop running!” Jessup demanded. “What did you…” He groaned mid-sentence. “What did you do to me?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Lucy Gray insisted.

“Both tributes from District 12. The same district folding in on itself.” 

“Wait, look. The foam,” Coriolanus said. 

“I think it’s rabies,” Lysistrata said, clearly disturbed. “That bite. From that train.” 

Coriolanus stared at the screen, looking helplessly at his tribute who was nearing her inevitable doom. Then, he turned back to Jessup’s mentor.

“Send him water.”

“Wait, what?” Lysistrata asked.

“You remember the posters in the war? Rabies. It makes you afraid of water. Send him a drone.”

“That’ll scare him,” she protested.

“Yes. Away from her,” he insisted.

Bellova stood up. “Coriolanus-“

“Bellova, be quiet,” he snapped, not even bothering to look at her. “Jessup is done. Lyssie, you’re the only one that can get it right to him.”

Lysistrata clearly didn’t want to, but with a few clicks on her computer, water was being sent to Jessup by a drone. 

“Thank you,” Coriolanus whispered.

Within minutes, Jessup was dead, and four lethal tributes were cornering Lucy Gray. 

“Oh, look at this,” Lucky Flickerman said. “The Pack doing what they do best. Packing it in. Lucy Gray is swarmed, cornered. Mizzen, propellering his net.”

It looked again as if she was done for, but then-

“Mr. Snow going for his communipad,” Lucky continued. Bellova saw him send nine - no, ten drones towards Lucy Gray. 

Bellova knew exactly what he was doing. He was using the drones to give her a chance to escape. 

The drones came flying into the arena, causing The Pack to scatter. A few of them got hit, causing them cry out in pain and tumble to the stone-covered floor. 

“These drones are not very good,” Lucky commented, as if it weren’t obvious. Some of the students who had caught onto Coriolanus’s plan started to jeer at him.

“Hey!” Vipsania Sickle said indignantly. “You can’t attack the tributes.”

“I’m just sending water,” Coriolanus said casually, as if he was completely innocent.

After gathering her bearings, Lucy Gray scrambled into a tunnel with Coral on her heels. She managed to pull the vent closed just in time, the metal door nearly crushing Coral’s fingers.

Bellova positioned herself a few inches away from Coriolanus. She was seething, but it didn’t show on her face. She simply looked indifferent, despite all of the violence that had just occurred in the Games. 

“Snow, do you that time before the Dark Days when you pulled on my pigtails, so I slammed your face against my school desk?”

“Yes,” Coriolanus said, furrowing his eyebrows. “What about it?”

Bellova smiled crookedly, the violent glint in her eyes making Coriolanus visibly uncomfortable. “I’m about to fucking do it again, and this time, you’ll have more than a bleeding nose.” 

He straightened his posture, smoothing out his Academy blazer. 

“I’d like to see you try.” 

Bellova’s hands twitched. She knew that decking him in front of the majority of the student board would get her in severe trouble, but it was very tempting.

Instead of punching him, she started to storm out of the auditorium. 

“There goes Miss Reginelle. Clearly, the violence on screen has finally gotten to her-“

“Shut the fuck up, Flickerman, before I snap your microphone in half!” Bellova hissed. She threw up open the doors, and made sure to slam them behind her. 

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

Bellova sat in the hallway outside of the auditorium, leaning her head against the wall behind her. Her anger was threatening to spill over, and her father would be very disappointed in her if she murdered someone on Academy grounds.

She had vowed to make Coriolanus pay if he pulled any more strings for his little songbird. And he had by sending that fleet of drones after her attackers. But clearly, nobody batted an eye at that. He had not been punished, or even reprimanded.

The thought of Coriolanus thinking longingly about Lucy Gray was almost enough to drive her mad. 

Before she could do anything drastic, she heard the speakers inside the auditorium amplifying Dr. Gaul’s voice. Curious, she stood up and pressed her ear to the doors.

“Capitol citizens, I’m afraid I must interrupt our Games to announce a tragic loss, one that affects us all. Felix Ravinstill, son of our beloved president, has, this morning, succumbed to his injuries sustained in the rebel bombing.”

Bellova felt her heart drop. Felix wasn’t all that bad, when he wasn’t bragging about his life at least. She had even gone to the end-of-year Academy gala with him a couple of years ago. They had a wonderful time, and she was gifted a priceless gold necklace by him at the end of the night. She had worn it for a week straight afterwards, which delighted the young son of the president.

“Out there in the districts, they will be celebrating this young boy’s death as a triumph. I will not allow my Games to give our enemy such a victory. I swear to you, here and now, before the sun goes down tonight, a rainbow of destruction will engulf our arena. Even if it means there’s to be no victor in these Games.”

She gasped. She knew Dr. Gaul well enough to know she was completely serious. If she wanted someone gone, she’d stop at nothing until they dropped dead. 

Mere moments later, Coriolanus burst through the doors, nearly slamming right into Bellova. 

“What are you doing out here?” she asked, scowling at him.

He sneered down at her, beginning to walk away. She followed him, despite knowing he really didn’t want her to. “As if I’d tell you.”

Bellova sighed. “I told you earlier, Coriolanus, if you don’t tell me, I’ll figure it out on my own-“

“Fine!” he huffed. “I’d do anything to shut you up at this point. You’re insufferable.”

“The feeling is mutual, Snow. Now spill it, what’s going on?”

Coriolanus, against his better judgement, told her everything. Well, almost everything. He told her about how he retrieved Sejanus from the arena, but omitted the part about killing Bobbin. He explained that he needed to see Dr. Gaul immediately, for the stitches in his back from the previous evening were coming loose. 

Bellova frowned. She briefly felt bad that he was in pain, but couldn’t bring herself to actually care. She was still angry at him. 

She also noticed he said was being very vague with his details. He was definitely hiding something.

“What’s that face for?” Coriolanus asked as they approached the Citadel, which housed Gaul’s laboratory. 

“What face?”

“That scowl. You’re clearly not pleased about something, so what is it?”

She smirked. “As if I’d tell you,” she said, mimicking his words from earlier. 

Coriolanus’s jaw clenched, which satisfied Bellova immensely. She loved seeing his patience waver, it was strangely addicting.

“Will you ever learn to keep your bratty mouth shut?” he asked, his voice raising a touch.

“Bratty?” Bellova scoffed. “I’d prefer it if you called me a bitch.”

Dr. Gaul’s lab was just a few corridors away at this point. Bellova knew that causing a scene here wouldn’t be wise, but she honestly did not care. She could easily talk her way out if it.

Coriolanus glowered at her, his blue eyes icier than ever. “Go back to the auditorium, Bellova. I know you love watching the Games, and you’re probably missing all of the action.”

She laughed. “So all of a sudden, you want me to be happy. Seriously, Snow, if you want to get rid of me, just say so.”

He smirked at her condescendingly. “Then I will. Get out of here, you have no place in Gaul’s lab anyway. It’s too much for your pathetically shallow brain to comprehend.” 

Bellova stared at him for a moment. It has been awhile since he’d said something quite that harsh. It was normal for him to question her intellect, but calling her dumb? That was low, even for him.

Coriolanus was obviously anticipating a slap to the face. He was not prepared, however, for Bellova to swipe her claw-like nails across his face like a wild animal.

Stunned, he watched Bellova walk away as the new gashes on his face began to sting. As she reached the end of the hall, she screamed “You’re such an asshole!” before disappearing from Coriolanus’s sight. 

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

Bellova sat in the stands instead of with the mentors, watching as Dr. Gaul’s “rainbow of destruction” engulf the remaining tributes in the arena.

She had no idea that when Dr. Gaul said “rainbow”, she was referring to hundreds of colorful, deadly snakes. 

She watched, entranced, as the beautiful mutations smothered the tributes, picking them off one-by-one. She had never admired the “mad” scientist more. Her work was truly beautiful. 

Wovey, Reaper, Mizzen, and Coral were soon dead, lying lifelessly beneath the swarm of snakes. 

“Now, all colors lead to Gray,” Lucky Flickerman said. 

Coriolanus stood watching the screen, amazed at his own success. “She’s… She’s won. It’s over, she’s won.” He looked over to Dr. Gaul, who was standing to the side. “She’s won, let her out.”

The doctor smiled. “Afraid that’s not your call to make, Mr. Snow.”

Bellova bit back a laugh when Lucy Gray began to sing. At least she’d be able to get in once last performance before her vocal chords went slack.

“Dr. Gaul, she won!” Coriolanus repeated, desperation seeping into his voice. “It’s over, let her out.” 

“Why aren’t they attacking her?” someone asked.

“Must be the singing,” Coriolanus replied. “It’s calming them.”

He really was a terrible liar.

“She can’t sing forever,” Festus said. 

Bellova noticed some of the students around her begin to cry as they watched Lucy Gray sing shakily. ‘Pathetic,’ she thought.

“Dr. Gaul, please,” Coriolanus begged. “Get her out. Get her out!”

One by one, the Academy students began to chant “Get her out! Get her out!”, almost overpowering the sound of Lucy Gray’s singing. 

‘No,’ Bellova thought desperately. ‘Don’t. Just let her die.’

Then, Coriolanus said, “Who will watch the Games if there’s no victor?”

The chanting came to a halt.

Dr. Gaul looked around, seeing that she was vastly outnumbered. “Get her out,” she murmured just loud enough to be heard. 

“She’s won! Lucy Gray!” Lucky Flickerman cried over the roar of the student body. “Coriolanus Snow is the winner of the 10th Annual Hunger Games!”

Bellova’s face burned with fury, her patience finally snapping after days of wearing thin. 

She was no longer willing to overlook Coriolanus’s behavior. She had let him get away with too much. 

It was time that he faced some real consequences.

As she exited the hall quietly, she smiled, a cruel, twisted smile. She knew exactly how she would make him pay.  

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊

TAGLIST: @daenerysqueenofhearts, @squidscottjeans, @euphemiaamillais, @gracieroxzy

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments! This was another decently long chapter, and I believe it has been the most intense one yet. Stay tuned for Chapter Six!

Also, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

#coriolanus snow #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x oc #original character #thg prequel #the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #dr gaul #lucy gray baird

[uhgood-girl]

why jikook?

i've been asking myself this a lot recently bc well, why them? why not tkook? or ynmin? hell, jihope even, they're underrated as hell honestly, have you seen that hot tub video? hobi was ready to unhinge his jaw to swallow jimin whole (and who (jk) could blame him.)

but jikook, in a not joking way, hits different. they always have. it's been years at this point that i've been deep in this rabbit hole (within the larger bts rabbit hole, my god, how deep does it go) but i don't recall making the conscious decision to fall in.

maybe a little background?

i'm a fake love army. actually, if we're getting technical, i'm an outro tear army bc it was in the comments of the freshly released fake love music video that i saw someone recommend outro tear if i enjoyed fake love and then it was over for me. extremely not fake love at first listen, who's voice is second on this track? i NEED to know. i'm a yoongi/rapline bias to this day. fake love still fucks though, don't get me wrong, it's a never skip for me.

for that first year and then some, i consumed backlogged content like it was my day job. i am a prone to hyper-fixations hermit, basically, who was going to stop me? my therapist? nah, she picks her battles.

i watched everything i could get my grubby little hands on like someone would be testing me on it later. (shoutout qdeoks, you were so real) i didn't open stan twitter for the first time till probably the end of 2018, really just in time to be slapped in the face full force with the shitshow that was a hate campaign against these boys i was deeply invested in by then, the likes of which i had never experienced in an online space up to that point. it was a truly, truly wild era, don't ever let anyone tell you differently.

all that to say, i've been here for a hot minute and i developed my own first impressions on bts and the members as individuals in a vacuum. no one had to point jikook out to me, they stuck out on their own.

potentially relevant disclaimer before we continue: i am really really queer. i grew up in the united states conservative deep south and had to change high schools my sophomore year bc i was outed and then violently ostracized for being in a relationship with my same sex best friend at the time. it is safe to say i have a lot of feelings about and experience even when it comes to having to be low key (understatement lol) about who you love. i am not here just to make my barbies kiss.

actually, on that note, jikook wouldnt even be my chosen barbies out of bts. if we're in true fantasy delulu hours here, i would want yoonjin to be real. god, that would be the stuff, they're so old married as it is. peak romance.

i think the first place jikook ever truly caught my attention were the memories dvds. jimin has always been a sweet, bby angel taking care of all his members but i remember thinking that he seemed to pay a little extra, special attention to jungkook. and of course, why not, jk's the maknae after all. all of them have always been doting on him and deservedly so. but in those briefly shown really serious, quiet moments, jimin was often first in line. a spot very easy for him to obtain tbh as jk never seemed to be very far from him anyway. maybe if you've never in real time lived the satellite jeon accusations (hi pandemic army, bless you, i hope you make it to 2025 when we have them all back without restrictions) you might find them easier to dismiss but it was so consistent back then in all of the content being released. and once noticed, i don't know how anyone ever un-notices it. but i was in deep before i even realized the water was boiling.

should i talk about why not tkook? or ynmin, for me? i'm just pulling those as examples bc i know they're the popular contenders here but all joking in the beginning of this post aside, none of the other members interpersonal relationships, in any configuration (sadly, RIP yoonjin romance), have ever struck me as anything other than puppy crush/deep friendship/family. and that's not bc i don't think over half of those men aren't queer in some form or fashion because WHEW, that is an entirely different post and we simply do not have the time to unpack rn but it's not for lack of looking.

i started in a vacuum, but i have by no means stayed there, i walked in all of those front doors and sat down and said "convince me." i've got the time and lack of life, i am ready to be won over. what have i missed?

to this day i still regularly try and check my own confirmation bias, i'm obviously looking for jikook at this stage but i'm still ready on my toes if any of the others want to get crazy. (yoonjin i am rooting for you, we're all rooting for you)

and i'm not here to really persuade or sway anyone one way or another either. there are a 1000 other blogs on this site that can probably offer you better explanations, specific clips, and detailed break downs of moments throughout the years and even then people are going to see what they want to see. i just wanted to write some of my own thoughts down finally.

though...i guess if i had to point to any one single piece of "evidence" it would definitely be tried and true gcf tokyo? but if watching that the first time didn't ring through you like a gunshot, i def don't think there's anything i could say beyond that.

honestly, i think so much of "why jikook" for me boils down to the pit in the bottom of my stomach that i used to get when i first began to notice them. when i got past the initial warm fuzzies inspired by the sincerity of their interactions, my immediate second emotion was concern.

i remember the first time i heard some of the other boys make an offhand joke about them being a couple and i got anxious, fast. i thought hide, hide better, please be safe. i began to pay extra attention to the other members in general too when jikook would do things and felt like i could sometimes see a similar anxiety to my own in their expressions. for a long time, i just worried about them and where i saw other people rejoice in their more obvious moments, i was slow to celebrate.

despite my initial hesitation, it's now been about 5 years since the first time they ever made me double take. they're a few years younger than me but i feel like we've been growing up together. (parasocial? idk her.) they're less conspicuous these days, and for lots of obvious reasons, but i feel like overall, their confidence in themselves and each other is quite high. i know that's probably a funny thing to say in light of this last week especially, but i stand by it. i've seen this song and dance before. i have managed my own expectations in the past, taken full steps back only to be beaten anew over the head so many times with enough "coincidences" i felt borderline foolish to try and deny anything. jikook are truly some sort of neuro-spicy pattern recognition drug, i swear.

and i've never really gotten to talk about any of this with anyone before! i'm shy irl, and shy online apparently bc i have just been lurking around the outer lines of this circle this whole time like some creepy creep but i've decided i'm over it. fuck it. growth.gif. idk that i have anything important or new to contribute to the conversation but my god, no one else seems to let that stop them so i might as well take my turn on the soapbox, no?

so 📢 JIKOOK REAL (?) jikook sus. jikook make bandaged queer little heart go boom boom.

#jikook #kookmin #hi hello welcome to the personal jikook ted talk literally no one asked for #in this essay i

[shieldofiron]

Vibe Check Part 3: Quid Pro Bro

The Frat Boy Au, Part 3

Read Previous on Ao3 or tumblr.

Steve wakes almost falling out of a chair.

He blinks, looking around the empty lecture hall and then finally looking up at the girl who’s still shaking him.

“Hey, yo, I’m up, I’m awake!” He wriggled out of her iron grip.

“You have to leave.”

“When did I pass out?”

The girl scoffs rolling her eyes hard, “Like halfway through the lecture, dingus. You snore, by the way.”

“I do not!” He snapped. Billy’s never said anything, and they’d roomed together all of last year.

“Oh yeah,” she nodded, crossing her arms. “Drool too.”

Steve just began to gather his books, “Why are you even here? Just let me drool.”

“I’m the TA,” She smirked. “And I didn’t want to be caught grading your absolutely half baked paper.”

“Yeah,” he smirked right back, giving her a little of the patented Harrington sparkle. “A likely excuse.”

She just huffs, heading back to the front of the room and gathering some papers, “you try to help a guy.”

“Want me to walk you home?” He glanced at his watch. “Kinda late.”

“I live off campus.”

“Your car, then.”

She blinks at him, “you’re not getting in my pants.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m gay.”

“And I’m just offering a walk home,” Steve shook his head, “you try to help a girl.”

She pauses, “you’re serious. You don’t have to do that.”

He nods, “yeah I am, dude, it’s like 9 pm. I’m not gonna let you walk home alone.”

She’s pretty, short hair sort of messy around her freckled face, which morphs slowly from a scowl into a more confused expression.

“Okay, I guess.”

“You thought I would just leave you in the lurch?”

“Not-“ She just laughs and shakes her head. “Fine, dingus. Prove to me that frat boys aren’t all the same.”

“We’re not!”

“Your taking a nap during the lecture non withstanding. Like it wasn’t even during a film day.”

Steve massaged the back of his neck, “My neighbor at the house has this girlfriend, she’s like a banshee. We didn’t sleep at all last night.”

She swung a multicolored patchwork tote bag onto her shoulder, “Can’t you just outbang him? Fight fire with fire?”

Steve’s brows rose as he scrambled to shove his notes into his backpack. “Whoah, I didn’t expect you to say that!”

She giggles, “I’m a TA not a nun.”

“Fair enough. How do you get to be a TA anyway?” He holds open the heavy metal door as she sails past, her tote bag hitting him hard in the solar plexus as she did.

“Sorry,” She says. “You take enough of Herman’s classes that he starts to remember your face. It’s a blessing and a curse, I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone. And the pay is dismal.”

“You get paid too?” He followed her down the hallway and out into the brisk fall air.

“I thought frat boys had all the money for keg parties and togas and house dues and lawsuits…”

“Not all of us,” He scoffs, as if he isn’t absolutely the exact type of guy she’s talking about. “It’s always good to let the brothers know about stuff like this.”

She rolls her eyes, “I can’t believe you actually talk like that.”

“What? Brothers?”

“Yeah,” she raises one shoulder. “Isn’t your boyfriend one of your brothers? Isn’t that a bit creepy?”

At first he thinks it’s the fall wind. That whooshing sound.

“What?” He realizes he’s frozen, locked to the spot in his adidas slides, staring at a tree rather than her.

“Oh,” She falters in her skipping. “Did you two break up?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Uh, I don’t really know his name but he used to walk you to class last semester for Women in Film? Blonde guy with the curls? He has an embarrassing and frankly dated 80s thing going on?” She blinks at him. “God, you did break up. I’m so sorry, Steve.”

“How… wh… we’re not boyfriends,” he finally manages to stutter after a few seconds of autumn-chilled silence.

“Oh,” Her expression morphs into pity and it’s fucking awful. “I get it.”

“No, no I… we’re not like that at all. Billy and I are roommates. We’re…” he couldn’t bring himself to say brothers, his mind still scrambled. “Friends.”

“Oh.” She tips her chin down. “Sorry. My mistake.”

After another stilted second, they start to walk again with purpose towards the parking garage.

But she keeps sort of glancing over at him. Like she’s checking.

“We’re just friends,” He repeats after a moment.

“Got it.”

“Nothing going on there.”

“Okay.”

“And we’re straight.”

“Interesting how that came up last.”

“I’m fucking serious. We’re just friends.”

“Got it. Broken gaydar. It happens,” She shrugs, and he tries to do it too. Just like… no big deal.

But he can’t seem to stop wanting to say it. They’re just friends. How could anyone read them as anything else.

The more he thinks about it the funnier it seems. Of course nothing is going on, it’s so crazy that she thought so. He’ll have to tell Billy, even though the idea makes him feel like he has a nest of angry scorpions in his stomach.

Finally, they turn sharply for the nearest dorm, just past the garage near the theatre building.

“I thought you said you lived off campus.”

“I thought you might be a serial killer. I don’t know which one of us is more disappointed.”

He laughed through his choked throat. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“I know. You’re Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington. You’re the party chair for Theta House and you’re like,” she puts on a silly high voice, “so cute.”

“And straight.”

“And straight, that too,” she giggles a little nervously. “I’m Robin Buckley. We’ve had classes together for two years.”

He rocks back on his heels, “you did the John Waters short for Dr Casey’s class. That shit was legit.”

“That’s me,” She smiled, “sorry about confusing you and you’re friend earlier. You’re just so… anyway. See you next time.”

“See you next time, Robin,” He says.

The whole way back to the house he can’t shake the feeling. Like a leaf blowing on the back of his leg he’s jumpy, sure he’s feeling spiders and skeletons.

He whips out his phone and dials the first number he can think of. Surely it will all just seem like a joke tomorrow. A harmless mistake.

“Hey,” Billy picks up on the second ring.

And it’s like all the words in the world have dried up in his throat and he can’t speak for the corpses. He just makes a little aborted wheeze.

“Stevie? What’s up?” Billy asks.

“D-do… do I snore?” He asks, not even sure where that came from.

“A little. But it’s cute. Why, is some girl giving you grief?”

Steve is so nervous he just up and disconnects the call. The wind blows at the name of his neck and his whole body breaks out in goosebumps.

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #shieldofiron #harringrove #Harringrove #Billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #Billy x Steve #Steve x Billy #my writing #frat boy au #vibe check au harringrove

[ansu-gurleht]

okay here is my beginner’s guide to morrowind! it talks about some of the mechanics you’ll want to know, but it’s also a little bit of a walkthrough to get you a good start on your journey. note that i originally wrote this for somebody specific: i don’t think it does, but if it seems like it’s talking at somebody in particular, that’s why. anyways, i hope this is helpful!

before you start the game:

there is only one mod i absolutely recommend you play with, and it’s not quite a mod at all.

when you download morrowind from steam or gog or whatever, you have the game! congratulations! however, what you really own is the assets of the game and a horribly broken engine. that’s where openmorrowind (openmw) comes in.

openmw is a remake of the original engine of morrowind. you see, morrowind’s original engine fucking sucks. this is for a multitude of reasons, but for me, the reason i switched was because at the later stages of a playthrough, the game will literally start corrupting your saves. don’t have that problem with openmw!

i can’t really give you a guide on how to install it and get it running better than the one on the openmw website (https://openmw.org/en/). go install it and you will have a much smoother experience overall.

before you start a new game:

before we start talking about PLAYING the game, though, let’s also take a peek through the options.

in the first page of the options, “prefs,” you’ll find some things you’ll want to switch on. namely, subtitles, always use best attack, and auto-save on rest. i’m not sure which of these are enabled by default, but enable them all.

in the “controls” section, you’re likely going to want to swap the “activate” and “jump” buttons. for some reason, the default control scheme has “activate” set to “spacebar” and “jump” set to “e”. this is, of course, counterintuitive to anyone who plays modern pc games. go ahead and just swap those around.

in the “video”-“video” section, go ahead and set your game to the highest resolution, and maybe increase the field of view a bit (i play with 75 fov, but you may prefer higher. idr what the default is, probably stupid low). in the “video”-“detail” section, crank up that view distance as high as it’ll go. i’m not sure what the default is, and i’ve fiddled with my set-up to maximize it for openmw. also turn on trilinear texture filtering and the anisotropy to the highest setting. also raise all the “video”-”water” settings to their maximum values. trust me, you can run this. it’s a new engine but the game itself came out in 2002. not the most graphics-intensive game out there.

tutorial and creating your character:

okay, that’s the options out of the way. now let’s hit that “new” button and make a new game.

watch the intro cutscene, talk to jiub, and tell him your character’s name. follow the instructions of the guards until you get to the one who asks you where you’re from. this is how the game asks you for your race. there’s no bad options here - pick whichever race you like best. you can take into account the bonuses each race gets, and compared to later games in the series these bonuses are more significant, but you can really play any character with any race in this game. it’s worth noting, however, that the beast races (argonians and khajiit) can’t wear full helms or boots/shoes. for a first timer, i would probably recommend dunmer (dark elf).

after that, go into the census office. this is where you build your class properly. you CAN take the class quiz, or pick from the premade classes. i would not recommend this. i’ve come up with a custom class that i think covers pretty much all the bases and gives a fairly enjoyable experience for a newcomer:

specialization: magic

attributes: endurance, intelligence

major skills: long blade light armor conjuration restoration marksman / destruction

minor skills: short blade medium armor spear mysticism alteration

now let me explain my choices here, to give you an idea where i’m coming from, and what those choices mean.

your specialization gives you +5 to all nine of the skills that fall under that specialization, and makes those skills increase more quickly. i’m giving you magic because magic skills don’t always increase the fastest, and every little bit helps.

your chosen attributes get +10 each. endurance determines your starting hp, which is obviously important, among other things, such as how much health you gain on level up. intelligence increases your maximum magicka. when you level up, you get to pick three attributes to increase, and depending on what skills you increased to get to your new level, you get multipliers on how much you can increase certain attributes. i recommend always increasing endurance, even if you don’t get a multiplier for it. speed, which affects your, well, speed, and strength, which affects your physical damage done as well as your carry weight, are good choices for leveling up as well. but you can increase other attributes as you think is necessary - i won’t elaborate on what each one does here, you can look it up on uesp.

your major and minor skills are what you need to increase in order to level up your character level. major skills get +25, minor skills get +10.

i always recommend at least one weapon skill and at least one armor skill for your major skills. i’m giving you long blade, bc it’s the most ubiquitous and useful weapon skill in the game, and light armor, bc it’s generally speaking the best armor skill in the game, and is also lighter to carry around as well.

i’m giving you conjuration and restoration bc having a magic skill as a major gives you a starting spell from that school. conjuration gives you bound dagger, which summons a daedric dagger for you to use for 60 seconds (and gives you the requisite skill to use it effectively), and restoration gives you hearth heal, which is a very effective heal, albeit a somewhat costly one to cast.

i’m giving you two options for your last major skill: either marksman or destruction for ranged capabilities. note, however, that marksman is not as good in this game as in later titles, and not all destruction spells are at range. destruction gives you the starting spell fire bite, a decent on touch (melee range) fire spell.

just like you have a weapon skill and armor skill in your major skills, i recommend doing the same thing with your minor skills. so i’m giving you short blade, the second most ubiquitous and useful weapon skill, and medium armor, which is almost as good as light armor, albeit a bit heavier. you can mix and match your armor pieces to great effect in this game, and wearing at least one piece of a type of armor (a medium armor gauntlet, for example) will increase that skill when you get hit.

i’m giving you spear mostly bc it’s a fun weapon to play with, and not in the other games. mysticism is an important skill for a few reasons: 1) telekinesis, which we’ll mostly use to disarm traps from a distance, and 2) teleportation spells like almsivi/divine intervention, which lets you teleport to the nearest tribunal temple or imperial shrine respectively, and mark/recall, the former of which lets you set a point the latter can teleport you to from anywhere. alteration gives you access to a lot of good spells, like feather, shield, levitate, water breathing, water walking, and open.

okay, that’s enough about your class. next you’ll be asked what your birthsign is. i’m going to recommend either the steed, which gives you +25 speed and makes walking around at the beginning of the game more bearable, or the lady, which gives you +25 personality and +25 endurance. up to you whether you value the speed or the endurance more. there are other options, of course, but i think these are best for a first-time player.

okay, after you pick your birthsign and confirm your character, you’re free! kind of. not really yet. you’ll be notified you now have an inventory menu, and instructed to pick up the papers on the table to your right. do so. then, we’re going to do something a little sneaky. on the shelf against the rightmost wall is a limeware platter, which costs like 650 gold. you want that platter. so you’re going to take it. now, you just did this in full view of a guard. but you’re fresh off the boat, so he won’t arrest you - he’ll just confiscate what you stole. BUT, if you drop the platter before he gets to you, he won’t have anything to confiscate. and since YOU dropped it, it’s technically YOURS now, so you can pick it up without any ramifications.  congrats! you just got like, 300 gold (note: your mercantile skill affects how much gold you get from selling things. very rarely will you ever get full asking price for anything).

(how do you drop the platter, you may ask? well, to open your menu/inventory, you need to right-click. very counterintuitive, i know. but you’ll get used to it. to drop an item, click it and drag it outside of any of the menus. you can either drop it directly beneath you, which usually happens, or you can place things directly onto surfaces like tables or shelves if you’re close enough to them.)

now you’re expected to go out the door across from the platter shelf. go out, and close the door behind you. there’s nobody in this side of the building, so with the door closed, you’re free to just jack anything you see without ramifications. there’s a lot of ingredients to take, if you want to get into alchemy (which can be useful, for either making beneficial potions or for making a quick buck), but most of what you want is the expensive stuff you’ll find. there’s a book you can take (books can be very expensive in this game), some silverware, a bottle of liquor called flin, a lockpick, and a shitty dagger. you’ll want to sell everything you get here except for the lockpick, and maybe the ingredients if you want to do alchemy. there’s a little chest on the bottom of the shelf by the exit that’s locked. you should be able to pick it with ease with the lockpick you just got, even though your security skill sucks atm. there’s like, 31 gold in there i think? worth taking regardless. to pick the lock, equip the lockpick (click and drag it onto the little portrait of your character in the left of your inventory screen), and “attack” (left-click) over and over while pointing your cursor at the chest until it unlocks. there’s a couple of torches you might want downstairs, as well.

after you’re done looting, leave the building. you’ll find yourself in a little courtyard. the game’ll tell you to look in the barrel by the next door, and take the enchanted ring you find inside. don’t get too attached to this ring. go into the next door and talk to sellus gravius, the guy inside. this is your first real encounter with morrowind’s dialog system. it is not like skyrim’s. at all. get used to it. this weird wikipedia like structure is going to be your best friend. you have a list of all available options on the right, and you can click highlighted options in the text itself. you can talk about whatever to sellus, but you have to say a couple specific things to progress. i can’t remember what it is exactly, but he doesn’t have much to say outside of it, so it shouldn’t be hard to figure out. he’ll give you some money, a package for caius cosades, and a note with instructions on how to find caius cosades. don’t accidentally sell the package. don’t try to open the package. just leave it in your inventory until you’re ready to go find caius.

seyda neen:

after that, you’re free to go! and this time you’re really free, and you can do whatever you want now! but that’s a bit overwhelming, so i’m going to let you know what there is to do in this town, seyda neen.

first off, almost right outside the door there’s a bosmer (wood elf) named fargoth. he’s lost his ring. yes, that ring. give it to him. that’ll earn you better prices with the local merchant, who happens to be fargoth’s friend. don’t worry, if you want the ring, we’ll be getting it back later.

now to go make some money with all the shit we stole. go to arrille’s tradehouse, which is the building with the little raised platform adjacent. the “front” door is locked, it’s actually arrille’s house, so you have to go around on the platform to the real front door. go inside and talk to arrille. in the right pane of the dialog, you’ll see the option to barter with him. click that and get to selling your shit. 

here’s what you want to buy with the money you just got (around 500-600 gold). buy all the chitin armor pieces you can. it’s very good light armor for this stage in the game. buy the iron saber for now; you’ll be replacing it soon but you need something, and it’s cheap. buy one of the journeyman’s probes - you need these to disable traps - and one of the journeyman’s lockpicks, since the one you stole from the census office only has 10 uses. buy 3 bottles of sujamma - it’s a regional liquor that gives you +50 strength and -50 intelligence for 60 seconds. it’s VERY powerful for dealing with foes you normally shouldn’t be able to handle at a lower level. note the intelligence drop though: if you need to cast a spell, cast it before you drink the sujamma. buy 2 scrolls of almsivi intervention - like i said earlier, this teleports you to the nearest tribunal temple. lastly, buy 2 scrolls of ondusi’s unhinging. sometimes you need to open something that you just can’t pick with your too-low security skill. that’s where this scroll comes in.

yes, you just spent like, all of the money you just earned. it’s okay. we’re going to make it back and then some, soon.

before you leave arrille’s, go upstairs (behind him). talk to the guy, hrisskar flat-foot, at the top of the stairs. he’ll offer you a topic about recovering gold. he wants you to find out where fargoth (the ring guy) is hiding his gold and valuables. you’re going to help him find it, because YOU want those valuables as well. we’ll get back to this quest later, though.

next, talk to elone, the redguard behind the counter. she’s a scout, which means she knows a lot about the land. you can ask scouts all sorts of interesting questions about geography. but what you want from elone is directions to balmora. ask her about balmora and she’ll give you said directions in the form of a note.

finally, talk to the wizard lookin’ fella in the corner. ask him about the latest rumors. keep in mind what he says about mentor’s ring - we’ll be pursuing this later.

now, let’s make sure we equip all the armor and weapon we just bought. right-click to bring up your inventory/stats/map/magic menu, click on each piece of armor and weapon, and drag them onto the little portrait of your character to the left. that’s it! you’re equipped and ready to face the wilderness.

the wilderness, plus notes on combat:

leave arrille’s tradehouse from the door you came in from. jump off the corner of the platform into the water below, and cross that little river, heading west. on the far shore, you’ll find your first foe: a mudcrab! very scaaaaary! this is your introduction to combat. it works a little differently in this game. first of all, just because you SEE your weapon connect with an enemy, doesn’t mean it’s going to HIT necessarily. this game plays off of dice-rolls, and a lot of factors contribute to whether or not you’re gonna actually do damage. but the two most important factors are: 1) your level of skill with the weapon you’re using, and 2) your fatigue. that’s the green bar in the bottom left of your screen, what you’d call in skyrim your “stamina”. if your fatigue is low when you enter an encounter, you’re going to really struggle to fight!

here’s a somewhat annoying thing about fatigue: running at full speed diminishes it! so when you’re out in the wilderness, you’re going to want to conserve your fatigue by walking. it’s slow, but hopefully bearably so if you picked the steed as your birthsign. and it’s better than dying to a mudcrab because you were too tired to properly swing your weapon.

fortunately, there’s this thing called resting! if you’re out in the wilderness, you can press “t” to rest for as long as you’d like, or “until healed” (until your hp, magicka, and fatigue are completely restored). unfortunately, this close to seyda neen, you can only “wait” - all this does is restore your fatigue. it’s illegal to rest inside of most settlements, or even in their outskirts.

anyways, hopefully you’ve completely dominated that first mudcrab of yours. should go down in one hit, so long as you can connect. another thing to note: you may have noticed when you bought your saber that its damage stats are ranges. for instance, its chop stat (the one you’ll be using with your “always use best attack” enabled) is 5-18. to maximize your damage on the high end of that range, you’ll need to hold down your click for a second or so to wind up the attack. you’ll do a lot more damage this way rather than just mashing left mouse button!

anyways, after you’ve gotten your first kill, proceed along the coast, making sure to head between the rocks just up the way. you’ll find either a rat or a kwama forager (worm thing), and that’s how you know you’re going the right way. it’ll attack on sight, but there’ll be another critter there, a little grey insect looking thing called a “scrib” that thumps its tail on the ground and squeals. it’s not going to attack you when you get close, so don’t attack it. be nice. it’s just a little guy! if you do decide to attack it, though, you might be in for a nasty surprise: it has a paralyzing bite! a scrib can really catch you off guard at this low level. so leave the little guy alone!

across from the scrib, to the left, you’ll find a corpse. if you’ve been talking to the residents of seyda neen (i highly recommend you do) you may have heard that the local tax collector is missing. this is him. take the tax record and 200 gold from him. let’s read the tax record! to read any note or book from your inventory, click and drag it over your character portrait! this is really how you interact with anything in your inventory. note who has the highest unpaid tax to find a motive, but we’ll get back to that later. we’ve got some other stuff to do in the swamp.

proceed northwest, killing any little critters (except scribs!) that get in your way. pretty quick you’ll find yourself with a mountain on your right and the ocean on your left. follow the coast along those mountains. you’re going to find pretty quick a weird looking door on your right. that’s an ancestral tomb door! they all look like that. make a note of where this is, we’re coming back to it. keep progressing along the coast.

eventually you’ll find a little shipwreck. yes, that’s a ship, albeit a local, kinda weird-looking one. just before you get to the ship itself, there’ll be a chest next to a log that’s sticking up out of the water. there’s a silver longsword in there! take it, it’s your new weapon of choice, slightly better than your saber. now let’s explore the ship! get on board and take the trapdoor down to your right. at the end of the interior, next to the next trapdoor down, there’s a crate in the water with moon sugar in it! you may be familiar with skooma, the narcotic? moon sugar is what it’s made from. it’s very valuable, but also very illegal, so we’re going to have to be careful with how we sell it. we’ll get to that eventually.

take the trapdoor further down, and immediately swim up, bc you’re gonna be underwater! at the end of this section of the ship, you’ll find a little chest on the floor with 3 diamonds in it! woohoo! now let’s get out of here, that skeleton’s freaking me out. there’s nothing of note in the cabin section of the ship, so don’t worry about it. let’s go back to that tomb!

samarys ancestral tomb:

okay, right outside the tomb, SAVE! you need to save a LOT in this game if you want to make progress! i recommend having multiple running saves going as well as your quicksave. my most recent playthrough has 5 different saves that i cycle through. it’s a good way to make sure you don’t get stuck in untenable positions! make sure you have your silver longsword equipped and head on in.

once you’re in, open the door right across from you. in the next chamber, you’ll see these little raised things with jars on them. those jars have dead people in them! you don’t really want what’s in those jars, though - you want what’s next to them. always check next to these jars in ancestral tombs for valuables. most of the time it’s just clothes or ingredients, but sometimes, like in the case of the first jar on the right, there’s valuable scrolls! take it, and proceed down the corridor and turn right.

here’s your first challenge! a ghost! this is why we got the silver longsword first, because only silver weapons (or higher quality) or enchanted weapons can actually hit ghosts! this ghost knows a nasty little fire spell that can do quite a bit of damage if you don’t kill him quickly. just keep up your consistent, charged hits until he goes down. across from the entrance to this chamber is another jar-plinth with another scroll, this time an offensive one! take it, it might prove useful. save again!

on the other side of the next door is either a greater challenge or an even greater challenge. sometimes it’s just a skeleton, and sometimes it’s a lesser bonewalker, which can be very dangerous! take him down as quickly as you can, because bonewalkers often know very detrimental curses that can lower your attributes. save again after you kill it!

next, you want to disarm the trap on that urn in the bonewalker room. equip your journeyman’s probe and start clicking on that urn, just like you did with the chest in the census office! once the trap is disarmed, take mentor’s ring! told you we were gonna get that. it’s a very useful ring that increases your intelligence and willpower by 10 points each. go ahead and equip that. there’s a weird named ash in the urn, and a key to the chest next to it, but don’t bother. the chest never has anything valuable in it. don’t forget to reequip your silver longsword after you disarm the trap!

speaking of, here’s another little tip. press f1. this gives you the quick-select menu, where you can assign items or spells to your number keys. i’d put your main weapon (right now the silver longsword) on number 1, then put your most used spells on the next few numbers, in whatever order or fashion you prefer. makes swapping between items and spells much easier.

heading back to seyda neen:

leave the tomb and hug the mountains going east until you hit the road. then follow the road east some more until you see a man fall from the sky. yes, that just happened. he’s dead and free-game, so let’s loot him. take his nice enchanted sword (it’s slightly better than your current weapon, so long as it has a charge), equip his nice conical hat, and either equip his robes and shoes (you can wear robes over your equipped armor in this game! isn’t that so cool) or take them to sell later. take any gold he might have on him, and take those weird “scrolls of icarian flight” he has. do NOT use those scrolls. sell them. you will DIE if you try to use those scrolls. also, take a gander at his journal underneath him, and then take it to sell as well.

alright, from here, follow the road east and south back to seyda neen. let’s head back to arrille’s to sell some of the stuff we got. note that you are now carrying moon sugar, which as i said, is illegal. honest merchants won’t trade with you if you have moon sugar or skooma in your inventory. we’ll find some dishonest merchants later, don’t worry. but for now, you’ll have to simply drop the moon sugar on the floor before you start selling. don’t forget to pick it up when you’re done!

next, remember that guy you noted from the tax record, the one with the highest unpaid tax? we’re going to pay him a visit, ask what happened to the tax collector. i won’t tell you where he is; check the houses around seyda neen until you find the one with his name on the door. before you go in, save, and make sure your fatigue is up.

talk to him. he’ll confess to killing the tax collector, giving you the option of letting him go, or doing justice right then and there. do the justice. he’ll immediately attack you - with his fists. this might not sound scary to you at first. in later games, hand-to-hand combat merely does a little bit of damage to your health. in this game, hand-to-hand hits do damage to FATIGUE. and remember how important fatigue is? it affects everything, from physical combat to your chance at casting spells. so you’re gonna wanna take this guy down before he does too much damage to your fatigue. if your fatigue reaches zero, you get knocked out, falling to the floor. at this stage, hand-to-hand hits actually do damage to your HEALTH. and it’s easy to get trapped in a loop of getting knocked down. so don’t let that happen and kill him quickly. this fight is probably actually harder than the bonewalker, since this guy does a lot of damage to your fatigue with each hit, and you’re draining your own fatigue by swinging at him. but keep up with your consistent charged hits and you should be able to take him down.

be sure to take the ring he’s wearing! it’ll come in handy later. then loot the place - it’s effectively your house now, a decent starter shack. especially important is the book on the floor, which is a skill book increasing your mercantile skill, and sells for a pretty penny. there’s also some ingredients in the various barrels and sacks, if you’re into alchemy.

next, let’s go back to the census office. yes, the place you started at. talk to the old dude who set up your class and birthsign. there’ll be an option to report the murder. do so, and he’ll give you 500 gold. nice!

next, head on to the lighthouse on the coast. you should be able to see it from anywhere in seyda neen. step inside and talk to the lady immediately on your right. ask her about the ring you picked up from the murderer and she’ll give you two pretty high-quality healing potions! nice. now, head upstairs. there’s a very valuable book at the top you can take (the lady downstairs can’t see you now) which increases your unarmored skill. 

now head outside to the top of the lighthouse. stand at the corner facing the rest of the town, and wait until 10pm. if you’ve spent a lot of time resting/waiting, you might have missed your first 10pm, and will have to wait almost a day for the next one. don’t worry about it, you don’t have a time limit. now watch that little torch-wielding gremlin fargoth crawl around for a little bit. he’ll make a few stops along his way, but don’t worry, he can’t see you from up here (even though he does approach and stop in front of the lighthouse at one point). eventually he’ll stop by a tree-stump in a mucky pool - that’s where you need to go. once he walks away from there, head back down the lighthouse and go there. inside the stump you’ll find a bunch of gold, fargoth’s old healing ring, and a nice lockpick. take it all.

now, hrisskar wanted you to return with the money so he could split you a cut. instead, we’re just going to never talk to him again and keep all the money. there’s no repercussions for this at all, unless you’re a completionist who wants to finish every quest completely. but there’s not really a tracker for your completed quests, so it doesn’t really matter.

one last thing to do in seyda neen. we’re going to talk to an altmer (high elf) named eldafire. she can usually be found across the bridge towards the silt strider (the big bug thing you probably saw when you got off the boat), although she tends to roam a bit. ask her for a little advice. she’ll recommend you take out the bandits in the addamasartus cave nearby. let’s do that.

addamasartus cave:

the cave is right across from the silt strider landing, hiding behind a big boulder. save and rest until healed right outside the cave, then head on in. the first enemy shouldn’t be much of a problem to you at this point. she should go down in a few hits, and not get much of a chance to hurt you. take any valuables she might have, especially the addamasartus slave key.

the next enemy, who is beyond the door down to the right, is going to be much more challenging. he’s a mage who will cast a weakness to fire spell at you, and then cast a fire spell at you. you’re a dunmer, so you have some resistance to fire, but this guy can still fuck you up if you’re not careful. try to dodge his spells until he runs out of magicka and is forced to attack you in melee. or be brave and try to take some swings as you dodge. up to you. don’t be surprised if he kills you a time or two - he’s pretty tough. if you need to, go outside (or close to the front door) to rest to heal your wounds after he’s dead. or before he’s dead - no shame in running to fight another day.

okay, now that the hard part is done, we can explore the rest of the cave. go down the stairs to where that mage came from, and turn left when you get to the water. there’ll be another enemy, this one throwing throwing-stars at you. you can try to dodge them - they’re kind of small so it’s difficult to see them - or you can just tank the hits as you rush her down. they don’t do much damage. she’ll go down pretty easy, too. she’ll have a lockpick and probe - take them. if you picked marksman as your ranged skill, you can take the throwing stars as well, although they’re not as effective as a bow would be.

now, loot the room - the crates, sacks, chests, etc. the crates near where the throwing-star lady was should have a total of 8 moon sugar and 2 bottles of skooma in them. the chest will have a random leveled item (that is, an item suited to your level) - you might get lucky with this! in my test run, i got a steel daikatana, which is better than my silver longsword (except against ghosts). don’t forget the crates and barrel over by the water! sometimes the crates can have scrolls, potions, or soul gems in them.

next, go behind the rocks to the left of where the throwing-star lady was. you’ll find a door the slave key will unlock. on the other side of the door you’ll find a little stretch of water. at one point you’ll have to dive under to get to the next chamber - just watch your breath meter! but you shouldn’t have a problem, it’s not a very long dive. at the bottom of the water in the next chamber, you might be able to find a skull to the right. if not, don’t worry about it! but there is a rising force (levitation) potion right next to the skull. don’t drown yourself looking for it though, it’s not that important.

in this chamber, you’ll see a spiral pathway rising out of the water. find where you can clamber onto the pathway and follow it up. there’ll be a rat up there - but nothing you can’t handle. up there you’ll also find some glowing mushrooms. in between them there’s a few pieces of gold, a netch leather pauldron (don’t worry too much about that part - your chitin pauldron is better), and the important part, a “thief ring”! it’ll give you a decent buff when you need it. it’s a little tricky to see against the stone floor of the cave, but try your best to find it.

follow the rest of the passage until you come out near the beginning of the cave. you may have wondered why we went down (to where the mage was) instead of up to where there was a door earlier. we’re going to go up there now. your addamasartus slave key will open the door, and you’ll find two argonian slaves and a khajiit slave. talk to them and offer to let them go free, and unlock their bracers. congrats, you’re an abolitionist now! the game tracks how many slaves you’ve freed for a hidden faction you’ll find eventually. you need to free quite a few to join that faction, so try to free every one you can if you want to join.

now you’re done with addamasartus! feel free to leave. we’re done with seyda neen, now, as well, unless you want to head by arrille’s first to sell off some stuff before you leave. don’t forget to drop your moon sugar and skooma before you barter, and then don’t forget to pick it up before you leave!

onward!:

next stop, balmora, where the imperials wanted you to go. there’s a couple of ways we can get there. the first and easiest is to just hire a silt strider to take you there. those big bug things are basically giant buses, and they have routes all over the western half of the island. but i recommend you walk to balmora, following the directions elone the scout gave you. a big part of this game is exploration, and you’d better get used to it quick. don’t be afraid to get a little sidetracked here and there. explore the occasional cave or mine or tomb on your way - but always save before entering one, and know your limits. the dungeons in this game are largely not leveled to you, and if you enter the wrong one too early, it can really ruin your day. so don’t be afraid to turn around and leave, or load the save you made before entering, if things get too tough.

there’s a little town called pelagiad between seyda neen and balmora. feel free to stop there to restock if you need to. otherwise, just follow the road signs and elone’s directions. you’ll get to balmora in no time. and don’t forget! conserve your fatigue. you don’t want to be running everywhere, run out of fatigue, and then run into even a basic enemy you suddenly can’t handle because you can’t connect any of your hits.

once you get to balmora, go to the south wall cornerclub like you were told in your directions to caius cosades, and ask around to find out where caius lives. i’m not going to hold your hand on quest instructions any more! figure it out on your own. it’s not too hard, so long as you just remember to talk to people about important topics - usually “latest rumors,” “little secret,” “little advice,” and “morrowind lore.” but peruse the other topics, too! you might learn something about the people and place you’re in.

before caius gives you your first official orders, he’ll tell you to join a guild to establish a cover identity. there’s a lot of factions in this game you can join. you’ve got the imperial guilds: the fighter’s guild, the mage’s guild, and the thieves’ guild; the morag tong (essentially the dark brotherhood of this game, but a bit different flavor-wise, as well as in how it works); the religious guilds: the tribunal temple and the imperial cult; the imperial legion; and the great houses: house redoran, house hlaalu, and house telvanni. i won’t go into detail about all of these, but i will mention a few.

factions, and a bit on fast travel:

even if you don’t plan on playing through the questline, i recommend joining the mage’s guild. it gives you a couple of invaluable services: spellmaking, enchanting, and the guild guide. the first is self-explanatory: it lets you use any magic effects you’ve already learned to make custom spells from them. enchanting as a service is what it sounds like - you pay somebody to enchant items for you (you still need to bring a filled soul-gem, though). the guild guide is probably the most important, however. basically, it’s a teleportation service between the mage’s guilds of vvardenfell.

morrowind doesn’t have a fast travel system per se, but there are quicker ways to get around than just walking everywhere. we’ve mentioned the spells that can do this, like almsivi/divine intervention and mark/recall. but you can also take the bus (silt strider) across most of western vvardenfell, or a boat across most of eastern vvardenfell. but those two systems are largely disconnected; the only real way to trade off is to silt strider to vivec, walk (or divine intervention) to ebonheart, then take a boat to sadrith mora or tel branora, or vice versa. 

but the mage’s guild guild guide solves this problem rather nicely! you can teleport from anywhere in the west to sadrith mora in the east much more quickly than the silt strider-boat trade off in vivec and ebonheart. so join the mage’s guild, i’m serious.

the only other factions i’m going to mention are the houses. they’re very important, and you’re going to want to join one. and only one, i might add - once you join one, you’re locked into it. so make your choice wisely. here’s a brief description of each house:

house redoran is a house of noble warriors, whose capital is ald’ruhn, literally inside the hollowed out remains of an ancient giant crab. they are most favored by the local warrior-poet god, vivec, and most of the buoyant armigers (vivec’s personal army) are from redoran.

house hlaalu is a house of sneaky merchants, whose capital is balmora. they’re the most closely affiliated house to the empire, whereas the other two are distrustful of the empire - and therefore distrustful of house hlaalu.

house telvanni is a house of arrogant wizards, whose capital is sadrith mora (literally translates to “mushroom forest”). they live in settlements built around giant fungal wizard towers, and are most distant and distrustful of the new forces (like the empire) in vvardenfell. they’re also most likely to own slaves, although they will accept argonian and khajiit as members all the same.

there is a bit of a disparity when it comes to the rewards you get from quests from these houses. telvanni gifts you with powerful spells and enchanted items; hlaalu gives you gold; redoran gives you, um. “honor.” which doesn’t sell for much in this economy. that might affect your decision here, but really, choose whichever faction appeals to you most. you’ll be able to get your hands on lots of money and powerful artifacts regardless of which house you choose. 

i think that’s about all you really need to know to get started in this game! really, the best piece of advice i can give you is: take your time. take in the atmosphere, the lore, the books, the dialog. absorb yourself into this game and you will have the most amazing experience with it, i think. if you have any questions, let me know!

P.S. i’m going to add things to the end of this as i think of them:

a lot of the time, you’re going to run into people you need information from who won’t give it to you. every npc has a disposition stat, basically how much they like you, and if it’s too low, they won’t discuss certain topics. there’s a few ways to increase their disposition. 1) use the speechcraft skill to admire, intimidate, or taunt the npc. (taunting actually serves a different purpose to the other two, but we’ll get to that shortly.) 2) use a spell, namely the “charm” effect from the illusion school of magic, to temporarily raise their disposition with you. 3) increase your personality attribute, like with telvanni bug musk (always a good item to have around). and 4) bribe the hell out of them. you can bribe in 10 gold, 100 gold, and 1000 gold increments. 100 gold tends to be the most efficient way to bribe, and most people will open up to you after about 200 gold spent this way. money isn’t exactly difficult to come by in this game, especially after the first few levels, so this greasing of the wheels of commerce won’t hurt your wallet too much.

okay, that’s about how to increase a npc’s disposition. how about the scenario where you need (or want) to kill an npc without getting a bounty on your head? simple: either 1) take them out into the wilderness where there are no witnesses (this only works in cases where you can get this person to follow you, such as by using the conjuration school’s “command humanoid” effect), 2) use the “frenzy humanoid” effect from the illusion school to get them to attack you (this shouldn’t trigger a bounty, or for their friends to attack you as well), or 3) “taunting” them to get them to attack you. if your speechcraft is low, this will take many tries, because most of the time your attempt to taunt will fail, and also because it generally takes several successful taunts to get an npc to actually attack you. but you don’t have to worry about using a spell this way, and if you’re patient it’ll work out just the same. 

another thing to note: if you’re on an assignment from the morag tong to kill somebody, you’ll get what’s called a “writ” with their name on it. the morag tong, unlike the dark brotherhood, is a government-sanctioned entity - using the tong to have someone killed is completely legal. this writ is your permission to kill that person. you don’t have to worry about incurring a bounty when you have a writ - you can just straight up merk somebody in broad daylight. watch out, though - sometimes that person’s nearby friends will attack you too. most of the time, though, although they might shout about it, nobody will report the crime. if somebody does, expect to be approached by a guard. in that instance, just present your writ to them, and they’ll be forced to let you go. (if this appeals to you, consider joining the morag tong. although every major city has a morag tong chapterhouse, you can only join the tong from the headquarters in vivec city. i won’t tell you exactly where those headquarters are in vivec - it’s actually fun trying to figure out on your own. just ask around and you’ll figure it out.)

okay, i forgot to mention. once you’ve leveled up your major or minor skills 10 times (repeats of the same skill count as well), you’ll get a notification saying it’s time to level up. to do this, you need to sleep in a bed. simply resting won’t do it. you need some kind of bed. make sure it’s a bed you’re allowed to sleep in! i recommend saving before trying to sleep in a bed. sometimes you’ll find a bed in like a mages guild and assume it’s free game but it’s actually someone in particular’s bed and you get expelled from the guild for trying to sleep in it. not a fun time. 

since you’ll have the goty edition of the game, you’ll have tribunal enabled. that means sometimes when you rest you’ll get attacked by a dark brotherhood assassin. they’re not too tough, though, and they have very useful and very expensive armor and usually a decent weapon. if you want the attacks to stop, talk to a guard about them. but why would you, it’s free money. 

i forgot to mention in the main body of this guide, but there are only a handful of places where you can pawn off your skooma and moonsugar. there are two in balmora: there is ajira, the resident alchemist of the balmora mage’s guild, and ra’virr, a merchant whose store is right next to the mage’s guild. in general, if a merchant is a khajiit, and normally deals in ingredients or potions, they’re likely to buy skooma and moonsugar. 

another thing: you do have a journal! your character automatically records most important information in it about your quests. now, this is an actual journal, with entries in chronological order. so it can be difficult to find relevant information by just looking through it normally. if you have the goty edition (which you should) you have the option to categorize by topic and quest! should be a button on the right. not all quests are marked, but most are. 

#morrowind #the elder scrolls #tes #tes 3 #tes 3 morrowind #tesblr #please play this game #guide

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Chapter 2

Bruh. My back is HURTING from being hunched over my laptop lol. For some reason I've managed to shit out this next chapter at the speed of light, but I'm back at uni and deadlines are picking up so I can't guarantee another one for a couple weeks. ANYWAY - ALASTOR HAS FINALLY MADE AN APPEARANCE. Not in person yet, but he's here (in spirit). I also apologise to anyone not from Yorkshire, I've used some of our slang from there and it may not make sense, but MC's embracing her Northener crave for violence.

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 6800

Warnings: Period-typical sexism, Period-typical attitudes towards neurodivergency, Swearing, Descriptions of murder and dismemberment. MC'S RACE IS DEFINED DUE TO PLOT REASONS (also because she is based off my OC)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 >

PART 1: Chapter 2

Another box for my trinkets it's trinketville.

Meraki (Definition): To put something of yourself into your work. (Noun)

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Thursday, 7th November, 1929.

The first four months of your new apprenticeship had you thriving more than ever before since arriving in the US. The last time you had felt this joyous and satisfied you were nearly eighteen, the tickle of the long grass on your cheeks as you laid in the meadow at the height of spring, holding the bunch of wildflowers against the kaleidoscopic swirls of the evening tones of the sky above you, admiring the way the lowering sun hit the petals and the small bugs that floated around with its golden highlights. It was one of the few times you had managed to bring your racing mind to a stand-still; no voices; no random lines of songs in your head playing on replay; no worries about the chores you were procrastinating or the book your friend had recommended weeks ago that you were yet to touch. You remembered the feeling of the summer dress you wore, the texture of the leather messenger bag beside you gifted by the old woman who lived further down the lane of the village. She used to babysit you when your parents would travel to York days at a time for work or personal errands. You loved to skip down that lane, with your hand running along the rough stones of the ancient stone walls that lined the lanes of your little village you had spent your whole life in – also lining your mind with the cuts it gave you as you tried to climb over them with the twins over the years.

The routine of working at the repair shop had brought the blissful feeling of stability back, the hectic frenzy of travelling from hotel room to hotel room, checking your tickets a thousand times to make sure you were on the correct train platform, then checking again. You no longer had to worry about travel dates that would leave you feeling paralysed from doing anything else.

Mr LeBlanc had been an excellent teacher and manager, drilling skills into your mind since you stepped into the shop for your starter shift. It was certainly an experience: opening the double doors to a vintage collector’s dream, an antique emporium filled from floor to ceiling (and on the ceiling). Ralph had brought you behind the counter, to a room in the back that he gleefully revealed to be concealed by a door disguised as a bookshelf. The workshop hidden behind was every antique restorer’s sanctuary, and it was certainly yours. Drawers lining the walls filled with every tool that could file, chip away, or apply anything you could find. In the centre was a large wooden table – thick, sturdy planks covered in chips and splatters of paint and adhesives used over the years. This table would be the place you would spend the next four months, your hair tied back by a patterned silk bandana, Ralph showing you how to work with materials from wood to porcelain, metal to textiles. You would pour over books you had pulled from Mr LeBlanc’s bookshelves until late into the evening, until he sent you home with them in your bag, and you protected them with your life as you returned on the trams (or ‘streetcars’, as Americans called them) in the evening light.

Every Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, he taught you everything he could, and you absorbed it all at the speed of light, your mind soaking up every piece of information like a dry sponge. By month three you had been given the go ahead to work on your first object from a customer – a small, spindly regency era chamber table belonging to a local gentleman. All it needed was some chips to be filled and repolishing, allowing Ralph to be confident enough in your abilities to complete it correctly. Your results came out on top, both Ralph and the customer being satisfied with your work, and you received the praise gleefully, along with the hefty tip the gentleman handed you over the counter. To you, everything was going fine and dandy.

Until October hit.

Apparently there were plenty of warning signs, according to most. They knew this was coming, your aunt knew this was coming. It was what she had said when you sat with her on the steps of the front porch.

“Shops are going to start disappearing.” She said, keeping her gaze ahead as she watched the cars sputter by. “With the rate this is going, I’m going to have to pull the boys out of school and get them working – I can’t keep the walls of this house up by myself.”

It had sent chills down your spine when you had picked up a newspaper, the words ‘Wall Street’ and ‘Stock Market Crash’ staining the pages for weeks. You put your mind and body into helping Mr LeBlanc, desperate for him to keep his business up and running. Unfortunately, as prices dropped, less people wanted to splurge the extra cash on something nice and antique, so you both lowered prices where you could, even going to lengths to hammer fliers to every street-post that advertised restoration jobs for any household item, promising customers that they would save money on repairs instead of buying it new.

It worked more than you thought, and it brought in enough income for Ralph to scratch by. He was also grateful you hadn’t asked for a raise to cope with the financial crisis, flat-out refusing when he had tried to hand you some tips he had received.

It was just the beginning of December when Ralph had called the house phone as you were getting ready for work. Ollie had yelled up the stairs to tell you and you scrambled down in your work trousers with your nightgown still on. Grabbing the phone, you listened to a raspy Mr LeBlanc as he told you he had falling ill with the usual winter flu. Unfortunately, being 63 meant that he was more susceptible to the illness, and was unsure if he would recover. If he did, it would still take a while, so he had asked you that morning if you were capable of running the shop solo. You had instantly said yes, refusing to let any sidetrack be his business’s downfall, so, with your head held high, you walked to his house, picking up any essential documents that he said you would need, and kept the shop up and running to the best of your abilities.

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Friday, 6th December, 1929.

It was the Friday of the first week of December when you were an hour away from closing. You had been lucky that it had been pretty quiet the last few days, allowing you to settle into working your first ever Monday to Friday and getting to know the everyday things that were essential to keep the doors open. You had brought an armchair behind the counter – the gap between the counter and the wall was spacey enough for you to fit the chair and a small side table.

After not seeing any customers for over an hour, you had wandered off to the small side kitchen hidden by a Persian rug hung over the doorway to fetch yourself a warm cup of tea and a slice of carrot cake that Agnes had slipped into your lunch bag that day. Returning to the front, you placed the food and beverage on the side table, and sank into the chair, propping your feet up and delving into the book you had bought a few months ago.

Your eyes were drooping by the time you finished the tea and cake, and you rested your head on the back of the cushion, lowering your eyelids shut but remaining awake, knowing you had to get up soon in order to close in a half hour. Though the sudden sound of the shop’s bell chiming had you shooting out of your seat like a cat on a hot tin roof.

Scrambling to your feet, you scooted over to plop yourself on the counter stool, fixing yourself to look as presentable as possible as you faced the person entering. It was the mailman, stomping his boots to rid of the snow from the mild blizzard outside on the shoe rug by the door whilst holding a semi-large parcel under his arm. You recognised him from his rounds of the area, normally dropping off the odd parcel here and there for Ralph. Making sure the curls you had pressed into your hair overnight weren’t flattened at the back, you straightened out the silk scarf tied round the front of your head, flicking a curl out of your eye, and faced the man with a warm smile, to which he returned. He was a tall, young looking lad, older than you, but youth still shone in his eager eyes as he approached you.

“Afternoon ma’am,” he greeted, tipping his snow patterned hat. “I apologise for the snow on the floor, m’fraid the storm doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.”

You waved him off, assuring that you were going to be cleaning up soon anyway. He inquired about Mr LeBlanc’s whereabouts, and you explained that his illness wasn’t letting up any time soon.

“Shame,” he said. “I know you’re probably not getting overrun, but it still must be complicated being a young woman running someone else’s business – especially near Christmas, having to trek home in the cold and wet by yourself.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright.” You laughed with a shake of your head, trying to not let your frustration show at the thought of him doubting your skills because of your gender. “He’s given me everything I need, and I can deal with the weather just fine. Wet and cold is the norm where I’m from.” Changing the subject, you gestured to the half-damp parcel still under his arm. “Is that addressed to Ralph or the shop?”

As if suddenly remembering the reason he was here, he quickly hauled the parcel from under his arm and slid it onto the counter.

“It’s for the shop.” He explained, gesturing a gloved hand to it. “S’pose it’s a last minute repair for a Christmas gift or somethin’.”

Placing your hands on either side, you slid the large square box towards you. Standing up from the stool, you peered at the top. Brushing off the half-melted snow, you read the handwriting that ornately spelled out the address - this was probably another repair.

The parcel itself was probably the neatest you had ever seen anything wrapped. The parcel paper was thick and expensive, the water and snow running off without leaving any trace behind except for a slight sheen, and the edges were folded so crisp and perfectly shaped and flat you wondered if whoever had wrapped it was human. Tied round like a present was a thick twine, looping into a bow directly in the middle of the top. You admired the dedication of whoever had put in the time to wrap this, running your fingers over the corners only to jerk them back slightly as the folds were so sharp they felt like they were slicing at your skin.

Looking back at the mailman, you thanked him for the delivery, and hoped him safe travels back home. Tipping his hat at you, he turned away with a farewell, and the bell chimed again when he opened the door, dipping his head against the wind as he faded into the white wall outside.

When the howling wind finally allowed the door to shut, you began the closing routine, knowing that there wouldn’t be anyone else today with the severity of the weather outside. After locking the exits and pulling the shutters closed and the blinds down, you kept the shops lanterns on as you lifted the hefty parcel with a grunt and shuffled through the hidden doorway into the workshop.

Sliding it onto the table, you got to work opening it up, pulling the twine bow free and taking some small hand-held shears to slice open the glued down folds to reveal a cardboard box.

Pulling the thick brown paper and twine out from underneath, you chucked them onto the other workbench pushed against the wall to the right. Placing the shears down, you pushed your fingernails between the gap of the serrated cardboard and swung the flaps open. Inside was a lot of loose cotton wool, and you reached in, removing the protective layer and chucking it onto the table whilst simultaneously thanking whoever had spent their time padding the box out. This uncovered a semi-large shape swaddled in a maroon-coloured knitted blanket, and you reached your arms in deep to wrap around the object and haul it out.

Laying it on the table, you pushed the box and wool out of the way, and gently began unwrapping the blanket, mindful that some repair jobs may start out with several shattered pieces that you certainly didn’t want to accidentally drop an lose amongst everything. Coming to the final layer, your nails slotted through some of the holes of the knitting and clacked against what sounded like solid wood, and slipping the material off, you had your first look at your new potential project.

It was an old radio. Well, not that old, considering radios had only been in circulation for a decade or so, but it was one of the earlier models, the features you recognised from when you visited the county Mayor’s house when you were in your early teens. It was shaped with a resemblance to a cathedral arch, the wood panelling around the edge looking like pillars that began swirling and spiralling into gothic patterns the closer you got to the top. These patterns decorating the fine grated material that covered the speaker, and a few dials were situated on the bottom half, and you immediately noticed one was missing.

Pulling a stool over, you sat down to get a closer look, and you noted down the damages that came to light. It had obviously been looked after over the years, but, as always, people are prone to accidents, and this radio seemed to have gone through a few. Apart from the dial that was missing, there was a large split down one side, between two of the panels, and scratches and slight dents from where it had obviously been dropped. Grabbing your notebook, you jotted down your initial observations, before diving your hands into the left over cotton in the box to search for anything that could assist you.

To your luck, you found a small linen bag about the size of your palm, that you untied to reveal the missing dial and a few pieces of wood that had come off in some areas. Returning to your notes, you were just about to start a proposal form for treatment when something caught your eye. Looking over to the blanket you had put to the side, your eyes landed on a fancy looking envelope.

Reaching over, your fingers clasped around the paper, the material just as thick and expensive feeling as the parcel wrap, and you brought it towards you, careful not to elbow anything in the process, because if they could afford fancy radios and paper during this crisis, then they certainly were expecting you to repair this with equally expensive standards. Holding the paper up you read the loopy handwriting on the front of the envelope:

To  the Owner.

Turning it over, you pried the even fancier wax seal apart as gently as you could as to not ruin the paper, and opening the flap, you reached in to slide out a folded piece of parchment. Unfolding it, you began to read the matching, loopy words.

---

December 4 th, 1929

Dear Owner,

I do hope this package finds you well. I am delivering this fine radio to be repaired at your establishment, as it belongs to my dear Mother and I would be overjoyed to have it completed in time for Christmas. Unfortunately, it has suffered its fair share of drops and bumps, but from what I have heard from others in our beloved city, you should be able to do an excellent job. The outside is obvious with what needs to be done, but there are areas within the interior mechanics that require some repairs. Now, I would take it to the radio shop, but the man who owns it is oh-so unpleasant, and would take weeks to be returned.

I am sure you would be happy to take on this challenge, for my mother’s sake, and that you will do a splendid job.

Regards,

Mr A. Boudreaux

---

You blinked. Then furrowing your brows, you read it again. And again. Did this guy want you to not only fix up the look of his mum’s radio, but magically know the ins and outs of radio technology? You shook your head, then did a quick once-over of the words scrawled onto the page. Yep, he wanted you to do a Frankenstein and completely resurrect the old thing.

Placing you elbow on the table, you rested your chin on your palm as you stared at the wall covered in tool across the room. There was no way you could do this, not without Mr LeBlanc still ill – though even if he was here, you didn’t know if he had any knowledge on radios. Sighing, you rubbed at your face tiredly, not caring if you smudged the mascara on your lashes, it wasn’t like anyone was going to walk in on you with panda eyes anyway. Letting out a prolonged groan, you came to the final decision of what to do.

Trudging back into the shop, you quickly made yourself another cup of tea, before snatching some of the letter paper and an envelope from under the counter. Slumping back onto the stool in the workshop, you placed the paper in front of you whilst reaching into one of the drawers attached to the table to grab a pen, then, taking a moment to think of what you were going to say, you began writing.

---

December 6 th, 1929

Dear Mr Boudreaux,

Thank you for your enquiry. As much asI would love to fulfil your request, there are some issues regarding certain stages of the repairs. Mr LeBlanc, who owns the company, has taken ill this last week, and it is not yet known when he will recover, and I am the only member of staff he has employed at the moment. Unfortunately, I am not experienced in radio mechanics, and strongly advise that you come and collect the radio and take it to be repaired at a radio shop.

The radio can be returned here for outer repairs, but I am afraid that is the only option I can offer you at this time. The radio will be ready for you to collect from 9am on Monday morning. I do apologise for the inconvenience.

Regards,

---

Signing the first letter of your name, along with you surname, you read over what you had written. Satisfied, you sealed it in the envelope and got to work wrapping the radio back up. Quickly taking a candle, you took a peek in between the crack in the wood, the light shining on the innards. You definitely had no chance of fixing that, if the absolute mess of dislodged coils, wires and metal pieces inside said anything. Reluctantly you placed it back in its box wrapped up and padded with the cotton, before taping it up and re-glueing the parcel paper and twine back in place. It was a shame that you had to reject the request, the payment for the repair would have benefited you and Ralph quite a bit, and it made you feel awfully guilty to prevent someone’s gift for their mother, but it was out of your control. So, with the guilt hanging over your head, you pushed the parcel into the corner under one of the tables on sale.

Doing one last round of the shop, you extinguished the candles dotted around and flipped the light switches off except the main one by the door. With your coat and gloves on, you made sure the scarf was wrapped tight round your neck before grabbing your bag and did one last sweep of the place. Glancing in the corner, you took one last lingering look at the sorrowful parcel that sat under the table, but quickly snatched your eyes away, and grabbing the keys, you flipped the final light switch and stepped out into the cold, looking for the nearest post-box with the letter grasped in your hand.

--------------------------------------------------------------

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Monday, 9th December, 1929.

Monday came rolling round as usual, and you began your usual weekday routine of washing and dressing yourself before heading downstairs for breakfast. Scooping some scrambled eggs onto the toast on your plate, you trudged from the kitchen to the dining room, the slap of your bare feet on the tiles echoing through the wide hallway.

Shuffling through the doorway, you sat opposite Ollie, who, by the looks of it, was still waking up as he shovelled buttered toast into his mouth with his head still lying sideways on the table. Reaching over, you slapped the handle of your fork against his ear that stuck out from between his loose, dark curls, and he let out a whine as he sat up to face you with one eye glued shut, the other barely open, bread hanging from between his frown.

“You’ll choke eating like that.” You said as you scooped egg into your mouth.

Ollie dropped the toast from his mouth onto his plate. “Good.” He mumbled. “S’better than Miss Sammie droning on and ooonnnn about nonsense.” He flopped his head back on the table.

“Well enjoy it while you can.” You snorted. “If this crash gets any worse Mum will be pulling you both out to find jobs. And I know you two wouldn’t last a day in the workplace.”

He jerked his head back, scrunching his face in offence. “Like you would be any better.”

You deadpanned. “I’m currently working 9 -5, Monday to Friday, dumbass.” You jabbed back in annoyance, throwing a piece of crust at his forehead.

“Shit, forgot about that.” He grumbled, but perked up suddenly. “Yea, but you’ve only been working full time since last week!”

You chucked another crust. “Running a shop full time on my own – something I’ve never done before??”

“Still.” He retorted, shrugging his shoulders.

You had opened your mouth to retort, but stopped halfway as Allie’s voice echoed through from the kitchen.

“There’s been another one!” he called out, almost excitedly, the thumping of his feet vibrating through the floorboards as he practically sprinted into the room with the morning newspaper grasped firmly in his hands. The two of us jerked back as he slammed it onto the table.

“Amuver!?” cried Ollie, voice muffled by food, though he quickly swallowed it. All evidence of his tiredness now gone, he snatched up the paper and brought it right up to his face. “It’s barely been a week!”

“I know!” Allie replied, his voice rising in volume every time he spoke. “At this point it could end up happening every month!”

You looked between the two of them confused since you couldn’t see what Ollie was reading. “What could happen?” you asked, perplexed.

The two of them froze, turning to stare at you. Their eyes darted to each other, before Ollie lowered the newspaper and spoke.

“…The murders?” He revealed, as if it was the most obvious thing.

You blinked, then looked between the two, more confused. “What murders?”

“What!?” Allie cried, bracing his hands on the table as he leant over it, eyes wide. “You’ve been gallivanting round town for seven months and don’t know about thee murders??”

You leant back slightly at the sight of your cousin’s crazy expression, and slowly shook your head. “I’m uh – not one to read the newspaper often.” You explained sheepishly.

He gaped, clearly shocked at your lack of knowledge about the subject. His head whipped to where his brother sat, and his hand reached out and snatched the newspaper from Ollie’s. You quickly moved your breakfast out of the way, saving your food from being flattened as Allie slammed the paper down and began aggressively prodding at the headline on the front page. Swatting his hand away, you read the giant words printed above a photograph of a lake you didn’t recognise.

‘BARRISTER FOUND BUTCHERED ON EMBANKMENT’

Suddenly intrigued, brought the paper closer to read the front column.

Tragedy strikes again in New Orleans as the remains of county barrister, Paul Morgan, were found on the embankment and in the water of Lake Cataouatche by visitors to the area. Morgan was reported missing last Wednesday by his wife, Martha, when he failed to return home for two days after a night out on Monday with his colleagues. It was reported that Morgan’s body was dismembered, and his head took several hours to locate. However, certain body parts are still missing, therefore the lake has been closed off to the public for the foreseeable future. Police are calling in and searching for potential suspects, and give their condolences to Paul’s close family and friends, stating that they are working overtime to bring the killer to justice and prevent any further deaths. Due to the nature and severity of the crime, it is possible that this is another victim of who the public dubs ‘The Bayou Butcher’. The Sheriff strongly encourages people to stick to an early curfew and remain indoors after nightfall, as the safety of the public cannot be guaranteed at this trying time. (More on Page 5)

You went to flip through, but the paper was pulled out your hands by Ollie who wanted to read it.

“You know what I’m thinking?” Allie hissed excitedly as he lowered himself onto the chair at the head of the table between you both. “This could be another Axeman!”

Ollie gasped, eyes sparkling. “Shit, it could!”

You perked up. “Another Axeman? How long has this guy been around?” you asked as you brought your breakfast back in front of you.

Allie turned to you, eyes shining in excitement. “The first body was found in 1927 – and the rest have been popping up every 2-3 months, but this is the first time there’s been two in less than two weeks!”

You narrowed your eyes in thought. “How do you know it’s all one guy?”

At this question he seemed to get more excited, practically vibrating in his seat as he gestured to his twin. “Ollie and I have been collecting newspaper clippings on every murder that’s happened, and we’ve tried to eliminate any outliers – like, different weapons, ones that are bleedin’ obvious who did it – the rest all have the same MO: they never find the whole body.” He yammered on at light speed, emphasising each word with a loud thump of his finger prodding the table. “Sometimes it’s not obvious, I think they try to throw the police off by going for something small – like a finger – but there’s always something missing, and we know it’s them.”

You frowned. “Them?”

He shrugged. “Could be a woman.” You raised an eyebrow. “What!? I don’t discriminate! Women can be scary!” You slowly sat back in your seat, staring your cousin down. He pointed at you as he looked at his brother with wide eyes. “See!? You wouldn’t be surprised if she dragged a body in?”

Ollie swallowed the food he was chewing. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she caused the second Great Fire of London because someone stole her food.” He said nonchalantly, before casually returning to his toast.

“Exactly!” cried Allie. “No wonder the government wants you all nice and buttoned up in a strait jacket!”

Dropping your fork with a clatter, you looked up at him in shock, mouth hanging open. He froze, quickly realising what he had said, and his face slowly scrunched up as he cringed.

“Too far?” he squeaked meekly as he glanced at you. “Sorry.”

Pouting, you glared silently before picking your fork back up.

A few moments of silence passed, before Ollie decided he had experienced enough of the dampened mood. “You know,” he began, catching your attention again. “We think the body parts aren’t just missing for the sake of it.”

“Oh?” you tilted your head, intrigued again.

He looked you directly in the eye. “We think they’re eating them.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Oo yummy, like a cannibal?” you queried, eyes darting to Allie, who perked back up, nodding. “So… there’s a cannibalistic serial killer running around New Orleans?”

Allie pointed a finger. “Serial killer, yes. Cannibal, possibly. We don’t actually have any proper evidence for that. I’m also going to skip the ‘yummy’ part, cuz I know you would never willingly consume human flesh.”

“You would be correct,” you confirmed with an amused smile, before glancing at the two. “Has mum ever suggested that you two should consider joining the police force?”

All you got were two matching cheshire grins in response.

----------------------------------------

After cleaning up your food, and disappointing the twins because no, you didn’t bring your serial killer books to America with you, because you didn’t want to be judged by the luggage inspectors on the ferry, besides, Jack the Ripper got a little boring after a while.

Even though it was interesting to learn about the current events of the city you were staying in, the subject of said current events did end up putting you on edge when you travelled to work that morning, with you clutching your bag a little tighter, and intensely staring down anyone who looked at you a little odd on the tram. It even got to the point where you had stepped off the tram, and spent the ten minute walk between there and the shop glancing down any alleyways as subtle as you could, even though you knew you would spot anyone against the white snow that reflected the morning sun into your poor, suffering eyes anyway.

Unlocking the shop doors, you stepped in, stomping the snow off of your boots on the mat before picking it up and shaking it off outside. Crossing the threshold of the room, you ducked under the rug into the kitchen, shrugging off your scarf and coat and hanging them up on the pegs.

You were just dusting off the old grandfather clock that was slotted between the shelves of smaller antique clocks when a knock echoed through the shop. Jumping slightly, you lowered the feather duster in your hand and looked over your shoulder to see the same mailman from Friday waving at you through the window in the door, his smile growing as you made eye contact with him . Placing the duster down, you quickly strode over to the door, twisting the locks before pulling it open and sticking you head through the gap.

“I do apologise Miss,” he began after you said hello. “I hate to interrupt you whilst your still getting ready to open, but my boss handed some priority mail to me – said I had to get it to you as soon as I could.” He held a letter out in front of you.

Frowning, confused, you slowly reached out and took the letter from his hands. “Okayyy…” Turning the letter around you came across some very familiar hand writing:

‘To Mr LeBlanc’s Employee.’

“Oh god.” You groaned quietly, your shoulders slumping. This could turn out to be quite nasty if this was going the way you thought it would.

The mailman glanced between the letter and your very prominent grimace. “Is everything alright?” he asked, concern shining in his eyes.

“Yea! Yea,” you breathed, glancing around the street with the dwindling hope that your client would show up to pick up his parcel, but the letter in your hand said otherwise. “Everything’s fine. Just some very small business issues.”

He glanced at your face again, and went to open his mouth, but hesitated, seemingly switching what he was going to say. “Well, uh, I hope everything goes well, ma’am. I’ll see you around?”

You nodded, still staring down the street. “Yea, sure. See you around.” You said distractedly. Quickly giving him a strained smile, you stepped back to close the door, and the man tipped his cap at you again before strolling away.

Walking over to the counter, you slumped onto the stool with a groan, chucking the letter down in front of you. Leaning your elbows on the surface, you rested your forehead against your palms as you glared at the words inked onto the paper. The way it was addressed to you already screamed passive-aggressive, and you hated confronting anything or anyone with a passion, and you certainly didn’t want to confront this Boudreaux guy because you denied his mum a Christmas present. With a loud whine, you slammed your head onto the counter before blindly patting the surface until you felt the thick paper and slowly dragged it towards you. Sitting back up, you held the seemingly innocent envelope in front of you, and stared at it for a couple more moments, before you couldn’t take it anymore and tore it open.

---

December 7 th, 1929

To the Employee of Mr LeBlanc,

I hope this letter has found you in post haste. I am deeply upset that you lack the skills of radio repair, after all it is a growing medium that most should be learning at this point. Therefore I have come to the conclusion that I will refuse your rejection. The fliers you put out stated very clearly that you could repair ANY object, and it would be very disappointing for people to hear that it no longer has that skill to offer, since the only other option for radio repair during these trying times is a very unpleasant experience with that owner I mentioned.

I do hope my Mother’s radio will be fixed on time, I do hate to disappoint her. If Mr LeBlanc does not recover within the period, or you have any queries about the repair, please call the number I have written below.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Best Wishes,

Mr A. Boudreaux

---

If your mouth hung open any further than you would be catching every insect that resided in the swamps surrounding the town.

Was this guy fucking for real??

You scoffed slightly. Then again. Eventually you scoffing spiralled into manic laughter as you guffawed at the audacity that this man thought he had. With wide eyes, you slammed the paper down back onto the counter, staring over at the wall because if you looked at those words any longer you would probably end up tracking this man down so you could shove his mother’s radio up his ass along with the fat metal rod that apparently already resided there.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed back the stool and stood up, deciding you needed you reset your mind before the first customers came in. Marching back to the kitchen, you spent the next five minutes sat in the middle of the floor, waiting for the kettle to boil as you very angrily stuffed the blueberry muffin you had brought in your mouth. You glanced at the clock and pouted as you realised you only had 15 minutes before you had to put on your best customer-friendly expression despite the metaphorical grey cloud that thundered above your head.

Thinking for a moment, you shot back up, chucking the muffin case as you strode back through to the counter, and snatched the letter up, marching back to the kitchen over to the rotary phone on the table in the corner. Picking up the handset, you pressed it to your ear as you spun the number written out on the paper in front of you.

It rang for a moment, and you tried to picture the man who would – hopefully – receive your call. You expected to hear the gruff voice of some 50 year old, that would start yelling down the line about how incompetent you were, especially when he found out you were a woman, before you heard a crackle as it was picked up and a polite and much younger sounding “Hello?” came through.

You froze for a moment, your vision of some rude, old guy whooshed away at the voice of a much younger, more spritely man, and you pictured someone like the mailman, until you heard a louder, drawn out “Hellooo?”, the man on the other end seemingly becoming amused at your lack of response.

Snapping yourself out of the character builder you had in your mind, you quickly spoke. “Hello, do I happen to be talking to–”

“Oh, I am sorry, my dear.” You blinked as you were interrupted. “But I do believe you’ve accidentally called an American number!” The man said chipperly, though there was a condescending undertone – his amusement clearly growing at the thought of your apparent mistake. You guessed it was when he heard your accent.

“I- what?” you stammered down the receiver.

“Oh you poor thing.” He simpered over the line like some fake grandma comforting you after you tripped over. He was clearly having fun – you could just picture the fake pout he was putting on. “Like I said, I’m afraid you have the wrong number.”

No, this was definitely the right one. His attitude over the phone matched his attitude in the letter precisely.

You could hear him being to move to put the phone down, and you quickly called out. “WAIT NO!!” you cried, on the verge of an outrage. “I definitely put the right number in! Now, am I or am I not speaking to a Mister Boudreaux?”

“Oh! Do pardon me.~” He practically sing-songed. Oh, so now he was willing to listen? “Yes that is I, and to who do I owe the pleasure to be called by an English dame such as yourself?” the fake flirtatious tone had you picturing the faceless man laid on his front, kicking his legs as he twirled the coil between his fingers. You pushed that amusing thought down, however, when you caught sight of the piece of paper in your hand.

“I got your letter.”

“Ah,” It was like a switch was flipped, the man’s tone darkening slightly. “I see.”

Rereading the words this guy had put down, you could barely control yourself, and you pictured the time your mother had marched you down the lane to the house of a boy in your school year. That boy had given you a large bruise on your forehead, and instead of telling you that he did it because he fancied you, your mum decided to give him and his family the verbal lashing of your life. ‘I’m not raising you to snap at the slightest pressure like those London lasses, my love’, she had said, ‘You’re gonna go down kicking and screaming like it’s the last thing you’ll do’.

And that’s exactly what you’re gonna do.

“Right,” you began, your Yorkshire accent coming on full force. “I’m gonna need you t’ open yer lug ole, lad, cuz I dunno how you lot do customer service over here in America, but bein’ passive aggressive t’ someone who’s literally done nowt to deserve the absolute shite you’ve just given me makes you out t’ be a right knob’ead, you hear me?” You reprimanded. “If you don’t get your arse down to the shop by the end of the week, I’m putting ya mum’s radio down as unclaimed and selling it t’ the next person I see!”

You quickly slammed the phone down, too fuming to hear anything that Mr Boudreaux had to say. The only reason you felt a little guilty was that you knew nothing about this guy’s mum – she could be the sweetest woman in the world, and you just up and went and threatened to sell her possession! Though, with the way her son behaved, you would be surprised if she turned out to be just like him. Ugh, then you would be dealing with two of them.

Letting out a sigh, you picked up the phone again, instead dialling the phone number pinned to the corkboard on the wall. It rang for longer this time, and when it picked up you received a very loud coughing fit. When it died down, you finally spoke.

“Ralph I need your help.” You groaned, plopping yourself down on the spindly chair next to you with a defeated sigh.

“I’ve got the worst customer in the world.”

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

Does uh, anyone want more memes?

I hope you've enjoyed what I've given you so far, and I do apologise for the sudden dialect change, I was desperate for MC to finally speak the way I do lol. See you soon for Chapter 3!!

Please let me know if you want to be added to the Taglist!

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*feeds you content a lot earlier than I thought*

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[lowkeyremi]

𝙏𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙧'𝙨 𝘼𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙩 -> Aizawa Shota x afab!reader

➼ Sum: In short, you're fired from your main job. The worry and stress hits you while you're ugly crying outside of the building of your old workplace. You happen to meet a man who can give you a job. The question is... should you take it?

➼ Chapters: Prologue, 1

➼ Content Warning: Implied fem reader, reader has fem parts, eventual sexual content, suggestive language, all characters are aged up, eventual relationships, strippers, reader is struggling. (I'll add more as time goes on)

Prologue - I'm Fucking Losing It.

banner by: cafekitsune

"Please... I promise it won't happen again." You're on your knees in one of the halls, pleading- no begging to keep your job. It couldn't be helped though, why should you let people get handsy with you when it makes you uncomfortable?

"I'm sorry but that was your last chance. You've beaten up too many customers.. publicly at that and it's scaring away customers." Your manager says, he seems to feel for you but that frown may just be as fake as your life right now.

"But I'm your top money maker!" This is your last resort. You cannot lose this job because you don't make much at your coffee shop part-time.

"Technically, that's no longer true. Your performance has been sloppy lately, so Ami has risen and taken your spot." His words shatter what's left of your hope. Your makeup runs as you cry ugly tears. A man walks past the two of you, most likely toward the restroom. Any other time you'd be embarrassed, but right at this moment all you can feel is emptiness.

"So I'm being fired for defending myself?" You ask between sobs and sniffles.

"No, you know we wouldn't let anything happen to you. It's policy after all. You also know better than anyone that people at clubs are drunk and high even, so, of course, they're going to touch you. It's what you signed up for." He says to keep it professional.

Anger starts to seep into you. "Fuck, if that's how it's gonna be then I'll leave!" They don't deserve your service anyway.

"Ms. L/n...?" Your boss asks and you look up at him. He sees you struggling to stand because of your sore feet, these heels do you no justice. A hand is held out and you take it, trembling as you get up.

"I could recommend you to another club-" You cut him off.

"I'm good, thank you for everything you've done for me." It breaks your heart that you're leaving this place. As weird as it sounds this club was the closest thing to a home for you.

You start your walk to the backroom to get your things. Emptying your locker was the hardest. The tears start flowing again when you see the old Polaroid pictures you took with some of your coworkers who you considered to be some of your best friends.

Once changed out of your lingerie and you've packed everything you turn in everything the club let you use.

There was no way you'd say farewell to this life, it'd only make leaving it behind all the more hard. You walk outside and slump against the club's wall. You allow yourself to cry it all out.

You call your mother not sure what to do.

She picks up on the second ring, "Hello?"

"Hey.." you mumble. Your voice is hoarse due to crying.

Your mother instantly sighs, "Did you get yourself into some bullshit again?"

"Um.. yeah. Can I stay with you until I-" You're cut off by your mother's stern voice.

"Y/n, I cannot keep covering for your ass. You are twenty-six years old and every time you get into some shit you come crying to me or your father to fix it. I raised you better than that." And so the lecture begins.

"Mom please, just for a week or two.." You plead, usually she'd give in but she seems to be set on teaching you a lesson.

"No. You can call me if you need anything, but you need to get your life together. Life is not all cupcakes and rainbows. You need to learn how to deal with it. I love you but I have to go." Your mother, the one who's supposed to have your back through thick and thin is in your opinion giving up on you.

Your crying continues. What the hell are you supposed to do? Bills are due a little while from now and you work a small paying part-time.

"Shit I need to look for a job." You say sniffling.

"I could be of some assistance." A deep voice rings in your ears. You assume whoever it is is making a phone call and is not talking to you.

"You are in need of a job, correct? I could help you get into an honest line of work." The voice tries again. This time you look up to see a man with long raven hair casting down his shoulders, he has stubble covering his face alongside a few scars, and an eye patch that hides his right eye.

"Me?" You ask stoked about his appearance.

"I don't see anyone else out here crying their eyes out." He says with a hint of smugness. Wait.. how does he know you need a job?

"How did you-"

"Those walls aren't that thick." He replies somehow already knowing what you were bound to say.

"I need an assistant, I teach in a high school." The scoff that leaves your lips is inevitable.

"Teachers don't make shit, how am I supposed to pay my bills with a job like that?" Sarcasm is laced in your tone, you search his eye for any sign that he'll leave you alone but he seems determined.

"It's not just any high school. I'm a first-year teacher at UA high school, you'll be making around $20 an hour as my assistant. Also room and board is provided." Your eyes widen, now the offer is more tempting.

Looking down you get a glimpse of his prosthetic leg. "You need help because of your leg?"

"No, I could just use an extra set of hands, it seems every year the hero students get a little bit more naive." His sigh does not go unnoticed by you.

"Don't you need like a degree or something? Why are you asking an ex-stripper?" It's not even out of spite just pure curiosity.

"Usually you would, but I can get you the job. I'm asking because you seem to be struggling and if I can do something about it then I'll try to the best of my ability to make it happen."

Oh. So he's one of those people. The kind to pity anybody, you assume.

"I'm not struggling, I'm fucking losing it." The tears threaten to come back.

"What would I do?" You ask.

"Bring stuff from the printer, monitor the class, answer questions on current subjects, get coffee, other simple things like that." The calmness in his voice is a little unnerving.

"And I'd get paid $20 an hour for that?" The shock in your voice causes the man to chuckle a little bit.

"Correct. Any other questions?" His voice is smooth.

"How can you trust me? I just got fired for beating people up." You fear losing the potential job but you just had to ask.

"As you said, you were defending yourself. Your job should have considered that, even if the people are drunk that is no excuse for them to touch you when you have asked them to stop." He explains simply.

"Okay, I'll take the job.. when can I start?" This is what is crucial to you, those bills need to be paid, and getting behind would only cause you more trouble. But then again room and board is provided... would you even need to live in your crappy apartment anymore?

"Next week or the week after, I need to speak with the principal. Once everything is set straight I'll contact you about moving in." He rubs his face, and when looking into his eyes there was no way to tell what he was thinking. He looks so good though, you couldn't deny that.

"Eraserhead, a pleasure to meet you." That must be his hero name.

"Do I need some kind of code name? I'm not a hero. My stripper name was Golden Tiger." Your face flushes a little bit.

"Should've been Golden Kitten, you clearly haven't reached tiger status yet. Just give me your last name." It was clear he was teasing, his voice gave it away.

"Okay, just call me L/n then." He chuckles at your little huff of annoyance.

"Alright L/n, you think I could get your number to contact you?" That easygoing tone not leaving his voice.

You hand him your phone and you watch with interest as he types in his number. You hear a little hum escape his lips signaling he was done.

"Text me," he commands handing you back your phone. Something about the way he said that gave you goosebumps.

'Golden Tiger here.' you text biting your bottom lip. All you receive is Eraserhead shaking his head at you with a smug smirk.

"You need a ride home, Golden Kitten?" You can't even be upset when that smirk looks so good on him.

"Oh fuck off. My car's over there." You point to your ugly beige 2006 Honda Accord. (let's just pretend those still exist even tho the mha timeline is in the future)

"Is that any way to talk to someone who just got you a job?" His voice dropped an octave and you weren't sure if it was on purpose or if he was doing it unconsciously.

He looks like a tired man anyone wouldn't consider being attracted to but something about this man is drawing you in.

Instead of responding to his question, you ignore it, "I'm leaving."

You push yourself off the wall that hasn't been cleaned since who knows when. You'd forgotten that your feet were sore because of Eraserhead's presence but they reminded you of the pain.

Eraserhead mumbled something that sounded like 'be careful' but it wasn't certain, you already started limping to your car in pain.

Once situated you shut your eyes and let out a sigh.

"As cliché as this is, I'm glad my life is starting to work out a little bit." Your statement was heard by no one but yourself. When pulling out of the parking lot you play some music to prevent yourself from being left alone with your thoughts.

➼ AN: And that's a wrap for the prologue. I hope it's okay, this story came out of no where tbh. I'm not sure on how long I want it to be yet. I'm working on being more detailed in my writings. Also this is NOT beta read yet, bc I need to find someone to be my beta reader. Feel free to like, reblog, and comment! <3

#bnha #mha #aizawa #mha aizawa #aizawa shōta #shota aizawa #aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #bnha aizawa #eraserhead #aizawa shota x reader #aizawa shota #shota aizawa x reader #multi chap #multi chap fic #multi fic #post bnha wars #aizawa x y/n

[beatrixstonehill2]

"Soooo, um..... guys, real talk, but do you think I should detrans??? I've been thinking about it a lot. Pretty much the only vids my social media recommends are about detrans or forced detrans and it's kinda making me really hot, ngl. Like nothing has made my cock so hard before, even if my poor stunted cock is only three inches fully erect! Mmmmm, it could be so huge if I took T and steroids! I could have a huge, thick cock I can barely wrap my hand around! One I can jerk off like a total gooner loser for hours on end every day....

But I love being a girl! I've been living as a girl since forever. I don't even remember what it's like being seen as a boy! And I love my gorgeous titties daddy bought me, and my thick ass that guys just love to fuck as they squeeze my boobs and rub my tiny cock! Mmmm, it's such a girly dream! But I can't help thinking about these vids, where the mtftm guys talk about just wanting to live out their perverted fantasy of what being a girl is instead of being a girl!

Like most real girls get pissed off or annoyed by catcalls and loads of male attention. I get an erection..... And I usually turn to them, wave, and ask them if they want to have fun..... Most girls get scared if a man is aggressively following them. I get super excited and usually play hard to get.... only to accidentally 'corner myself' or 'trip'. My cock will immediately get so stiff I almost cum if they start ripping off my clothes or pull out a knife. I'll drool in ecstasy if they start fucking my ass. I'll of course fake scream and struggle, but always get so hard I start cumming like crazy as they ravage me...... When they feel that I have a cock, and that it's hard and my panties are full of cum, they immediately turn into total animals, calling me every name imaginable, especially a fake girl or the t-slur. Sometimes they'll even call me a dumb, perverted boy. ❤️

But normal girls aren't that way.... they don't get thrilled by getting their clothes ripped off, their holes violated.... I must just be a perverted fake girl like all these detrans boys! It would explain so much about me. Godddd I'm such a junkie for my own fantasies that I really took hormones and begged daddy for a pair of porn tits. I really am a freak. Gee I wonder what would happen to my petite, perfect feminine body if I didn't tell anyone anything, but started taking testosterone, dick growth pills, and steroids? Like, not say a word to my friends or boss or family, still dress like a girl as my beautiful female body becomes manly. My beard coming in, which of course I'd always struggle to keep up with and apologize, reminding everyone I was born a boy.... My voice would deepen, I'd get an Adam's apple, hair on my boobs. And I'd just tell people I still have my testicles so I guess I'm going through male puberty anyway..... oops. It just happens to 'girls' like me sometimes, you have to understand, don't be too hard on me.... ❤️❤️❤️

And eventually once I'm super muscular, my face looking 100% like a man, my voice all deep, not feminine in the slightest, my cock huge and impossible to hide, I'll start being gross and hitting on all the girls, rubbing my cock through my clothes, telling them how much I'd love to put a dozen or so kids in their bellies. Then I'll be fired, I'll have to live with my mom and dad. They'll laugh at their big burly son with implants and finally take them out, ending the last tiny piece of my delusion that I could ever live as a girl again. Then I'll sit at home, jerk off all day, go out to bars and have my way with all kinds of sexy college girls like I used to pretend to be. I can't wait to be a gross, perverted stud who only cares about two things: stroking my cock, and forcing my cock into as many beautiful girls' holes as possible. Finally live the dream of being a real man, just like I was always meant to be.....! ❤️ Thank God these social media algorithms target dumb fake girls like me and help us see the light!"

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