#as soon as i get the motivation to draw it is over for you fuckers

[elecman108]

I got my motivation to draw back!! So I drew something cute!! ...Err, I mean Blaze hallucinating dead people and demon alter-egos whom he kind of turned into a patron of sorts despite his patron being said dead circus stuck in his head?

Complicated shit, my guy. He’s cute so therefore it’s cute logic in full force rn.

Nice! You clicked on the cut! Here’s the alternate version without it being haunted.

Still effectively is the same thing, just no face lol.

I think any Genasi with element-based hair (eg. Blaze’s fire hair, Tempest’s fog hair) would be affected by their environment/mood. Like Blaze here I picture as having just come out of the shower/bath, so his fire hair is down to embers. Tempest, however...

...It’s a barbarian rage thing, I think. His parents are an Air Genasi and Fire Genasi, and his older sister was a Fire Genasi, so when she died and became his ‘patron’ of sorts, he can get Pissed and look like a Fire Genasi to some degree. Or at least that’s the logic.

What’s with me and fucked up characters? Blaze is haunted by ghosts, Tempest’s got PTSD, Axel’s traumatized with so many mental health conditions... lmao? I guess? I like depth and this is how I made depth with three of my favourites.

#the disappointment speaks #drawings by me #OCs #D&D #screams in no motivation station yo. #fun fact! Its story time in the tags btw so buckle up fucker!! #I lost motivation bc I'd draw for myself for the most part but share with my good friends right? #so I would draw something and share it with them #periodically I'd get a ''wow cool'' or a reaction on a thing I posted. but for like five-plus months I posted and got NOTHING #so midway through February I gave up on drawing all together #yeah my work has me currently on 9 days this week soon to be 10 or 12 but yknow I have ways to keep myself sane (I hope) #but I just completely lost motivation!! #my new coworker thought it was cool I did digital art which was nice but other than that I got dick-ass-all #so the other day out of nowhere one friend wanted a ref for a ttrpg character I finished in early Jan #I reluctantly dug up my inspo files and sketched up some basic shit for her to send back #and while sending it back I remarked I hadnt drawn anything in over a month and sent a quick half-doodle from feb 14th #it was tempest using blaze as a bludgeoning weapon. it wasnt good. it wasnt anything to write home about. it was my last attempt at drawing #but one other friend commented after I shared that that they burst out laughing and really liked it??? #and the two of my friends were commenting that I was v good at drawing and they liked the funny???? #and idk feeling validated for what you do as a hobby or job really helps to boost morale. as a healthcare worker I knew that #so I got my motivation (mojo? austin powers lol) back and made this yesterday to de-stress after having a slight breakdown at work #so <3 to my friends who like my art! you really keep me going at times and validate what is a fruitless endeavour and hobby #I do it 99% of the time just for myself so its nice to know other people enjoy my doodles now and again <3 #I post them on tumblr and twitter for my friends beyond my discord groups tho #and for you fuckers who wanna see my dumb drawings I guess? anyhow-- #the tags have gone on long enough I cut them off here lol. #enjoy me ranting in the tags about motivation and shit. I will never do commissions either so fuck y'all <3 #genuinely dont want to monetize my love for doodling dumb shit. that's all. no one's asked but I wont offer it ever.

[hollandorks]

Chapter 28 was posted while I was at work. I knew I should’ve called in today!

I’d hate to blame Bruce, but how did he not know the explosion was there to draw him out? Did he just forget the part where they said their plan was to get to Batman? Realistically I don’t think it’s something he was concerned about. His main focus was her. As soon as Bruce heard her cut through on the earpiece I imagine he was ready to rush back to the gala. I absolutely adore that Alfred was in awe that she punched the mayor, and Bruce was just concerned. Alfred has never seen her in action before. He’s definitely heard stories of her recklessness from Bruce, but I feel like Alfred would think Bruce was being over dramatic because of how into he clearly is. Alfred was probably like “oh yeah, I bet.” So him seeing her badass reckless behavior in action made him go “oh shit!” I imagine he was cheering her on. Of course Bruce would use his final moments as him to try to help her. After he got injected he definitely knew what he was about to be forced to do, and he hates it. His main fear, is her. He’s mentally running through every moment, every word that was said to her when she was kidnapped. He knows he’s going to have to hurt people, and he knows he’s probably going to have to hurt—even kill her. He’s scared. My poor bat baby. I love that as soon as he saw Murphy he was distracted by rage. He hates him for what he did to her, and for Bruce focusing and fantasizing about harming him is a nice distraction. I feel like every second Bruce is trying to move his fingers to regain control. When Bruce was injected I gasped out loud (which happened a lot this chapter) and said “oh no” with a huge smile on my face. I knew exactly where this was going. I was very excited which is twisted.

I love that the moment the security guards let her go she attacked Maxwell. She’s absolutely feral, and I love it. All she wants to do is help Bruce. Poor baby hasn’t even realized what’s about to happen to her. I love that even while she’s left in a room with very dangerous and vile men she’s focusing on the mission. She doesn’t care about her own safety she just wants to get enough evidence and information for Alfred and Bruce as possible. I can picture her and Maxwell speaking to each other clearly. I’ve mentioned my love of horror multiple times, but it’s definitely giving me vibes of a killer reveal that monologues about their motivation and what they’re gonna do. Also when that fucker called her a prostitute I was ready to kill him myself. I imagine Bruce did too. I loved when she tried to bite him. She’s just proving my point that she is feral. I love that she taunted him, and that she called his dick small. When you can’t use violence that is the perfect way to hurt a man. Tell him he has a small penis and he’s going to cry to his mother. I hope when she taunted him Bruce was proud. I imagine that through the earpiece he was able to figure out that she got hit. He’s definitely worried for her. I also imagine her voice being very calming for Bruce. It’s giving him something to focus on. I also love that she called Maxwell and idiot. He really is. The mayor too.

When Alfred said “no” I imagine that’s because he saw Bruce under their control. Also when she kept saying “what have you done?” I got movie flashbacks. I was waiting for someone to sing. I love that she was temporarily able to get away. I knew that silk wrap would come in handy! Sure she didn’t strangle someone with it, but I’m still taking it as a win. I love how determined she was to get to Alfred and help everyone while also being concerned for Bruce. She really is just good, pure, and feral. I also love how long it took her to realize what happened to Bruce, and I love that her body knew before her mind did. That makes sense. She’s been in the same position. Of course her body knows. She’s also been worried about Bruce in a different way this entire time. She thought he was fighting bad guys and not under their control. It’s not even in her mind. They failed at getting him under their control once, so it’s not what she’s thinking.

When Bruce walked through that door, and it was described as her heart stopped beating? Chefs kiss! I can see her fear. Bruce just beat the life out of a mayoral candidate, and she just can’t believe it. It’s literally in the chapter that she silently begged for it not to be him. This shouldn’t be happening to him. And as fearful as she may be because on some level she has to know what is about to happen to her, I imagine she’s just so sad. She knows what it’s like to not be in control of your body. To have to do things you don’t want to do. She feels for him. As scared as she is I imagine the sadness is overwhelming.

Oh god. Also I’m about to say something super fucked up, so please brace yourself. Before saying it I’d like to say I’m a good person. However, I love angst. So him being ordered to kill her? There are not enough chef kisses in the universe. I knew it was coming, and I was excited for it. I wish I knew what Bruce was thinking when he was ordered to kill her, and what he was thinking the entire time he was beating her. Poor baby. I just wanna hug him. I love the detail that as he was choking her that the pearls dug into her skin. Her kneeing him in the groin is a smart move, but I picture he definitely has some protection down there. All that combat is really coming in handy. When he lets her go because he’s not making her suffer I imagine he’s so…upset? Hear me out. He definitely does not want to hurt her, and he definitely does not want to kill her. He’d rather die. However, if he had to choose I’d rather do it quickly than prolong it. I’m giving more chef kisses to her dialogue to Bruce during this. The repeated “no,” “this isn’t you,” “it’s okay,” “you’re okay,” “I know this isn’t you,” and the final few “I love you.” Damn. He’s always wanted to hear her say “I love you” to him, but he never imagined she’d say them in this scenario (or at all, really. Bruce is dumb). Also big bunch of chef kisses to her sobbing throughout the dialogue in moments. Prime angst. The fact that Bruce was able to punch her once in the ribs, and he felt them crack really says a lot about his strength. He hates it. He hates that he’s able to hurt her so significantly with just a hit. He hates ever becoming Batman.

I love that she remembers what Gordon said about the antibodies being in blood. That’s a smart cookie. Also fucking James Maxwell you fucking prick piece of shit. “What if I want her to myself?” Get. Fucked. When Maxwell had Bruce stop he was definitely thankful and relieved, but when he heard that I imagine his stomach started churning. He wishes he had the ability to beat the shit out of Maxwell instead. Also the mayor saying “there are other girls you don’t have to drug.” Icky. I say this with complete sincerity I hate men. The way they are both so nonchalant about it as well is disgusting. “I like knowing what it would do to her to know she couldn’t do anything about it.” GET. FUCKING. FUCKED. Oh my god.

“Kill her.” Bruce hesitated showing he was regaining a bit of control but not enough. I don’t even want to imagine what that did to him. To know he’s getting some of his control back but not enough. Not enough to save her and end this nightmare. I love that before she got stabbed she told him that it’s okay if he kills her, that isn’t his fault, and that he shouldn’t hate himself. Girl, I know you’re trying to ease his pain, but it’s like you’ve never met the guy. Also her first “I love you” being moments away from her death? Chefs kiss. Her closing her eyes so he wouldn’t see her pain? Chefs kiss.

Please tell me if I’m wrong, but I feel like Bruce left the blade in her to give her a chance at living. He’s smart enough to know that leaving the blade in would buy her the time she so desperately needs. I feel like if that’s why he left the blade in her he started cursing her actions the moment she ripped the blade out. Also her stabbing James Maxwell. GOOD FOR HER! I was cheering so fucking hard. I’m sure Bruce was proud, panicking but proud. She stabbed that bastard three fucking times. What a queen. She twisted that blade. She’s an icon. She’s my hero. “I promised I would kill you.” I hope that’s the last thing he ever fucking heard. Her mixing all their blood together and rubbing it on Bruce was smart. Disgusting but smart enough where I’ll let it slide. Also, it was the only way. “Don’t kill me.” I know she’s hoping he’ll follow her orders, but it’s also her begging for her life. “Come back to me.” My heart. It’s so full. Chefs kiss! I love it. Also her saying “only listen to me” is super fucking smart. She’s a genius.

Gordon! My man! Coming in a bit late to the party but that’s okay! While he was arresting the mayor he was definitely like “what the fuck happened? What did I miss? Jesus Christ this is a fucking mess.”

I love that she walked towards Bruce. Having to tell him to leave and not come back must have been heartbreaking. I feel like if Bruce was able to provide comfort in these moments that she’d want it. But he’s not. He wants to save his skin from being questioned after everything, but more importantly she doesn’t want him to be there when she dies. I love a good dying forehead press. That’s getting a chefs kiss! “I love you…never forget that I love you.” I’m sad. I’m emo. Call me Bruce because I’m never going to recover from this. I love that she told Alfred she’s okay. Alfred knows she’s definitely not, and he wants to stay with her. But he knows getting Bruce out is the best and smartest thing to do. I imagine Gordon is fucking gutted (ha) at what happened to her. As reckless as she is I imagine that he likes her and admires her courage and conviction. He knows she’s a good person, and he doesn’t want her to die. Him calling her kid made me so soft. That’s getting a chefs kiss! I love that he told her paramedics are outside and then immediately picked her up. Gordon is annoyed at how long it’s taking the paramedics, so he’s rushing to bring her there himself. Her using the last of her strength to tell Gordon to tell Bruce not to blame himself and mentioning that he’ll hate himself for killing her? Chefs kiss! Also the fact that near the end of the chapter she didn’t even feel hurt anymore? That’s how you know you’re fucked. Chefs kiss!

Honestly I loved this chapter so fucking much. Peak angst for sure! This entire story is one giant chefs kiss!

Predictions? The fuck if I know. Um…let me spit ball some…Bruce is going to be super mad at Alfred for leaving her. He’s definitely going to be fucking emo. He’s not going to think he deserves her, and he’s gonna think she’s better off without him. Also after Bruce got stabbed I wanted her to get stabbed too. I wanted her to be like “how were you so lively after being stabbed?” to Bruce. Now? I think if she were to say that to Bruce he’d fucking lose his shit. I still kinda want her to do it though. I love joking about my trauma, and I’d love to see her do it in this story (or the sequel). I imagine Bruce is going to try to stay away from her, and it’s gonna make her super sad. Alfred is going to push them together. He was able to hear everything she said to Bruce in those moments. God. I can’t wait. Much love!

🦇

Also…is it possible for there to be a drabble of Bruce’s pov during the last half of this chapter while he was slowly killing her? If not it’s chill. I know you’re working on a sequel (which I’m very excited for. Can I claim my 🦇 emoji for that now? I’m going to). It would just be prime angst, and I love angst. Clearly.

Also also….out of curiosity do you know how early chapter 29 will be posted on Wednesday (??? I believe). I have game night on Wednesday, and I want to know how anxious I’ll be for it to get done. If it’s posted as early as it was today I’ll definitely be able to get my fix beforehand. Absolutely no pressure on that though. You post when you post and that’s 100% okay with me. I get it. I hope that doesn’t/didn’t sound bitchy or something. If it does it’s not my intention at all.

Also also also I’m super sorry if this is formatted weird. I drafted it in my notes app because I knew dinner would be ready before I finished my essay. I copy and pasted it, but I think the spacing between paragraphs are weird and every time I try to fix the spacing it gets even more weird.

Also also also also the first time I went to fix the spacing I clicked out of the ask window on here because it was too fucked and it was hurting my brain. I went to recopy it from my notes app. Instead of hitting “copy” on the notes app I hit “cut.” The amount of panic I felt. My heart stopped. It took my breath away. I was like “I wrote all of that.” I knew I wouldn’t be able to redo it because I have a lot of thoughts and it’s hard to say them in a way that makes sense. I’m so happy that since it was copied I could just paste it again. It did it make about 30 seconds to realize that tho.

***CH 28 SPOILERS***

"Hi sorry can't come in today I have to emotionally prepare for a fanfic." I'll write you a note and everything 😂

Yeah Bruce had absolutely zero brain cells left after she commented on his dick tbh. I also am thinking, realistically, if this is pre-movie, he's still not the world's greatest detective yet! And yes Alfred is 100% now like "Bruce wasn't kidding, this girl is fucking crazy" 😂

All of your thoughts of Bruce's thoughts post-injection are partially why I couldn't bring myself to do his POV for all of this. Like....it's just too painful. Glad you were excited though because I have been just as excited to share this chapter😉 Finished my last read through before posting and I was like goddamn Shelby you're kind of a sicko. And then I cackled imagining all of the reactions. Have not been disappointed even slightly 😂

I wanted a moment for her to go absolutely feral. Bruce gets to do it all the time so why shouldn't she? Biting, kicking, spitting blood, etc etc. I loooooove when characters just absolutely fucking lose it so of course I had to do it.

Ugh damn you mentioning Bruce focusing on her voice makes me want to do his POV of all of this even more! Damn I really might have to do an angsty one shot....

Yes Alfred said no because Bruce came in and started hurting people! And I tried to include a strangling scene, I really did, but this is what happened naturally with the action 😂 Maybe there'll be a strangling scene in the sequel who knows! (Not me, I keep not having time to write it. Sincerely hoping the doctor makes me stay home all day tomorrow even though I'm really not that sick. I need to write dammit!)

Poor reader. The whole "shadow in their midst" part is Bruce! So she's seen him doing bad things, but her brain just did not compute it. This is actually a trauma response!

Like I said....I thought "what would be the worst thing Bruce Wayne could go through?" 💀 So I'm glad all of these heavy emotions came across well. The reader is for sure more upset about what Bruce is going through. She doesn't care about dying, just about him suffering.

Listen you are not fucked up for saying that 😂 I wrote it! That means I love it too! I probably sound more fucked up by repeatedly saying my inspiration is just absolutely fuck up Bruce Wayne 😅

Also, small thing, I'm imagining that even under control of someone else, Bruce's body kind of short circuits and tries to just kill her outright despite the orders. Idk if that's "scientific" but who cares! It's what I was thinking writing the scene.

Kind of holding back on some comments btw because I do bring up some stuff canonically in the next chapter!

I wrote this whole fic with the mindset of I hate men. Like....there's way too much precedence and inspiration for these types of men. So obviously since I'm in control of the narrative I have them just get absolutely fucked.

Alfred 100% brings up the "it isn't your fault" thing to her and that's all I'm gonna say on that

And yes re: the blade! Again it was me thinking his body is regaining what little control it can. They said kill her, but nothing about leaving the knife etc. Or even making sure she's dead first. See how she goes still? Smart cookie is doing it again. She's playing dead to get him to not have that order anymore! Her ripping the blade out also is brought up later lmao

Yeah the blood thing was disgusting but it was the only way I could figure out how to 1) keep all the angst & pain but 2) get her out of it. Also her "only listen to me" for some reason was inspired by genies in bottles. Like wishing for wishes kind of thing. Idk, I find inspiration in weird places 😂

Can you imagine Gordon watching all three of their feeds at once? Specifically seeing the reader just absolutely fucking some guys up. And straight up murdering a guy. He's definitely thinking "goddammit she's just like this Bat guy"

Ha, gutted. I see what you did there. But yes to all of that! Alfred meets her eyes and he knows it isn't good. Knows she probably won't make it. And, since he's basically a parent, I see him shifting into the father role. He has to save his son.

I loved writing this part as fucked as it sounds. I wanted a soft Gordon. Heroic Gordon. Love the idea of him calling her kid. That's one of my favorite like....buddy cop tropes 😂 Thanks for all the chef's kisses by the way 😉

Love seeing the predictions!! But also no comment as per usual 😉

But yes, I'm really considering Bruce's POV of all this. There's so much I want to explore in this fic still and it's like 120,000 words! What the fuck!

Also yes please use the same emoji for the sequel because I am dumber than I look and would get too confused 😂

And I'm not sure about ch 29! Depends on if I can work in it tomorrow night and if work Wednesday afternoon is a shitshow. And no worries--I get it! It definitely will be between 5 and 7 PM eastern unless something miraculous happens. Idk maybe I'll post it from work 😂 I'll try to post a heads up Wednesday when I have a better idea!

Format looks normal by the way! The "cut" open frequently fucks me up. I totally understand that panic 🥵 glad you didn't lose it!

Thanks as always for the feedback. I knew you thoughts on this chapter were gonna be good

#asks #anon #motn spoilers #I love love love love these deep analysis asks #my favorite 🦇 #🦇 anon #🦇

[doughnutdebachary]

So uh...yeah I have a new hyperfixation.

It's @mable-stitchpunk 's book 'A Fool's Endeavor' It's a fucking fantastic novel that fills me with so much joy. Like, this is the first book I have been able to actually read in years and I goddamn love it. So I did the logical thing and showed that love through making far too many memes. However these are my favorites.

#A Fool's Endeavor #Jester Lure #Morrick #Yves #as soon as i get the motivation to draw it is over for you fuckers #i will make so much ART #i am the definition of the 'unfollow me now this is all inwill be talking about' meme.

[dweetwise]

Deathslinger x doctor or deathslinger x oni? Headcanons or fluff for whichever one you choose, I don’t mind :) (happy birthday to your blog!)

oh it’s been a long time since i’ve written sparkslinger! thanks for requesting <3 i made this as a continuation to my previous fic of them, i hope that’s ok!

word count: 1740

Caleb X Herman: Accidental martyr

Since starting his arrangement with Herman, Caleb had to admit that his time in this neverending hell had become a lot more entertaining.

Whether it was getting roped into questionable experiments, late nights drinking cheap whiskey in the saloon, or his own sporadic visits to the old hospital, being around the doctor was a great way to alleviate the boredom between trials.

Unfortunately, that often came at the cost of Caleb’s sanity.

This moment was a prime example of such an occurrence. After Herman had showed up to their latest encounter with a torn jacket and fresh wounds, Caleb was practically forced to play doctor to make sure the man didn't succumb to his injuries.

That didn't mean he had to be nice about it, though.

“Figures ye’d be cocky enough to try to take the bitch out on yer own,” Caleb snarked.

He attempted to clumsily dress one of the numerous gashes marring the doctor’s shoulders; the Entity’s handiwork, no doubt.

“What can I say? I’m a man who likes to push the limits—shit!” Herman hissed out a curse when Caleb tightened the bandage a little too forcefully.

“Don’t do it again,” Caleb growled, masking the uneasy feeling in his chest with anger.

Herman waved off both the threat and concern with a simple "Yes, yes, now get on with it" and Caleb went back to his mediocre job of caring for the wounds.

Since that first night in the saloon, they’d never talked about whatever this was between them. And that suited Caleb just fine; he was a man of few words, and if anything, he should thank his luck that the blabbermouth he kept for company hadn’t deemed it a subject worth discussing.

Apart from a few snide comments of Herman getting his ass kicked by the Entity, Caleb didn’t bring up the incident again.

And he’d probably have forgotten about it completely, if he hadn’t happened to pick up some spare parts from Autohaven a few days later.

“Are you alright?” Philip asked as soon as Caleb arrived at their designated meet-up spot.

“Just dandy,” Caleb drawled, inspecting the Wraith’s latest haul of scrap from the junkyard.

“You don’t have to act tough, Caleb,” Philip insisted, clearly not getting the hint.

Caleb whipped around to give the other killer a properly disgusted look that he hoped conveyed just how little he appreciating being coddled like a damn child.

“It’s okay; we’ve all been there. I understand,” Philip said, giving a look of sympathy that made Caleb’s skin crawl.

“The fuck you on about, boy?” Caleb spat.

“The Entity,” Philip said.

The Wraith flinched at his own words, quickly glancing around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping.

“It… punishes us when we’re not brutal enough or efficient enough,” Philip said, lowering his voice. “And after your leg—there have been rumors, you know.”

Caleb felt the anger bubbling up. Not only did he hate people bringing up his brief time of injury and subsequent uselessness in trials, he also had an inkling of just who had been spreading these specific rumors.

“What kind’a rumors?” Caleb asked.

“You’ve been going to the hospital a lot to treat your wounds,” Philips said. “Herman even had to borrow ointments from Sally, since you’ve been coming in so often.”

Caleb’s eye twitched as he tried to reign his temper. Herman knew damn well that Caleb was insistent on keeping their whatever-it was a secret, yet he seemed to happily gossip to anyone he came across.

“‘Scuse me,” Caleb said. “I’ma need to have a chat with the good doctor.”

When Caleb slammed open the door to Herman’s office, the man didn’t even flinch.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t break my furniture,” the doctor merely offered, not even looking up from his book. “I could hear you stomping here from across the hospital.”

“You,” Caleb snarled, grabbing Herman by the collar. “What did you do?”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that,” Herman said, infuriatingly calm even when face to face with a very dangerous and very angry gunslinger.

“Why does Phil think I’m gettin’ beat up by spider-bitch?” Caleb spat. “Why does Sally know I’ve been comin’ here and you need a bunch’a salve for it?”

“Oh,” Herman said, finally getting his point. “That’s not something you should worry about.”

“Try me,” Caleb snarled, tightening his grip around the man’s jacket collar.

“It might be easier to talk without the strangulation,” Herman countered, his voice strained from the pressure on his neck.

Caleb released his hold but didn’t back off, crowding the man against his office chair.

“Then talk,” Caleb commanded.

“Very well,” Herman said. “As you may or may not know, our Eldritch overlord closely monitors our performance in trials. However, if said performance isn't up to par, it isn’t afraid to take disciplinary measures.”

“So ya didn’t fight it, it fought you? That what yer sayin’?” Caleb asked.

“In a way, I suppose,” Herman said, still annoyingly secretive.

“So what’s that gotta do with me? And stop fuckin’ horseshittin’,” Caleb said.

“Well, in a nutshell,” Herman paused, as considering how to phrase the message simply enough for Caleb to understand. “There was word of the Entity being more agitated than usual. I concluded it was only a matter of time before it chose you as its target, and as a precaution, I deliberately attempted to draw its ire.”

If Caleb was confused before, he was even more so now. The doctor had… volunteered to be the Entity's pincushion? And for what?

“Why?” Caleb asked, hesitantly stepping back from the man and his unknown motives.

“You’re my patient,” Herman simply answered.

“Oh, like these sorry fuckers?” Caleb said, pointing at a human heart sitting neatly in a jar on the desk. “You wanna cut me up yerself, that it?”

“...No.”

“Then what? Ya get off on bein’ tortured?” Caleb prodded, angry at still not getting a real answer. “Well, what is it!?”

“I don’t know!” Herman snapped, slamming the book shut.

It was the first time Caleb had seen the doctor lose his composure, and on reflex he reached for the empty holster on his hip.

“I’ve spent over a decade studying the human psyche, and I don’t know,” Herman said, moving to stand up. “I have no illusions of morality, yet seeing you in agony over your leg—”

“I was fine!” Caleb rebutted.

“The thought of inflicting more pain on you was simply out of the question. So I offered myself up in your stead, until you were recovered. And then I… just kept going.”

“Hold on,” Caleb realized. “You’ve—for all this time!? It’s been, what, months?”

“Fifty-three days, according to my calculations,” Herman said, so matter-of-fact.

“You’re fuckin’ bonkers,” Caleb said. “That shit ends now! ‘M not about to let you deal with my punishment!”

Herman was silent, for once, and Caleb could see his jaw clenching and unclenching. There was a sudden realization that Herman probably felt the same way that Caleb did, a few days ago when he saw the man badly hurt.

Protective.

The anger slowly released from Caleb’s body, and he took a step toward the doctor in a silent peace offering.

“I’ma big boy, doc,” Caleb said. “Been through shit none of yer experiments even come close to. I'm not fuckin' made o’ glass."

"I realize that," Herman said, sighing. "It wasn't my intention to patronize you."

"Pfft, like that ain’t your goal most days," Caleb shot back, the good side of his face drawing into a smirk.

"Well," Herman said with a dry chuckle. "Not in this particular instance."

An apology was left unsaid, but Caleb didn't want one. Still, he kept unwavering eye contact, waiting for a promise that never came.

"And?" Caleb asked when neither of them were budging.

Herman sighed in annoyance, most likely peeved at having been out-stubborned.

"I will make sure it doesn't happen again," Herman reluctantly assured.

"Good," Caleb said, and then inexplicably felt unsure about where that left them. "So, uh… we good, or…?"

Herman smiled. He usually just grinned, or giggled or laughed like a psychopath, but now he looked stupidly handsome with a smile stretching over his lips and making his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Splendid," Herman said.

Caleb could only withstand another few seconds of looking at the damn smile before his patience ran out.

"Get over here," Caleb said, tugging the doctor closer by his lapels and into a kiss.

They didn't do this often, and feeling the warm, chapped lips against his own, Caleb couldn't help but think what a damn shame it was. After the injury to his jaw that felt like a lifetime ago, Caleb didn't think he'd be doing much kissing for the rest of his days, but Herman never seemed bothered by it.

Large hands settled on his hips and Caleb could feel the dormant energy lying underneath, electricity always at the doctor's fingertips. It was absurd to think that their hands, constantly used for killing and more often than not caked with their victims' blood, could be used to hold each other this gently.

Realizing he was getting alarmingly sappy from nothing more than a kiss, Caleb pulled away from the liplock and reluctantly stepped away from the doctor's embrace. He adjusted his hat in an attempt to hide the reddening of his sickly pale cheeks.

"Alright, now come on," Caleb urged, cocking his head in the direction of the door.

"Are we going somewhere?" Herman asked.

"Yer comin' to Glenvale where I can keep an' eye on ya," Caleb said. "Don't trust ya not to break a promise."

The words came out harsher than he meant to. Luckily, Herman didn’t appear to take it personally, instead going to grab some of his things without any further fuss.

"If you wanted a romantic getaway this badly, you should have just asked," Herman teased.

"Shut up," Caleb said half-assedly.

Watching Herman pocket a jar of an unknown substance, Caleb suddenly remembered something crucial.

"Oh, one more thing," Caleb said.

"I'm all ears.”

“Tell Sally to keep ‘er fuckin’ trap shut,” Caleb snarked.

He received a fit of maniacal giggles in return, and Caleb realized that the sound that once grated on his nerves now brought a sense of belonging.

He still didn't know what this was between them, but he'd be damned if he let it go.

#dbd fanfic #caleb quinn #herman carter #sparkslinger #dbd deathslinger #dbd doctor #dweetwrites #dbd #dead by daylight #request

[vampiresuns]

The Stories Of Dead Kings | Prologue, Part 3

✴︎ THE STORIES OF DEAD KINGS ✴︎

4.5k words. In which the Palace continues to bring out things long ago buried within Anatole, the investigation commences and he makes an unlikely friend. CWs: Memory loss, death penalty.

You can read the rest of Anatole’s apprentice timeline series here.

Antu did not like the white dogs. A shame, because Anatole loved that breed — he had only seen pictures of it, drawings in books and a couple of paintings, but he thought it was a fantastic one all the same. They looked so funky and given his preference for raccoons, it was no surprise he favoured fuzzy, slightly funny looking but beautiful animals. He’d pet them later. 

Antu liked the voice that called to Anatole even less. While he didn’t like it either, Antu reacted with a viciousness Anatole had never seen before.

Stay back! You’re not wanted! He threatened, his voice echoing in Anatole’s mind as he bared his teeth at the open air.

No! We don’t like it in there! You can’t make us go!

With the dogs pulling him through his clothes upstairs, he had to hold onto Antu for dear life, fearing his familiar would launch himself at the dogs. It made him a blur of hands, fur and hair. 

“Ouch, Antupillán, don’t scratch me!”

As soon as they’re in the dark hallway, the dogs vanished, but Antu did not seem any more calm. Still in Anatole’s arms but ready to jump if needed, he was still growling at nothing and every time Anatole tried to make an advance, trying to walk down the hall to explore the room by the end of it, Antu tried to bite his hands. 

“Fine, fine, fine, Antupillán, you win.”

When the ghostly voice purred behind them, Antu climbed over his shoulder before Antole could stop him. Of course his raccoon threw himself at an apparition, because demanding fair trials out of the Countess of Vesuvia wasn’t excitement enough for the furball he had for a familiar.

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Anatole tried very hard not to growl at Portia when she brought him breakfast, but the Palace kept hours that were too early, even for him, who had become a relatively early riser out of habit — waking up at dawn was too much, what had happened to seven AM? At least she had come with coffee, coffee he chugged while he listened carefully at her.

He had no clue about how to feel about the clothes, though the shirt was a dream come true. Cross-tied and with a V neck opening, big bishop sleeves, and matching, deep emerald green pants and a sleeveless long coat. The coat had a gold embroidered trim, and it reached his ankles, It would flutter deliciously as he walked down the hallways, the clack of the black boots with a golden plate shoe tip against the marbled floors.

Everything was miraculously his size; he didn’t still comprehend nor trust the Countess’ motives for giving him clothes, especially when he had brought his own. Anatole might not have a personal tailor, but he was very dedicated and careful about his clothing. He always strived to be well dressed, so what was the reason for it? Ease him after his opinions last-night? That felt too much like trying to buy him into the Countess' good side. However, while it was true he didn’t know how to feel about her, he felt it was unfair to automatically assume the worst. This required further analysis. 

Portia left his room and he looked at the clothes with a sigh. He examined for a minute longer as he ate another pastry. He looked at Antu, who was still pretending to be an angel after jumping from his arms to fight a ghost out of all things. 

He was eating some grapes. 

It’s pretty.

“We don’t accept gifts from people we don’t trust.”

Who’s we?

“Oh, is that how it is?”

You have never been very good at lying to yourself.

“And you’re awfully insightful this morning, huh?” 

Antupillán continued eating his grapes, this time in silence. He had a point, Anatole supposed. It was a gorgeous outfit but he hadn’t been lying to himself when he said he didn’t accept gifts from people he didn’t trust, and after last night, he wasn’t sure he was on the best terms with the Countess, even if she did seem civil enough afterwards. He couldn’t wear this, even if he really, really wanted to. It would be wrong, it would betray his principles, it would—

It would have to do because when he turned to check where he had left his clothes, he realised the Palace’s staff had taken all of them to laundry them. When Portia had mentioned that, he had assumed they’d only take the clothes he was wearing last night.

“Fuckers.”

He hated people rummaging through his stuff. He was very, very close to deciding to throw all caution and professionalism to the winds and be contrarian as could be. It was a bad idea, but there was a part inside himself which had been kept dormant for the most part. That part made him want to remind people he wasn’t trapped somewhere with them, they were trapped somewhere with him.

Perhaps another time.

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The Palace’s library was one of the most gorgeous places he had ever set a foot in. From its doors to its high shelves, with the high windows with stained glass and the plants, Anatole wished he had the entire day to get lost in it, explore every section, even the ones he wasn’t interested in. He wanted to ask why was the library locked up under so many keys, but he didn’t know if he’d get an answer, or if Portia knew, or if the Countess would be up to more of his really incisive questions about things she would deem out of Anatole’s range of incumbency. 

If you asked him, Libraries should be public.

Despite how they left things last night, the Countess seemed to be in a great mood, complimenting his looks and treating him amiably. Anatole detected no deception nor flattery in her words; it threw him off for reasons he didn’t have the time to decode right now. Perhaps he had become too used to people shading half a light on things for reasons bigger than Anatole himself, perhaps the reason was another. It’d have to wait to be pried into. 

“You told me you read.”

“Constantly, as long as my brain lets me.”

Silence fell between them. Well, this was starting to get awkward. 

“Thank you,” the Countess said.

“What for?”

“You are very genuine,” she said. Anatole didn’t know what to do with that. Taking his silence as encouragement, the Countess continued. “Reading is a wonderful gift, shared by all citizens where I come from, but it’s woefully uncommon here.”

He hummed, squinting back at the Countess. He took a sharp breath as he made himself count to ten. He had felt the same need to speak without knowing what he would say as before, but this time he could anticipate it would be something angry. He didn’t need to know where these things were coming from to know he was about to ask the Countess whose fault was that, and then he’d be really, really done for. 

He kept his mouth shut this time — Antu biting him softly (but strongly enough to make him hiss) helped. Time and place. He was better than this, he was taught better than this. 

Wait, what? Taught what? By whom?

“Concentrate, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered between his teeth.

“Did you say something?”

“That this is truly a wonderful collection.”

“Anatole… you are my guest, if you wish to return here, you need only ask. But for the moment I would have your undivided attention here.”

There was something deeply intimate about prying into someone organisational systems. How they cluttered, why they cluttered, the organisation methods employed, the thought process behind it and what you could infer of it by looking. The way documents were studied and how and where notes were taken. In that sense, Dr. Devorak’s desk teemed with information.

It might have felt like prying a little too deep into him, but Anatole thought it was a fair exchange after he broke into his house. An eye for an eye wasn’t the best justice system, but hey, a little pettiness couldn’t hurt, besides, investigating the murder was his job now. 

His musings were tampered by the mention of Asra working for the palace during the Red Plague. He didn’t remember living through it, though he had always assumed he must’ve been present for it, given their earliest memory was of a post-plague Vesuvia. It had ravaged everything. Plagues were like wars, they seldom discriminated. Not that Anatole knew of war beyond books. If that wasn’t the case this was, once again, nor the time or place to second-guess himself.

Do you know what an explosion sounds like, Asra?

After promising the Countess he would meet her for dinner, he set himself to work. Anatole loved few things more than a good puzzle without a solution, and once he grew determined he did nothing half-ways. 

Lacing his fingers together, he stretched them, a waft of satisfaction dawning over him as his joints cracked. 

“Let’s figure you out, Julian ‘Magic Cards’, hm?”

He didn’t expect his search to lead him back into the city, but with Antu in tow he’s determined to follow the trace his magic had cast into its streets. Vesuvia was a wild thing, a glimmering thing in the lowlights of dusk making Anatole wonder why hadn’t he insisted in seeing more of it, wondering how much memories of it could he be missing. What used to be his favourite spots? His favourite streets? His favourite garden? 

He wasn’t one to dwell in the past, living in the past was no way of living, but that didn’t mean the past didn’t matter. He just wanted to be able to reclaim it, to say ‘this is mine, this took me where I am today, this made me myself, just like who I am today will make me the myself of tomorrow’. He looked at the past not with wistfulness but searching for an explanation.

The area he found himself in was crowded, urbanistically speaking, shabby, probably in need of repair, and while he didn’t stop chasing that trace something in his heart (and his temple) pulsed. Something unknown and caged, something which begged to be let out, something he couldn’t make out what it was. He hated not knowing, he was getting tired of getting all these feelings, these knowledge, these looks and these visions without any sort of explanation. This time he didn’t file it away for later, and yet whatever he felt, eluded him.

The word he was looking for and failed to find was Love. A word which would continue to escape him for a little longer, as Julian Devorak himself manifested out of an open door. Finally, he thought, throwing hypothesis and chasing them was starting to give him results. 

Falling into a barrel and stepping on Antu’s tail were unforeseen outcomes. So was falling face first into Julian’s chest after he helped him out of the barrel, both of them looking at each other like deers startled by light.

After Julian let him go, he held Antu, petting him as a way to apologise for stepping on him by accident. 

“I have a name, you know? Shopkeep isn’t it,” he said as he looked at the Rowdy Raven’s sign.

“Dare I ask what brings you to this neck of the woods, Not-Named-Shopkeep?”

Anatole caught himself smiling, but as he tried and failed to find a way to explain what had happened the smile faded from his face. Words eluded him and he had to admit he was very grateful for Julian taking it in stride. Because how could he explain any of this without giving away his new-found position? Or at all? He couldn’t find it in him to articulate such a thing — not to mention the glint in Julian’s eye as he turned to him was much more exciting.

It tied neatly to the trace of Anatole’s magic, like a master key he had been desperately looking for. 

“Rumour has it you’re working for the Palace,” Julian sneered. “What happened to not being a snitch? I’m sure— well, by now— you’ve heard some interesting stories about me.”

“As interesting as you’re prone to not explaining yourself, though both of those might be gross understatements. And I take great offence in you thinking I’m a snitch. Don’t you think that had I told anyone you’d already be found?”

“I’m very slippery and you don’t know where to find me.”

“I found you now.”

“By accident I’m sure, not to say you aren’t talented and magnificent and all those things the rumours say… but you haven’t heard my side of the story.”

“Julian?”

“Yes?”

“Stop assuming the first thing about me and how I do things, will you, sweetheart?” 

Julian’s cheeks went as red as his hair. Anatole let out a pained whine. Wherever that had come from, Anatole didn’t want to know and he expected it to not come forward again. He apologised; Julian, having composed himself, thought teasing him was a good idea but Anatole levelled a look at him that convinced him otherwise. 

He sighed. Julian was right: he’d only heard things from the Palace and muddled rumours. A wanted poster was a statement of capture, not an absolute truth and it was obvious to him there was some sort of power imbalance playing against the doctor. So when Julian said he could get him a drink, to get the story and to pay him what he owes him from the reading, Anatole found it difficult to say no.

“I don’t usually accept trading payments unless previously discussed, or the party is in need, but you know what? I think I’m willing to do an exception for you.”

“Oh, please, you work for the Palace now, I think you’re set on the money.”

“You know, I haven’t discussed fees and wages with the Countess, do you think we’d be cell mates if I did?”

Julian laughed. One drink couldn’t hurt, right?

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The flurry that erupted after the caw of the Raven would be etched into Anatole’s mind forever, becoming part of his daydreams unsanctioned. It was the kind of chaos which brought the familiar thump of an inconclusive memory. The Doctor might not have told him his part of the story, Anatole was well aware, but he did give him some insight into his circles and his person. Not anyone who was wanted by the Palace would shield the Palace’s investigator in the shadows so they didn’t get in trouble for hanging out with said wanted person. 

As he vanished after an awkward and unfinished thank-you-for-not-being-a-snitch, Anatole turned to make his way back to the Palace, only to be met with Ludovico, who introduced himself and tried not to stare at him while he hailed a carriage for Anatole. 

Anatole paid no mind to the staring. Whether it’s leftover staring from the day before, or staring driven by having found him in such an odd quarter of the City, he chose to ignore it. His apology for summoning a carriage for him despite him being the one who said it was a bad idea to leave the Countess waiting, was another thing altogether. 

It was true Anatole didn’t particularly enjoy carriage rides, but why would a Palace guard would know such a thing? Did it have to do with how he felt yesterday when crossing the gates? As he stepped into the carriage he tried not to think about it, afraid he’d overthink his way into a migraine. 

Relieved as he realised he was in time for dinner, Anatole took in the exquisite smells of what is definitely too much food. He was too hungry to think about the quantity for now, perhaps he could inquire about it after he ate something. 

His appetite seemed to hold itself back at the mention of the Courtiers, almost evaporating altogether. He still forced himself to eat, he needed it after such a day in the City, while he listened with rapt attention to the Countess' words. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin before taking a drink from his cup, doing the same afterwards. That he didn’t have any issue distinguishing the cutlery from one another somehow didn’t call to his attention like his next words did.

“I know, and I promise you I’ll be careful.”

“You already know my Courtiers?”

“Oh no, no such thing it’s just—”

“One can never second-guess one’s intuition, is it not right Anatole?”

For the first time in two days, when he smiled at the Countess it was genuine. “Exactly.”

Just like he knew the painting, the gardens, that other version of himself walking through them and his opinions on subjects which required more education than the one he thought he had, he somehow knew the Court — being equal times prepared to brace himself for meeting it, and unprepared for whatever he may find.

He knew deep inside he could trust the Countess to have his back on that, however. It’s the way the word ‘Courtiers’ felt from her mouth: she didn’t trust them. 

The mention of Julian’s hanging brought him back from wherever place of commodity his mind had gone into. The faraway look in the Countess’ eyes almost eluded him. Almost.

“Countess…”

“I am thinking about what you said last night, Anatole, but I expect you to understand I must seek to tend to my people’s needs.”

“And you think they need executions?”

“I think they need to see justice done.”

While restricted and mild, Anatole couldn’t help to look at her with some semblance of disappointment, his unspoken question dancing between them.: And is this justice? Is justice confession and punishment? 

She truly must’ve given it a thought to not react with the same impetu as last night. Instead she changed the topic with a weary sigh, claiming such were tomorrow’s matters and stating having questions for him — not of his day, like Anatole had feared, but of himself. Being surprised at the change of disposition the Countess had shown today didn’t cover it. Bewilderment might. 

At the mention of friendship, bewilderment fell short too. Sensing his apprehension, she smiled at him invitingly, jovially, exposing her hands to him in a gesture of trust. 

“I am afraid I do not have many friends, nor know enough people who fear not my position in order for them to tell me what their true opinions are.”

Anatole sighed. “Countess, I do not wish to antagonise you when I say those things, I find it hard to help it, that is all. I’d like to think if I was in such a position the responsibility was so heavy I needed council, I would wish it was sincere. It’s not up to us how history remembers us but that doesn’t mean we have no choice in the matter. I believe our choices make us who we are, whichever those choices might be.”

“You are awfully impertinent,” the Countess said with a playful tone, “which must surely give you an advantage at life.”

Anatole laughed with his mouth open, his head thrown back. “No, but it does give me a strong personality. Tell me Countess, what do you wish to know about me?”

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Out of all the things he found about the Countess, perhaps finding out she too understood the feeling of homesickness for a place you could no longer return to — because one couldn’t or one didn’t wish to — was the least expected out of them all. Anatole knew he had been born in Bgraz, Balkovia, but that’s all he remembered of his hometown. He didn’t even remember how he had ended up in Vesuvia, though the more he thought about it, the more he suspected he had some kind of relation to the City beyond his deceased Aunt having a shop there. 

He didn’t tell the Countess as much, not even sure of how to word it aloud but it was refreshing to find someone with whom he could talk about these things.

The night was welcoming and cool. The stars were visible in the inky night sky, making Anatole wonder how they would look in Balkovia, that unknown homeland he couldn’t remember. The Countess’ words about Anatole not being quite like she had imagined him, or the intrigue she felt towards him pulled him away from his thoughts.

Anatole wondered if she, like Julian, was also a victim of the rumour mill. Word in town was she was a tyrant, yet she didn’t seem malicious — malice was something Anatole’s language filter picked up with incredible ease and it left a feeling in him hard to ignore. It didn’t just make him immediately stand on edge, it also felt like tarr on one’s skin. Hot, icky and venomous. The Countess felt lost, not malicious.  Someone with good intentions and not enough turn out, as he had previously felt.

“Tell me, Anatole… Why did you come to the Palace? Why did you agree to help me?”

“I believe I said it was a matter of justice, last night.”

“You did, but when I asked you to come, you didn’t know what for.”

She got him there. The offer of trust from the Countess would not last if he wasn’t honest with her — perhaps if he was, he would be able to convince her to reconsider the way in which the Devorak affair was being conducted.

The answer was obvious, wasn’t it? 

“Because it felt right. I knew that whichever answers I’ve been seeking, I would find them here.” Anatole existed in the liminal space between his heart and his head. They were extensions of one another. Living a full life required both. 

When the Countess asked him if he had any questions for her, reassuring him he could speak freely, Anatole already knew what to ask and in his defence, the Countess shouldn’t have taken it as a vague question, because it wasn’t. The claim was just an excuse to elude the topic; the stage they were in, of whatever it was she, him and whatever else bigger than them had sent in motion was looking at them in the eye and avoidance would help exactly no one. 

“You know I mean the murder investigation. The Count has been dead for years, so why now?”

“Ah, that is a right question to ask. Vesuvia is in dire need of help. Order needs to be restored… and I am in the unique position to restore it. However, I intend to lead by example, not fear. I must show the city I am capable. I have so many plans for Vesuvia. I was to see this city flourish… Perhaps you’ll be able to help me with those plans, Anatole. I could use more competent people on my side...”

Her loneliness was heavy, almost too heavy, the feeling pouring into her speech and threatening to cover Anatole under a heavy blanket, merge with his own unattended loneliness and trap him in place forever. Seen and unseen, craving connection and something more he couldn’t name nor grab, no matter how hard he tried to.

“It’s funny,” Anatole said, a knot in his throat. “I did not expect you to be as lonely as I am. I never allow myself to admit it out loud, let alone in front of someone else. Yet here I am.”

“You already know I won’t do things whatever way. I want to find justice, and I do not believe justice lies in a hanging. You are right, your position is unique, but it’s also risky,” Anatole paused to take the Countess hands in his. His next words came from the same unknown place as they did all those times he felt compelled to speak, though they were much kinder this time: “When we know something is not right, we do not settle. People like us, whatever that means, were not thrusted into the world to settle. Power wielded without reason, without justice, without kindness, without knowing the subject you must serve will always lack. I will not tell you what to do, you are capable enough, Countess, to figure that out on your own, but I will tell you this, as a friend: truth is the only thing worthy to be built on, and when we find that truth we plant ourselves in front of whomever dares us to move and we say they move. The truth can’t lead you astray, as unpalatable or hard to accept as it might sometimes be.”

Out of all the things he expects the Countess to tell him that he’s sweet is not one of them. He’ll take it.

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Just between you and me… I think Count Lucio had a lot of enemies, too. Alone in his bedroom, having returned from exploring and chatting around with her, Portia’s words swirled around him, letters formed by a light orange haze, forming and evaporating in front of his eyes. Portia’s words came from rumours but they were enough to cast reasonable doubt about what might have transpired that night. It was kind of her to look after Anatole, so the least he could do was to take her words to heart. 

Originated in rumours or not, Portia was right. 

Going out with her was as strange as it was enlightening. He was sure the Chef, Hestion, had said something to Portia along the lines of how he expected Anatole to remember his way around the kitchen, only he had called him ‘Secretary Radošević’. Perhaps it had something to do with the investigation, but it made Anatole feel odd. 

The servants in the Veranda had been very welcoming, but almost too welcoming and he was sure he had caught a couple of them speaking about him —not as if this was his first time in the Palace, but as if this was him returning to it. Speaking of returning, someone had congratulated him for becoming the main investigator for the case and how it was nice to have him back. Ignoring the way his vision splotched as best as he could, Anatole had only thanked them and turned back to Portia feeling lost and ill. 

Normally, Anatole paid no mind to out of place comments. If someone demanded something of him he couldn’t remember, he tried to remove himself from the situation as fast as possible, but these felt different, the words staying with him even though his and Portia’s nightly adventures had finished. 

What weighed him down the most, though, was the Countess wanting him to join them for the announcement tomorrow. It made sense, but he had a terrible feeling about it.

Antupillán was nowhere to be found. Anatole hoped that he had a good reason to be missing at a time like this. 

#the arcana #the arcana mc #the arcana oc #the arcana apprentice #julian devorak #doctor devorak #the arcana julian #julian the doctor #julian the arcana #nadia satrivana #countess nadia #the arcana nadia #nadia the arcana #portia devorak #pasha devorak #portia the arcana #the arcana portia #count lucio #antu the raccoon #aelius anatole #apprentice anatole #my writing

[shibarirobot]

Aizawa Fic - CH2 - Entrapment

+18 Only SFW (for now)

Shouta Aizawa x Villain!OC/Reader (?)

CH1

Above is the link to the first chapter that I wrote for this fic. Please read that one first if you havent, but I’ll give a quick summary anyways.

The main character is a villain holding up a bar that seems to have shady activites being facilitated out of it. Their crew is indisposed at the moment. Eraser Head has just shown up. - That’s basically all. Also their quirk has to do with electro magnetic frequencies.

(italics are other characters thoughts)

Enjoy!~

I suck in a breath behind parted lips. I wasn’t expecting this. I know I should be sweating. Someone who won't easily fall prey to my cerebral attacks, but instead I can't help the trace of a smile on my face. A real smile. I might actually get hurt here. Neither of us speak for an extended moment as we assess each other. I’m watching the black hair floating around his head and framing his furrowed brow, when I notice something about myself, the ringing has stopped. The pulse behind my eyes, the one that never stops, has vanished completely. There is a void in my head where the tangle of noise and thoughts had once lived. I’m taken aback and that's all he needs to launch at me. Jumping at me and shooting his capture weapon out to grip my limbs at the same time.

I don’t get the foreboding sense that I usually have, nothing to predict his movements. He’s in my face quicker than I could have imagined, but I’m still quick enough to throw myself backwards immediately. My back hits the wall and it seems as if I’m cornered. A helpless animal caught in a trap. The hardened scarf around his neck didn’t have the chance to grip onto me, yet the material still nicked into the skin at my wrists, drawing warm blood to the surface. I hiss, but am otherwise unfazed. Blood is blood. Nothing I haven’t seen before. My weapon however, skitters to the ground, out of my reach. I look into his eyes, so close and draw my knee up quickly, connecting it with his chin and kicking him away in two quick movements. I don't have much upper body strength, but I have a practiced kick style that works for me when I do have to fight, hence the weighted boots, helps with impact. For the most part I don’t have to use it. My quirk takes care of most of my hero encounters. But this is no encounter, this is a battle with Erasure Head. 

Eraser Head stumbles back slightly, but quickly regains his footing, shifting and lunging at me once more. I push myself off the wall at an angle, hoping to dodge past him to the left, but he’s too fast. His scarf snakes out to the side and wraps up, around my calf. I slam to the ground and grunt, the wind knocked from my lungs. Fuck, I think I heard a crack. I wheeze and roll to my side, pushing myself back onto my feet with one hand. He’s ready for that though. The scarf wrapping around my neck and holding me in the air. I'm completely at his mercy and I can feel my rib throb, I definitely broke one of them. My smirk is back, teasing myself at this precarious situation. My fingers come up and slide across the hard material protruding from my throat, languidly stroking back and forth. “You like choking me?” His glowing eyes widen for half a second, but his face remains hard, barely letting me know he’s affected. “You do, don’t you?” He breathes slowly, air pushed out of this decompressing lungs. “Yeah. You do.” I say it matter of factly. It’s a statement. He likes choking me. “Choke me harder.” As soon as the last syllable rolls off my tongue the scarf squeezes tight, actually blocking my blood flow, but not crushing my windpipe, it’s so hot. I moan. I don’t mean to really, it's just so right. I close my eyes and let the light, airy feeling of oxygen deprivation wash over me, the smirk still plastered on my face, resigning myself to being captured. 

That’s when it happens, all the pain that had fallen from my head comes crashing back to me, the roar of noise that had grown normal immediately etching away the placid contentment that had taken me just moments before. I scream back to life and force myself into his mind, my feet falling back to the ground as my eyes slowly open again, tears leaking down the side. It had been so quiet. He’s leaning against the wall, eyes screwed shut. I wanna fry his brain, screw him up so bad that he’ll never form coherent sentences again, but then I look at him for real. His hair is playing across his painstricken face and I just wanna reach out and rub my hand across the scruff on his jaw. I want to feel him. He’s the only reason the pain has ever stopped. An urge like the one with the necklace, one I can’t ignore because it comes to me so quickly, raptures my body and I slide my hand up his neck and onto the side of his face. His eyes are still closed as he focuses on staying upright against the wall. My thumb trails over his bottom lip and even I’m stunned at how bold this feels. I lean up close to him, my chest inches from his, and whisper near his neck. “For the record, I liked it too.” I push off the wall and run out into the alley, sprinting towards the street, desperate to get into a crowd and disappear. 

A tingle runs down my spine. He’s chasing me. My cheeks tighten as I smile wider. I must be important if he’s abandoning the room full of citizens and a slumped hero to chase after one villain. I've barely even made a name for myself. My reputation must be growing quickly if they’re this persistent. I flick my wrist out, using a street lamp to swing myself around, facing the direction I had just been running from. If I keep running, he’ll capture me. I know I’m fast, but Eraser Head is so much faster. I see a flash of white and spring sideways, his capture weapon tunnels into the asphalt where I had just been standing. My eyes widen, that would have gone straight through me if I hadn’t moved. I whip my head in his direction, or in the general direction of where I assume he would be considering the angle at which the scarf shot at me. “Hey!! That could have killed m-“ I am unprepared to see him right in front of my face, dropping from the roof overlooking the alley, he had been above me the whole time. My words are cut off as a hard fist makes contact with the side of my jaw and I’m thrown into the brick wall next to me with so much force my eyes cross a little. Damn, I must have really pissed this fucker off. A quiet, involuntary groan pushes itself from my lungs, bringing me back to my surroundings and I can feel that damn capture weapon coiling around my body and squeezing me tightly. I’m bound and unable to move, but it’s not painful, like being caught in a hug by someone a little too excited to see you. I wiggle a little, knowing it’s in vain, then let my head fall to the side, resigned. 

He still has me facing the wall, but I can feel his presence behind me. The noise has gone again and I know that means his eyes are glued to me, I feel suddenly vulnerable. I feel his body warmth behind me, the only indication that he’s close to me, he doesn’t even have a smell. My head lulls to the other side and I giggle deep in the back of my throat when I feel long, adept fingers tangle into the hair at the back of my neck. He spins me in his arm and now I’m staring into his glowing eyes. He’s so close, so close and all I want to do is roll my body against his. I’m not sure why, but I’m so drawn to him, so enamored by the cruelty he shows toward me. My hips buck on their own, trying to get closer to him. My body is still wrapped up tight, so I barely move, just enough for him to see my motive and the grating hunger behind my eyes. He still hasn’t said a word and it feels like my lungs are on fire, not wanting to breathe and break the moment, our eyes are locked together and I swear I see something in them. Something changes, like he stopped looking through me and finally sees me for the first time. That… something vanishes as quickly as it came and he’s looking at me like a villain again, a low down scumbag. 

His flat hand comes speeding at me from thin air and there’s a loud, hollow ‘smack’ that hangs in the air as my cheek blooms with pain. Ow. He just hit my face. I wasn’t prepared for that and I release a mewl that sounds utterly ridiculous, so needy and weak. This is not me, I don’t beg anymore, I take. I can’t start begging for this man in a back alleyway, even if I can feel my body warming from my core. He slaps me again, softer time, just to get my attention. “Who do you work for?” His voice is low and threatening. A chill runs down my spine and settles below my stomach, landing in a strange place that prompts me to wet my lips and stare into his eyes even more intensely. 

‘Who do you work for?’ He asks. He doesn’t know. That’s good at least, the pros don’t know. They know nothing about me or my motivation. They must not even know why I’m here. I pocket that information and smirk again. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Eraser?” It’s a question, but rhetorical. He just grunts and hits me again, still not very hard, but forcing me to blink a few times as my eyes refocus. “Hit me again.” He does, hard. I hadn’t expected him to listen to me. A real moan drops from my lips, one you would probably hear in an adult film, it's loud and sensual, ripping from my vocal box. “Fuuuuck. Maybe we should fight more often.” My tongue slips out to lick my lip and I watch his eyes follow the trail of saliva that it leaves on my flesh. His eyes darting to my lips, then back to my eyes, and down again. His hand raises, like he’s going to hit me again, but he stalls. I suck in a breath, tensing in anticipation for the slap, it doesn’t come. It does, however, wait until I have unclenched my jaw, hurling at the swelling flesh faster than the first one did. That one really does something to me because my neck can no longer hold my head up, I feel like a bobble head as the only thing keeping my eye connected to his is the hand fisted into the nape of my neck, gripping the hair there so tightly I’m surprised it hasn’t been ripped out of my head. He asks me again. 

My eyes refocus, taking longer than it did last time to make his facial features clear. I’m about to tell him to fuck off when I see something just past his right shoulder. About damn time. My eyes flicker back to his face with a knowing smirk back on mine and he looks behind him in time to see a bald man with bat wings drop down into the alley with us. He has tattoos scrawled over every inch of exposed skin and a simple wife beater on. “I didn’t get your signal, looks like I was right to drop in.” He says it casually, like he’s just a friend stopping by my apartment for lunch, giving no indication that we're actually in the middle of a back alley brawl. The ringing in my skull is still vacant as Eraser Head evades this winged man’s attacks. He must still be looking at me somehow, but it seems impossible while he’s bouncing around the tight space between two brick walls. I’m behind him. “Stay still!” My getaway yells at Eraser Head, as if telling him to do so would actually make it happen. That's when I see the mirror, one for trucks to see around corners, that's how he’s still looking at me. I can barely move, but I can still reach my pocket and pull a tiny silver marble out. I keep it there to play with when I can feel my anxiety rising. I roll it between my fingers for a moment, loving the way it glints off the sun and reflects the colors around it, then flick it straight towards the mirror. The battle in front of me doesn’t stop as they try to hit each other, both stellar at evasive maneuvers, but it comes to a spectacular halt as the glass shatters and I’m released from Eraser Head’s hold. My splitting headache tears through me again, but it doesn’t throw me off like it did before. I’m ready for it this time. 

Eraser drops to one knee, trying to push himself back up with the one arm on the ground below him. I lessen the frequency that I’m forcing into his brain and his shoulders relax a bit, not enough to let him stand, but enough that I know he’s paying attention to me now. I reach one hand out and push his long hair to the side, it's softer than I expected and there are small, loose curls here and there, mixed in with the overall weft of waves that tumble from his head. It’s beautiful. I lean down, pressing my body against his, my chest flush to his back and his shoulders tense up again, as if I’m hurting him. I run my fingers through the soft hair at the base of his neck again and press my lips to the side of his throat. “I can’t wait to see you again.” I breathe in one more time and drag my nails down the back of his neck, raising goosebumps, but now I actually do smell something. A slight scent of bergamot and… something else, faintly clinging to his neck. I thought he had no scent, but I was wrong and my nostrils flare. This man is hellbent on making me feral isn’t he? I let out a gravelly grunt from the back of my throat and instinctively sink my teeth into the skin playing at my lips, not hard enough to bleed, but leave a mark that will have people questioning what he does in his free time. 

When I pull away, the eyes of the bat man are focused on me, a pink twinge in his cheeks as if he had seen something he wasn’t supposed to. 

Lucky bastard. That bite was so hot. My dick is getting hard. 

I scowl at him and walk towards his side of the alley, hooking my elbow around his neck and the other around his torso, fastening myself to his side. “Fly.” One word is all I say, black wings stretching to the side and propelling us up. 

Fuck. We’re touching. Fuck. My dick. Fuck. 

Reproachful. 

He falters and I look down at the ground below us. Eraser Head is still gripping himself in pain, but one eye is open and glowing, stalling my getaway. We start to drop, losing momentum. I stare down at Eraser Head and scream into him so loud he falls over immediately, barely catching himself on the wall and vomiting profusely. Our elevation is lifted again as we proceed with the getaway. “Faster!” I scream over the pressurized wind in my ears. We fly past at least a dozen buildings before landing on a tall rooftop. I drop to my feet and push off from the bat as soon as I can. What a vile creature. I look out over the city, feeling the flash drive still in my jacket pocket with my fingers. I know his eyes are on me, that stupid fucking bat. I can hear him, feel him. You would think people would be more careful with their thoughts. 

Wow. That ass. I saved that ass. That ass owes me. Just a feel. 

I reach out and grab his wrist just before his clammy hand touches my soft flesh. Never looking away from the sun starting to ride low on the horizon. “You have terrible manners.” I say slow and matter of fact. I can feel the panic in him, I can practically see the bulging of his eyes. “If you want to keep that hand, I suggest you leave right now.” I let go of his wrist, still looking out peacefully. Neither of us move for a moment and I start to think he will leave, but alas. 

Rude bitch. You owe me!

He reaches out, foregoing my ass and grabbing my hip, trying to yank me back towards him, but instead I spin, grabbing his shoulder and tossing him off the side of the building. We both know he has wings, he can fly, he’s unharmed and a cocky grin pulls his lips apart showing off his teeth. He would be handsome if he wasn’t an absolute prick. He starts to launch for me again when a cocky grin of my own appears on my face. His drops and suddenly so does he as I rip his brain in two, I don’t even try to make it easy on him. I crank up the frequency so high I'm sure I’ve passed dog whistle territory. We’re so high up all I can do is watch him plummet, falling so quickly to the concrete below us you would think he’s a magnet. Then I think to myself, and make it happen. I magnetize him and the ground below the surface, he falls faster, hitting the ground like a meteor, creating a crater in the street so deep the ground shakes and pipes burst. People on the street start to look up and I take that as my cue to disappear. 

Thank you for reading! Hopefully you liked it? Enough to leave a note? Reblog? Comment?

lol anyways...

I will be updating this shortly, within the next couple of days. Thanks again!

CH3

#mr aizawa #aizawa x reader #bnha shouta aizawa #aizawa shouta #my hero academia #my hero fanfic #my hero x reader #bnha x reader #bnha oc #this is starting to get into my kinks #dw it will get so much worse #semi insprired by bound by aizawa on ao3 #read that shit

[jemej3m]

losing your wedding ring and other hostage situation things

im having way too much fun, you will have to pry this au from my cold, dead hands 

two birds, one stone, lets GO

(tw for: violence, hostage situations, mention of recreational drugs, a bit of swearing, neil being a mouthy ass mf, mild stabbings)

*

Andrew had been having such a good day. 

Those were rare to come by: some form of disaster usually appeared, if not by mid-morning, then by lunch. A perp that was too handsy; an elderly woman shouting tireless angst at Andrew over not being able to find her precious, street-rat looking cat; a stack of overdue paperwork from the nightshift fuckers who were the worst people to exist ever. 

No: instead, Neil had woken him up with a tray of hot coffee, chocolate croissants and strawberries for their anniversary celebration (not that either of them had mentioned it), kissed the crumbs away from the corner of his mouth and lead Andrew into the shower with that damned smile of his. 

He’d driven Andrew to work (something about Allison holding down the fort), which meant Andrew didn’t have to commute and deal with the general public, or figure out where to park for half an hour. It was coming dangerously close to their rule of ‘don’t talk about work’, but Andrew couldn’t complain when Kevin had been too busy to scrutinise him upon entry to the bullpen. 

He and Renee had cracked a decent case, a burly dealer with a ‘Nittany Lions’ emblem tattooed across her collarbone had been shut away for being the primary distributor of a lethal strain of methamphetamine, and there hadn’t been a queue in his favourite subway corner store at lunch time. 

Wymack had stuck his head out of his office at about half-past two, with a quirk to his eyebrows. “They’re requesting backup at a shootout situation, up north. Change out.”

Andrew, who had just been getting slightly bored signing neighbourly complain forms, took this in his stride. Renee smiled at him as they left, always knowing more than Andrew ever let on. He hated being known at first, but years with Neil had tempered that discomfort, and having someone who knew what he needed when he couldn’t express it wasn’t half bad. 

He cut over Kevin’s music in the patrol car and let the windows down, siren tolling. There were no deaths on the scene as of yet - and Andrew had a feeling there would be none. 

It seemed as though there was where his good luck had run out for the day. 

Upon exiting the car, protocols had been adhered to, blocks were canvassed, civilians were removed, and Andrew found himself squatting behind a crumbling brick wall, Dan and Matt ahead of him, Kevin and Renee behind him. 

Dan looked around the doorway, signalled clear, and so they skirted into the small courtyard. The house in question had been the location for the shooting: how Andrew and the rest of his team had found themselves in the infiltration force was another issue entirely. 

“Sargeant, everything’s gone quiet, what’s happening?” Wymack demanded. 

“House is looking clear -” a distinct thud and Dan’s disgruntled “Oof!” had Andrew drawing out his gun once more. 

“Guns down,” came a strained voice, stepping out from behind the door with a gun held to Dan’s head. He had a ski-mask on. “Everyone put your guns down, or she dies.”

For fuck’s sake, Andrew thought, slowly crouching down and putting up his hands. Matt’s entire body was shaking, but he followed suit, Kevin and Renee copying him. 

Three men appeared: one grabbed Matt, another grabbed Kevin, whilst a third went for both Renee and Andrew. The glint in Renee’s eyes said it well enough: it wouldn’t do these fuckers well to underestimate either of them. 

But Dan still had a gun to her head, and Andrew was in no business of letting decent people die because he didn’t play along, so he let himself be shuffled into the basement of the house: there, he was shoved against one of the old, wooden pillars and tied up, hands behind his back. The rope burned against his skin. 

“Body in the corner,” Renee whispered, nudging his foot with hers. “Stripped, two bullet holes in the head. Look, you can see the Butcher cross on the back of their hand. It has to be a Bearcat.”

Andrew stared at the Butcher’s mark. His husband’s father had once liked to mark his loyalists with two gashes on the back of their hand, often with his favourite cleaver. Neil said he’d left similar marks across his father’s eyes when he’d finally brought him to his knees. The corpse in the corner had to be an older member of the Wesninski gang: Neil had changed a lot of things since inheriting his father’s syndicate. 

Gang violence was never great, nor simple, but perhaps a man who was loyal to Nathan Wesninski was better off dead. 

“Quiet!” one of the men barked, kicking Renee in the side of her head. Andrew grit his teeth as her head whipped back against the wall. 

“Search ‘em,” the other said, crouching by Dan. Identification, a spare twenty, her gun and taser and baton were all removed. When she tried to head-but him, he decided to gag her and tie said gag to the beam she was shoved against. He checked her hand for an engagement or wedding ring, of which neither Dan nor Matt ever wore during their shifts. Matt, Kevin and Renee went through the same thing, radios and guns and spare cash filched from their pockets. 

Then it was Andrew’s turn. He coiled up as soon as hands were on him, gritting his teeth. He hated sitting like a victim. He hated waiting around to be rescued. He would be able to cut through this rope somehow if he was just given a minute, but instead he was enduring hands across his arms and shoulders and back, down his legs. They didn’t find the knife in his boot - something he’d copied from Neil - but one of their fingers did catch on the silver chain around his throat. 

His eyes closed as they pulled it out. 

“Ha,” the crook sneered, snapping the silver chain and holding up Andrew’s wedding band. “Who’s the lucky girl? Doesn’t matter, I s’pose, if you never see her again.”

“You’re married? Since when!” Kevin remarked, and got a knee in the ribs for good measure. 

Andrew watched the man pocket his wedding ring and sighed. He’d have a hell of a lot of explaining to do to Neil when he got home. Hopefully his husband wouldn’t go out on a spree for vengeance just to get the ring back. Worse would be if he decided to go teaching everyone not to touch his family. 

For a few moments, the men left them alone, stomping around the house and yelling for good measure. They’d taken Dan’s radio to lay down their terms: they were no doubt in the midst of negotiation. 

“I went to the ceremony,” Renee offered in the strained silence. “It was very sweet.”

“Shut up, Renee.” Andrew muttered. 

“It’s their anniversary, today,” she added. 

He glared at her. “I hate you.” 

“What a way to spend it,” Matt murmured, looking to Dan, who was still gagged. He looked back to Andrew. “We’ll make sure you get back home to your...partner?”

“Husband.” Andrew confirmed, then mentally cursed himself for giving away such needless information whilst in a dusty basement, held hostage by some randoms who had already murdered one member of said husband’s gang. Instead, he shuffled his feet around to Renee. 

“I’ve got a knife,” he said, like she didn’t already know. He just didn’t want the others to see Renee trying to take off his shoe with her teeth when he’d just mentioned that he has a husband. She nodded, leaning down to pull at his laces, then tugging off his shoe with her knees. The knife skidded out: she kicked it back to Andrew, who flicked it into his hands. She shuffled around so that her ropes were accessible to him, and he got to work sawing. 

It only lasted thirty seconds before the men thundered back down stairs: Renee sat on the knife after Andrew dropped it to the floor. 

“They need a little more motivation,” the burliest one sneered, stomping over to Dan. “How about you, sarge?”

“You’re making a mistake,” Renee said, calmly. “I’m sure that if everyone walked free right now, we’d be able to figure something out. It doesn’t have to end badly.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snapped. “God, you’re annoying, aren’t you? Not everything’s so simple, pig.”

“No,” a new voice agreed. “It’s not. But you could’ve at least cleaned this place up a bit before you made such a scene.”

“What the fuck,” the ringleader managed, just as two men dropped to their knees, hands to their stomachs. Two new figures stepped into the basement, dressed similarly. Both wore black jeans and sweaters, though one was a hood tugged firmly over their head, a bandana over their nose and mouth, whilst the other wore a ski-mask with a singular window for the eyes, long hair tucked up into a twist under the wool. 

The shorter figure’s blue eyes sought Andrew out immediately: he gave the man a quick nod. I’m alright. 

Those eyes burned like the ninth circle of hell. Instantly, Andrew knew he was safe. 

“The fuck is this?” the man said, just as another knife buried itself into the chest cavity of his third ally. “Hold on, hold on - are you repping Wesninski? How the fuck did you get here -?”

“Learn your place, Gorilla,” the shorter one said, spinning a knife around on his fingers. His counterpart - and if Andrew didn’t know it was Allison, he would’ve still been able to tell she was a woman - busied herself tying up the other three that were moaning on the floor. Gloved hands, double layered but still deft. Andrew grabbed the knife that was under Renee and kept sawing at her closures. 

“You don’t mess with a Wesninski, nor his people.” the knife was slowly raised to ‘Gorilla’s chin, just as gloved fingers reached into the crook’s pocket and drew out a small, silver band. “Too predictable with your trophies, Hawking. Dumped again?” 

The man - who was more than a foot taller than their savior and definitely double the width - roared with fury, raising up his hands. He was too late, his body slumping with a pinch to the back of his neck. 

The woman looked over to the corner, where the body was dumped, and sighed. “You weren’t the worst, Richie.”

“Definitely bad timing, A.” the man said, hopping over the unconscious body of his rival to lean over Andrew: the others looked on with intrigue as the mysterious man slipped Andrew’s wedding ring into his front pocket. 

“Go,” Andrew muttered from out the corner of his mouth. Only Renee would be able to hear. “We’ll be fine.”

“Love you,” Neil whispered back. Not a moment later, he was gone. 

“We’re we just saved by a Wesninski gang member?” Kevin wondered aloud. 

Not just any gang member, Andrew thought. Kevin would shit himself if he knew who was under that mask. 

“Stranger things have happened,” Matt said, though he was unsure. At that point, Andrew had cut Renee’s ropes free, and she set to work unbinding them all. 

Wymack was the first into the basement, fury scrawled across his scraggly brows. “Is everyone - Christ.” He looked to the four men on the floor: three stabbed and bound, still alive and writhing in pain, and one unconscious, jaw at a bad angle from where he’d fallen over. “Do I even want to know what happened?”

“I don’t think you’d believe us if we told you, sir,” Renee said, sweetly, as she cut Dan’s gag free and helped her off the floor. 

Wymack simply rubbed at his temple with one hand, the other reaching for his radio. “Four stretchers. All threats have been disengaged. Stand down: everyone is safe.”

*

Andrew felt his phone buzz as he was stood behind his desk, packing things into his bag to head home. Hostage situation aside, it’d still been a good day. 

Home now - got more ice cream and borrowed Bridget Jones’ Diary from Ally’s collection

I hate you, Andrew texted back. Heading home now - i can detour and get Joe’s thai

no, Neil said immediately. i’ve already got food being delivered. need to see u home and safe. 

Andrew felt something warm in his chest. I’ll be there soon. 

He tucked his phone into his bag, and brought out the ring that he’d kept tucked into the pocket of his pants all day, seeing as the chain had been broken. Carefully, he slid it onto his finger. It still fit, though he wasn’t sure why he’d thought that it wouldn’t. 

Across the room, Matt smiled, nudging Renee and gesturing to where Andrew had put on his wedding ring and was almost ready to leave. “The Monster has a husband.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Dan agreed, sidling up to the pair.

You barely know the half of it, Renee thought, watching her partner amble out of the bullpen, a fondness in her smile. 

*

wow. SOFT.

#andreil #mobster/cop au #butcher!neil #cop!andrew #neil josten #andrew minyard #i cannot believe i have written such a soft hostage situation #wow #all for the game #aftg #mobster neil #policeman andrew #jem writes

[shedontsmelltoogooddarious]

Jeepers Creepers fic: The hunted.

Tbh, these fics are rather scattered when it comes to order, but they really help me get back into writing and concentrate more on stuff. I'm also introducing an OC to the fics- he was originally from an original fic I was attempting to write.

The hunt for the Poho County slayer was on the rise as bodies began to pile. Tobbs knew the answer, but he had no explanation that wouldn’t cost him his job. He leaned back into his chair with coffee in hand, gazing at the board before himself filled to the brim with missing people.

It only fueled his motivation to continue his life long mission to bring the Creeper down. The door clicked open, walking in one of the Creeper’s former victims, and new officer of the police team.

“About time you got here.” Tobbs grunted, swiveling around to face a tall man wearing a pair of aviator shades and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He took a steady draw before blowing smoke into the air. “Doesn’t matter what time I got here, especially when you got the devil running loose.”

Tobbs couldn’t help but agree. He sat up suddenly and passed the man a large file. “Everything we know about it is in here, going back to when the town was first built.” 

Oscar took the file and flitted through it, coming face to face with the creature he encountered nearly twenty years ago. “So you’re telling me that this thing is still awake? Its supposed to be in the ground until two thousand and twenty-four.” He knew the legend, he knew the monster intimately. 

“That’s what we believed, especially when the fucker was tied up and dried out in Tate’s barn, but its been awake taking people nonstop.”

Oscar nodded, his cigarette hanging out in his lip as ashes fell. There was a mechanical whirr as his right hand took hold of a newer photo. Within it was the familiar figure, perched upon an overturned car, but this time it was occompanyed by two other figures. They looked similar to the creature, they were smaller…. “The thing got babies.”

Oscar muttered as Tobbs nodded. “That is why we need to get rid of it and fast, its making more of whatever the hell it is.”

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

Creeper had always known that the police were watching his back, despite the fact that he made every possible choice to cover his tracks. But now he couldn’t take anymore chances with his own children in the picture. More mouths to feed meant extra bodies to throw into the pile, despite the fact it had drawn more attention. 

He was supposed to be asleep.

Peepers tugged on his coat as she was covering her head, whimpering with the human tied down continuing to scream. He picked her up, holding the child on his hip as he grabbed one of his blades and held it to her. “Hey darling, if yah want him to stop then slice his throat, you kids are gonna have to learn how to solve your problems on yer own.”

Peepers slowly peered their head out of their arms as the Creeper was patient, handing her the knife as it gleamed in candle light. He smiled warmly as he guided her hand to a warm, stubbly throat. Its owner continued to scream with his throat raw. He made an attempt to jerk away, but the Creeper grabbed his skull and slammed it back down onto the thick wooden table. 

“Now you wanna go across the jugular veins, lemme show yah sweet heart.”

Creeper chuckled as the blade was guided to the area. He suddenly let go as the knife bit into the human’s skin. She had seen him do it before, many times in fact. When the screaming picked up once more, Peepers had enough as she slit the man’s throat with blood spraying up at her and Creeper. A sudden relief came over her with the screams ceasing, and her father sighing as he carried her to another part of the lair to clean both of themselves up.

Little did they know that the hunters would soon be the hunted. 

#jeepers creepers #jeeperscreepers #slasher fandom #slasher #the creeper #horror #slasher fanfiction #slasher fiction #fanfiction #horror fanfic #slasher writing #jeepers creepers fanfiction #slasher community #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writers #writing #horror fanfiction #slasher fic #fan fic

[kewltie]

His office door slams open and a familiar voice comes through the doorway. "Boss! There is a horde of children, a horde of them," Nagai gasps, "outside looking for you. What did you do?!"

Katsuki doesn't even look up from his paperworks. "Do half of them look like they will eviscerate you if you get within ten feet of the group?"

A beat, and then, "Well, yes," Nagai admits sheepishly. "The oldest girl had stared me down like I'm the scum of the earth and I'd never felt so emasculated by a child before."

Katsuki slides out of his seat and stands up. "Yea, those are my brats alright."

"W-wait, what?" Nagai squeaks, face running through a gauntlet of horror. "Yours? You mean as in yours-yours like they're your kids? You reproduce? How does that even work—?"

When Katsuki gives him a searing glare, Nagai has the grace to look apologetic even as he doesn't retract his words. "Do I have to go over basic sex education with you?" he seethes as he walks up to Nagai.

"Uh, no, sir," Nagai says, shaking his head rapidly like a wet dog. "It's just, well," he scratches his cheek, "we never saw you with anyone before. Half of us either thought you were celibate and just obsessed with your work, while the rest thought you were, um," Nagai looks like a deer in headlights, "impotent," he finishes in a rush.

Katsuki swats him in the back of his head. "Stop fucking gossiping with the interns."

"Sorry, boss," Nagai says with a grimace. "We're just surprise that you didn’t just have one but several secret children running around and nobody even had a clue."

"I didn't contribute to their genetics," Katsuki grinds out, because he’s tired of going over this, "but those brats are mine in every sense of the word."

"Oh," Nagai says, brows furrowing. He opens his mouth as thought to say more but quickly closes it when Katsuki shoves pass him and heads out of the door. But it's not long before he starts it up again. "I guess that would explain why they don't look like you at all."

"What clued you in, genius?" Katsuki says dryly. "Is it their white hair or grey eyes?"

"Well, one of them, actually have green hair and eyes instead," Nagai points out, which earns him another swat. "Ouch."

Katsuki roll his eyes. "Shut up, you fucking baby. You're made of steel."

"Boss, your fist of fury can blow a hole through steel, so yea, I'm concern," Nagai defends as they make their way from the back of the agency to the more communal area because Katsuki prefer to keep them far apart as possible. Privacy is valuable commodity that he wouldn’t spare for anything less than absolutely. “I’m actually extremely concern when your hand land on any part of my body."

Katsuki snorts. Fuck HR and everyone who thinks fear can't be a good foundation to a build a work relationship on. His subordinates need a healthy dose of fear to get motivated to do their fucking jobs.

Or else they become useless like this—he curses inwardly.

As soon as they step into the main open area of the agency, there's a cluster of front office personals, interns, and off-duty heroes crowding over several small figures.

Their voice drown out all other noises in the area.

"Are you the Boss' children?" someone asks.

"Where did you come from?" another presses.

"Who is your dam?" A curious excited tilt to their voice.

"Awe, you're so cute!" A coo.

"This isn't a daycare," Katsuki snaps, raising his voice above the crowd. "Get the fuck back to work. I don't pay you all to stand around and do nothing." A series of whine escape but they quickly disperse back to their corner, but he can still their heavy gazes on him. Noisy fuckers.

"Um, I'll just go do something over there then," Nagai says, making a run for it before Katsuki can bite his head off also. Katsuki sighs, feeling a throb stirring in the back of his head. He turns his attention the real source of his headache—three menacing little shits.

They make quite a scene. Like pretty dressed up dolls, standing closely together with held hands as they present a united front against the world. Hikaru, protectively bookend by his older sisters, is wearing a baby blue hoodie with rabbit ears and white pants. It's fucking precious. If Hikaru is supposed to soften the world up for the slaughter then his sisters go right in for the kill. Yuko carries herself like a queen in her red laced dress, mary jane shoes, and a black beret on top of her head. Close by Akira doesn't settle for second best either. She has on a Ground Zero team jacket on with a GZ baseball cap on her head, a another GZ piece of merch on her feet adorned in his signature colors, and a plaid skirt around her hips. The brats are out in style.

It's an overkill, but fuck do they look good doing it.

Ironic, though, that Izuku can barely dress himself, but he always makes sure the brats look good enough to kill when they go out. No wonder they always catch attention no matter where and what they do. A sense of pride sweeps over him, because, yea, they're his brats too.

"Numbers," Katsuki greets them with a short wave.

"Kacchan," they say in unison. Yuko in her cold, detached tone. Akira chirps it excitedly. And Hikaru's voice is soft and sweet. They drop hand so Hikaru can wave shyly at him, because his sisters are too cool for that shit.

Hikaru quickly breaks rank and slams right into Katsuki's leg. "Hi," he murmurs, looking up at Katsuki with warmth eyes.

"Yo," he says back, bending down to lift Hikaru up and holds him over his hip. "What you monsters doing here?"

"Delivering Papa's bento to you!" Akira informs him.

A chorus of oohs and aahs echoes throughout the space. Katsuki snaps his neck toward the noise and glares at them to quite frankly shut the fuck up as Hikaru tucks his head against Katsuki's chest. Unlike his older siblings, Hikaru doesn't fair well under the spotlight.

"Papa requested that we bring your lunch to you," Yuko explains, words carefully enunciated and poised as though they can be pluck off of her tongue. Yuko always come off much older than she really is and maybe that's the burden of being the first born. All the responsibility and pressure, but none of the advantage. She got three younger siblings behind her and another on the way; she can't relax at all. There's an air of unapproachability around her that is indifference to the world but doting to her younger siblings and dam.

Katsuki and Yuko aren't close compare to the rest of the numbers, but a mutual respect is share between them. He's the one providing her family with a roof over their head and food on the table, and she holds her tattered family together with nothing but sheer determination.

She's good girl; Izuku had raised her right.

Yuko looks pointedly at a wrapped bento box that had been tucked to her side the whole time. "He made mentaiko for you since he’d said you like it."

"His first time too!" Akira adds with a grin.

Yuko scowls, bumping her sister shoulder. "Don't tell him that!"

Hikaru lifts his head up and leans closely to Katsuki's ear. "I’d tasted it earlier," he makes a face, "and it's not very good," he confesses, hush and guiltily like a prisoner on deathrow. “I didn’t like it at all.”

"Hikaru, you traitor!" Akira snaps as Yuko drops her face into her hand in exasperation. “Don’t go exposing Papa’s secret!”

"You shouldn't be yelling at him when you're just as bad," Yuko accuses.

Akira huffs. "I would never say anything mean about Papa!"

"It’s always you and your big mouth," Yuko seethes as thick black tendrils crawl to the surface of her skin like living tattoos. "This is where Hikaru had picked his bad habits from. "Inky shadows seeps from her feet and spread across the floor, pooling beneath her as several pointed pillars rise from it.

"You're so bossy, nee-chan!" Akira narrow her eyes, spread her stance, and raises her fists, lips curling in a sneer. "Maybe someone should teach you a lesson instead."

"Fucking hell," Katsuki grumbles, stepping forward to get between them. "Hey, hey, cut that shit out, you brats."

He slightly nudges Hikaru in the back to help him out and Hikaru, who is clearly the best child ever, begs urgently, "Yuko-neechan, Akira-neechan, please don't fight."

Yuko draws in a long breath before closing her eyes, finding that zen within her as the inky black tendril recedes back into her body. "I apologize for such an uncouth display," she says coolly, opening her eyes. It's a calm pool of grey once more. "That was rude of us."

Akira relaxes her tense muscle and drops her fighting stance. "Sorry," she says chagrin, but not completely appeased because despite being the only quirkless individual among her overpower siblings, Akira has enough gutso and blind bravery to fight anyone and everything. Sometimes even her own siblings. It's one of her worst and best qualities; she just doesn't know her own limit. "We'll be good now."

"Don't bullshit me, no. 3," Katsuki scolds. "You four exist just to drive me to an early grave."

Akira grins, rocking back on her heels. "But you loooooove us anyway."

"God, knows why," he says, pulling a disgust face at himself because fuck him does he love these little shits and all their complicated neurosis and hang-ups.

"And we all love you too," Hikaru adds, because he’s the best kid .

"Some of us do," Yuko corrects with an up turned nose, because praise from drawing blood from stone. “I may have accepted him, but doesn’t mean he is our father yet.”

Akira's head snaps to her sister as she opens her mouth to give another vicious barb, but just before that Katsuki quickly cuts in: "Okay, just tell me where are Deku and no. 2 first. I'm sure he didn't come alone and I already miss no. 2's death glare drilling a hole in my head."

Kouki’s zero tolerance for anyone’s bullshit, even his siblings, would be fucking awesome right now.

"Oh, Papa is outside waiting for us," Akira says as Yuko frowns beside her. "And Kouki-niichan is with him to make sure no alpha harassed him."

"What the fuck," Katsuki says, annoyed and beyond confused. "Why don't they just come in with you instead of sending just you brats?”

"Papa's shy," Hikaru whispers in his ears. "He doesn't want to bother you or cause you problem at your work place if he were here."

"You guys aren't mate or married so it would improper for him to visit you without causing sordid rumors," Yuko argues.

"And the fact that you three are here, isn’t either?" Katsuki demands dryly, gesturing to the three menace wrecking a havoc in his agency and the ears and eyes that had been training on them since their appearance here.

Yuko grimaces as Akira gives a sheepish smile.

"Mad, Kacchan?" Hikaru asks, mouth drawn tight as his voice quiets out.

"No," Katsuki answers, pinching Hikaru's cheek. "I'm actually fucking stoke." He turns to the other two and orders, "No. 3, go get Deku and no. 2 and tell them to get their ass in here."

Akira’s eyes light up and she grins. "Yes, sir." She salutes him and runs off.

"Here is what’s going to happen when Deku and no. 2 get here: we'll go to the lounge, grab a table, and you're all going to watch me eat your Papa's shitty food and hope I don't fucking get food poison, alright?" Katsuki tells the remaining two as Yuko makes a face and Hikaru giggles in his ear.

#bakudeku #stepdad au #series: numbers #or how alpha prohero!bakugou took in the widow of supervillain and HIS HORDE OF KIDS #fic snippet

[plague-of-insomnia]

You can't imagine how I'm so happy after reading that chapter 8 is coming soon 😭😭😭

Hey, anon! Seeing this ask last night made me super happy! I’ve been having a bitch of a time with this last chapter bc of how I’ve been feeling, but this gave me extra motivation to get the last few scenes done...! So I’m getting closer. Can’t give a date yet (especially bc I don’t think @luci-on-the-moon has done any art for this chapter yet? My memory is atrocious though), but I’m really hopeful it’ll be this month, shooting for sooner rather than later. I was able to do a lot of work today (yay) so that made some good progress!

Here’s a little treat to tide you over:

“You have quite the little treasure here, Joker-san,” Tamayashi said, switching to English. “Tanaka-san was one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen. I would love to see his student in action.”

“A demonstration?” Joker asked with a thoughtful frown. Especially while keeping his subservient posture, Sebastian couldn’t see his boss well enough to read his thoughts.

“After all, a guest must be entertained.” He gestured to his bodyguard. “Kodomo-kun, you will be his opponent. If our host has no objections.”

Joker must have been able to see through the fucker’s false deference, but he wasn’t an idiot. Last thing they needed was a war with the Yakuza. If Kintama-sama (“Mr. Balls,” Sebastian had decided to call him in his head) wanted a fight between them, Joker had to agree. “You heard him, Luci. Give him a show. Keep it clean. First to a submission is the winner.” Lowering his voice, he said so only Sebastian could hear, “You get blood on my carpets or ruin this deal and I will kill you myself.”

Sebastian smirked. Joker’s threat was hollow, but he wouldn’t need to draw blood to take out the nameless ogre Kintama-sama had referred to simply as his child. The two opponents stepped into the open area in the center of the office, staring each other down.

The Yakuza bodyguard outweighed Sebastian by at least 100 pounds, probably more, and as the man slipped off his jacket, it was evident by how tightly the shirt clung to his arms and shoulders that weight was all muscle.

A normal man would have been terrified, even if this wasn’t a fight to the death, but Sebastian was far from normal.

The Yakuza got into a boxing stance, legs spread, fists raised. “One punch, okama,” he said like a promise, throwing a sample in the air.

Good. He’s an idiot. Fake fight or not, it was foolish to waste valuable energy posturing. Sebastian could use this to his advantage.

Setting his feet shoulder width apart, Sebastian rolled his neck, stretching as he took a few seconds to further study his opponent. Heavy and slow. Stupid. Piece of cake. Less than five minutes, and this would be over. He wouldn’t even break a sweat.

[Read Where Demons Hide] [My Ko-Fi] [Luci’s Ko-Fi]

#poi answers #anon #wdh

[olympus-summit]

rosabelle believe || Adelina (ft Evren) || RE: Mina, Leland ATTN: Leland

As Mina offers both her hand and her advice, Adelina scoffs inbetween her sobs. 

“Okay, centrist.”

She snorts - one part due to congestion all this crying has given her, one part a bitter sort of amusement.

“I - I refuse to grant your premise that it’s not your place to ask him to apologize for, you know, everything, but - whatever. I believe you are trying to help me. I do. Although you should not take that statement as credible whatsoever - after all, I believed in a man who told me he trusted me and I believed in a murderer who was just toying with me for his own amusement. So I do not have a history of accurately assessing motivations. But - I do believe you are trying to help me. I just think you’re doing a terrible job of it.”

Adelina had been harsh to Leland. She would not deny that - she is truthful in all regards. But jesus fuck, how was that relevant? How was this a both sides issue? He mocks her and goes along with this plan and treats her like garbage, but she pointed out that he is a capitalistic man who works exclusively for the rich, and suddenly it’s all a gray area.  

Gratefully, Evren comes along soon, and takes her away from the fire - burning like her heart. She sees how he is being destroyed by this awful man, and it makes the fire roar. Not only because she sees herself mirrored in him - ha, what irony! - but because that’s her fucking best friend. And he’s being hurt. She whispers something to him - too low to be heard - with a caring look, fighting through her own tears.

The discourse continues onward, but there’s one thing Leland says that makes her perk up…

“I - please forgive me for overlooking such an obvious detail. I was too busy having my entire trust and faith in a person completely and utterly destroyed that I - I forgot to truly process that  the entire point of this endeavor was to make it to some afterlife.”

“Well, I cannot truly grant such a premise. I’m a - a firm atheist, I better fucking be - no God I could worship would do this to me, but - ah, I digress. I still think - even if I don’t believe it would happen or work, I ought to take this time for some final words to Izar, just - just in case. I know you despise me oh-so-much, but please consider that you claim to care deeply for Evren. Now, Evren, may I ask for confirmation: you’d be fucking pissed if he denied to pass on my message due to his personal disdain for me, correct? It would actively cause you pain and suffering if he were to do such a thing?”

Evren just... nods. He'd do pretty much anything for Adelina at this point.

(It’s a mutual feeling.)

With that out of the way, Adelina returns her gaze to Leland. 

“Very well then. So you must pass on this message, you see, or - or else you’ll be hurting Evren. Your feelings on me are ire- they don’t matter, because of this. This is the message I would like for you to pass on:”

She takes a deep breath. And she begins.

[TW: Adelina uses some victim-blaming rhetoric on herself, at points implying it was her own fault for not noticing that Sol was a manipulative partner and that she was in an unhealthy relationship. Discussions of suicide (as it relates to doing so to end a motive, not Adelina wishing to commit it due to these revelations) are also present.]

“Your apology is not fucking accepted. Let us begin with that, Izar. At least you were able to say one correct thing in that pathetic mess of a postscript - you have not earned my forgiveness. You are correct.”

“Fucking - YOU PROMISED ME! YOU LOOKED ME IN THE EYES, YOU - YOU TOLD ME YOU’D TELL ME! Oh, I really am a complete idiot - I was so fucking easy to fool! Evren told me so, Antonio told me so - everybody told me that you were a charlatan, and yet I was a complete dunce. No wonder you chose me over Ms. Han. She’d never fall for any of this, she’d never play into your hand so easily. You promised me that if - if you were going to kill yourself - and ONLY if the motive was worth it - that - you’d tell me! We’d do it together, Izar! I was going to give you a wonderful last day, we - we were going to work together! You knew how much I hated being betrayed, lied to. You - you knew how deeply that hurt me. You fucking saw how I reacted to Elliott! How I was so completely torn apart from his deceit, from how personal it felt. And you saw all that, and-”

“I really can’t believe how - it always lies with you. And yet I believed them. Smart enough to graduate summa cum laude, dumb enough not to realize how pathetic her boyfriend thought she was. You seem oh-so-confident on this little plan of yours. I presume you have evidence, then? A reason to believe this gamble was worth it? Well, it would have been awfully helpful if you had some sort of loyal partner, who would do anything for you if presented with evidence that it was for the greater good. Such as bringing back deceased, almost! Almost as if she would have been a great pick!”

“But no, let me choose the man who hates our guts. You really do think so little of me, huh. Perhaps you were right. I’ve come all this way, and yet I keep failing and failing - if I wasn’t smart enough to see how you manipulated me so, maybe I’m just not smart enough to - to get your big plan of justice.”

“And then - oh, the cherry on top. We must go our separate ways? Why - you’re one cliche away from ‘it’s not you, it’s me’, you fucker! You were the one! You were the one who told me it was worth the risk. I would - I would have been happy to stay platonic. I could have accepted that. But you were the one who chose me, you were the one who convinced me to take the chance - take a chance on a man you claim is worthless, ha! And so what does it say of me, that - that you thought, even for a moment, that I was worth pursuing? That we’d make a good match?”

“Self-deprecation is a common tactic among people like - no, I can’t -”

And then she wails. She frantically pulls herself together.

“I just want somebody to tell me I’m stupid. That I’m putting all the pieces together wrong. That I didn’t just have my heart broken and that - that I wasn’t just - used and flung aside. That I didn’t just ignore all the telltale signs of emotional manipulation. That I didn’t just get out of an unhealthy relationship. That I didn’t just get out of it because the guy would rather cooperate with his enemy then with me. Please - am I making any errors? Is my rhetoric flawed? Do I employ any fallacies? I want somebody to tell me I am. Not you, of course, Izar - I would not fucking trust a single word that came from that deceitful mouth of yours. I want an unbiased source to tell me this. One that doesn't benefit from continuing to play with me.”

“Really, though it is - your apologies suck. They’re fucking awful. Zero credit. You talk the big talk - as you always do, your words were what got me, it was that fucking silver tongue of yours that made me such a fool - but you fail on any credibility. Your words ring hollow. You make yourself into a beautiful little martyr to excuse all of the harm you did.”

“When? When did you decide? I - oh god, of course I know. It was when you texted me to tell me that you had chosen me over Ms. Han. That was when you realized that I’d be easier. Ms. Han had a whole life - she had friends and family and the secrets event even showed that she had played tricks like yours before. Of course - of course, oh my god, this was right after that, wasn’t it? Of course! I’m such a goddamn oblivious failure! Of course that was when you realized it had to be me - Ms. Han would have caught on.”

“How much of it was ever real to begin with? Does it even matter? You - you could have fucking broken up with me. Like, in person, not like a coward. Instead of drawing this out so painfully. I would have still mourned for you, but - god. Sad? You can tell that I’m feeling sad? We’ve spent all this time together and the best descriptor you can come up with is sad?”

“Ah, but perhaps I am too harsh. After all, your previous data - which was quite numerous - did show that I would be swayed by such empty words in the past. I suppose it was your presence, truly, that was the key. It - it’s so fucking easy to be angry at you. It is! I am doing it very easily right now. I am exerting very little effort in channeling my rage. But I’m angry at the theoretical you, the - the one I’m communicating to that I don’t even think exists. But when you were there, and you looked at me like that, and you spoke to me, and…”

She sobs, because as she recounts, a twinge of warmth bursts within her, and she hates it.

“Well, you cannot seduce me over a postscript, I can tell you that much. Your luck is not needed - I will escape here all on my own. And I’ll tell the world. Do you think I won’t? Oh, I’ll be a laughingstock too - the entire world will point and laugh at the pathetic dumbass prick who fell for such an obvious ploy. I will continue to feel embarrassed - did you know this is one of the first times in over a decade that I’ve felt embarrassed, Izar? Embarrassed that I fell for such tactics? Congratulations, in that regard. Ah, but - it will all be worth it, because the truth will be out. And while they laugh at me, they’ll be scowling at you. They’ll despise you for this. Good.”

“And if this does all really work? If you manage to succeed? I don’t want to see your face ever again. You’ve lost your right to be in my presence.”

She pants, a little out of breath from all the talking, and then… she sighs.

“I think that shall be sufficient, as a message to pass on. Please remain as verbatim as possible.”

#chapter 5 #trial 5 #adelina #submission

[jeanstoppable]

17th & 18th OF OCTOBER

hop, step, jump

fuck your pride

(A/N: Fun fact! This oc is based on a dream of mine AND they exist on the same universe as Yelena/Yasemin, my villain oc. Now, buckle up cause it’s time for some Cyberpunk goodness.)

Supposedly, there’s an unspoken rule that whatever background you came from, rich or piss poor or somewhere in between, as long as you end up in the streets, you’ll always be at the bottom of the system. Unless you fight your way up---that is to say, if you survive the climb.

“Hey!” A voice called out from behind.

I stopped walking and peeked over my shoulder, expecting trouble that’s usually present around these parts to have finally found me and lo and behold, a bunch of ‘thugs’ were waiting at the entrance of the alley. Four people differentiating in sizes, three men and one woman, their dark silhouettes painted by the bright neon lights behind them were nothing short of intimidating. 

My eyes darted to the walls of the two surrounding buildings, measuring the distance between each window, the extending pipes and the height of both structures. Scalable. There was also that fire exit just ahead, I reminded myself as I mulled over what will happen within the next 10 minutes. 

A fight, no doubt.

I glanced at the floating holographic numbers on my wrist, taking into account the time and---the meeting that was about to start soon.

Escaping might be the more reasonable choice but...

I hate taggers.

Blowing out a rough sigh, I turned my attention back to the group who was now leisurely cruising towards me, wearing devilish grins and haughty gazes. Some of them were even cracking their knuckles while exchanging unashamed jabs about having first dibs grated on my ears---and my nerves.

Oh boy. Things are about to get interesting.

My lips curled into a snarl as I repressed the overwhelming urge to be the one to draw first blood. Instead, I focused on scrutinising them individually from top to bottom: their gadgets, clothes, bags, shoes. Anything of importance at all that I can lift and hopefully sell.

It only took a moment to finish the assessment, if you know how to estimate things from face value. 

After gathering enough information, I spun to fully face them, smirking provokingly as I loosened the straps of my bag, letting it hang on my fingers and then swinging it.

“Alright, assholes!” I whistled cheerfully before letting the venom bleed into my tone, “Whoever’s got first dibs, you’re up.”

Each of them looked taken aback for a second but then their expressions darkened, my words finally registering as insults, as they should, and then immediately charged forward.

I halted the swinging of my bag.

It was the slightly skinny man that approached me first, I figured he was the leader or something along those lines because he was the one barking the most---however… I narrowed my eyes and observed as the man tossed his shoulder back and aimed a fist at my face. I ducked to avoid it, then I tightened my grip on the straps of my bag and swung it to his side, hitting him square in the ribs----accompanied by a distinct crack and a metal clanking noise.

The man howled in pain as his body smashed into the wall to the left.

One down. Ignoring the groans, I stepped over the crumpled man’s legs and stared down the group with a raised chin. 

I huffed and then pointedly tilted my head at the others, “Next?”

The second one didn’t hesitate to attack, taking on the challenge. There was an enraged expression on his face as he reached forward with knees bent and back lowered while his arms went wide to try and trap me in a grapple. Seeing through him, I grabbed my bag with both hands, feeling the solid weight of the robotics inside, and rushed forward to match the man’s attack. 

Right before his arms would’ve caught me, I clutched the bag close and whacked it in his face, successfully causing him to lose balance. 

Taking advantage of this, I lifted a boot and launched a strike to his thigh, swiftly bringing him to his knees. Without a second to waste, I twisted on my heels to deliver the final kick to the side of his head, waiting for the satisfying thud of his body hitting the ground---

There was a blur of shadow to my right and before I knew it, excruciating pain bloomed in my stomach. 

The third came quicker than I anticipated, it was the woman, who didn’t wait for the fight to finish as she sneaked up on me and ruthlessly swung the bat directly to my gut. I hit the ground a second later after the previous guy did, landing on my ass hard. Fucking ouch. 

I shot a glare at the woman and within her grasp was the source of my injury, which was a goddamn light-up metal baseball bat.

“Bitch, don’t get ahead of yourself.” The woman hissed.

My blood’s boiling even more now. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold in the groan that was about to escape me as I willed myself to get up, slightly making it look like I’m struggling more than I actually was and then ripped off the mask covering half my face. 

Hook, line and sinker.

Puffing proudly, she took a step forward closer and was about to pitch another hit when I hastily seized my arms around her hips and forcefully pushed, knocking the woman off her feet as she fell backwards on the asphalt. I wasted no time to straddle her, trying to wrestle off the bat from the woman’s tight grip, but what the hell, she wasn’t letting go at all.

Letting out a frustrated growl, I took a hold of her collar, pulled it towards me, and then spat the blood that I’ve been purposely pooling in my cheeks in her face. 

As expected, she shrieked in shock and disgust, momentarily forgetting about the bat and easing her hold on it---

Now! 

Jumping into action, I snatched the bat, wrapping it around my fingers and drove its hilt straight to her forehead, knocking the woman unconscious as she slumped to the ground without any further hassle.

“Fuck...Goodnight to you.” I grumbled out, panting and breathing heavily before I steeled myself to glance at the last person left. 

“Okay, one more.” One more and then I’m fucking going home.

It was another man, his frame was slightly wider and larger than the others I’d beaten so far. He stood only a few meters away and I swear he hasn’t moved an inch since the beginning. Enjoying the show? I almost wanted to say but kept it in as I studied him a bit more.

So he’s the boss.

I slowly got to my feet, not taking my eyes off the man as I flaunted the newly acquired weapon to my side, the bat’s cool metal surface feeling quite nicely in my palm.

“Ready when you are,” I said with a raised brow and a cocked hip.

He regarded me for a few seconds, his face hidden in the shadows, before bringing up a hand to his right arm and surprising me by tearing away at the sleeve, the cloth ripping into ribbons to reveal---a bionic limb.

My gaze brightened. Bingo.

While he probably saw me dead, I saw him...as a means of profit. 

A smile took over my features, “That might sell a pretty penny,” I coughed out.

The man let out a savage cry as he shot forward, his robotic arm poised to strike and or grab. I counted his heavy footsteps as I prepared the bat and gripped it with both hands, waiting for him to get closer. 

Once he got near, I noticed traces of a smile dancing on his lips---Fuck, too late---and then his forearm suddenly popped off its socket. Those metal fingers soared and latched themselves around my bicep, squeezing painfully. I grit my teeth, thinking it would bruise later if he didn’t let up soon. 

But the man wasn’t done yet. His eyes glinted dangerously and pulled on the wire connecting the detachable limb to the rest of his bionic arm.

I panicked as I got yanked roughly by my bicep, “Shit…!” Cursing my luck, I tried hitting him with the bat but it lacked enough momentum to actually do damage. So he merely stopped the attack with his other arm and smacked the weapon out of my grasp.

I was being slammed into a wall the next second, a pained gasp slipping out of me whilst black spots swam in my vision, just barely registering the man’s words.

“Where’s that bravado now, huh?” The man sneered, bringing his face real close to mine.

I cringed at the distance, wishing I hadn’t taken off my mask earlier, and clutched him by the nape---then crashed my forehead against his. I knew it would take much more than a headbutt to release me but I only intended to disorientate him.

That small moment of distraction was all I needed to snake my free arm around my back as I grabbed something from the hem of my pants and pulled it out by its handle.

“Right here, fucker.”

I brandished the weapon in front of me and clicked on the switch, the buzz of electricity split the air as the stun baton hummed with power, producing small yet lethal blue sparks.

The man paled. I grinned.

Before he could protect himself, I arched the baton and jammed it into a narrow gap in his bionic arm. The reaction was instantaneous as those metal fingers involuntarily opened and dropped uselessly, the electronics inside malfunctioning. The man himself was in shock, never getting the chance to see the punch heading straight for his nose. 

I bitterly smiled whilst hearing a satisfying crack the moment my fist landed.

I shoved against his chest, pushing him back a couple of steps as he held his bleeding nose, “Y-you...you bitch...!” 

I stared at him, my expression impassive, and shook my head.

“This’ll fuckin’ hurt,” I say to him before zipping forward, baton ready to strike once more.

. . . 

It was the memories that motivated me, helped me get up in bed every single day, the reason for me to keep going and going---because they were the only permanent things I have left in my life. 

I tucked away the stolen bionic arm inside my bag along with the rest of what I managed to collect today. My eyes shuttered as I remembered a rather specific memory: my younger self and my father having multiple discussions about our extremely flawed society, still is, and the people who run the streets, making an adamant point about never stooping to their level. 

If only I knew back then how people, including us, will react when faced with complete desperation and defeat..

It was a lesson I had to learn quite painfully.

A merciless beating and almost bleeding half to death behind some old abandoned factory. 

“Fuck your pride.” They spat and then just left, taking off with my shit. Everything I owned.

That was 3 years ago. 

“Fuck my pride, huh...” I bit back darkly, “Might as well fuck everyone else’s too.”

I did one final sweep at the bodies littering in the alley before running towards the fire exit stairs, hauling myself up and up, the wound on my stomach burning by the time I made it to the building’s rooftop and just leaned against a wall to rest a bit.

Bzzt. Bzzt.

Without looking, I swiped a finger across my wrist.

It needed a few seconds for the transmission to go through and then a familiar scolding voice boomed in my ears, 

“Where the hell are you? The meeting’s about to begin.”

That damned meeting.

“...Can’t I just skip it?” I rasped, my voice sounding foreign even to me.

There was a pause and I held my breath.

“Get your ass over here,” the voice growled out and I resisted the urge to groan in defeat, “You’re not missing the meeting twice in a row.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m on my way.” 

. 

.

.

“...Is it okay if I’m a bit late?”

“Get moving.”

(A/N: AHHHH, I’M HAVING FLASHBACKS TO MY UNRELEASED TOKYO GHOUL FIC. Anyways, I kinda lowkey love writing action. I swear it’s because of the Cyberpunk theme in this. I hope ya’ll enjoyed this, I might want to expand more on this character’s lore, there’s tons to unpack, so be ready for that! ALSO IM LATE LIKE REALLY LATE SO YEAH PEACE)

#alkinktober #inktober prompt #myOC #myart #mywriting #cyberpunk oc #this spiraled out of my control i swear

[c0ffeebee]

noooo did tumblr seriously just send you a "feel better soon!"? There were FIVE LETTERS FROM THE ASK GAME IN THAT MESSAGE AFTER THAT. Urgh. Why does tumblr eat HALF an ask. Okay. Let's try again. Damn it. A, G, R, U, W and Y. I don't remember it that was the ones from this ask of the other I sent, but oh well

yeah, tumblr's a bitch like that TT but thank you for sending it again! 💙

A - Your current OTP(s)/OT3(s)/OTX(s)

well it's no secret that right now i'm mostly invested in kliego, sebjace, harlos, reylo and geraskier, so for now that's it

G - Do you remember your first OTP, if so who was in it

oh god, there were a lot of those even in my childhood, caleb and cornelia from w.i.t.c.h. is the first one that comes to mind, dimitri and anastasia also, but i'm sure there were others, and that was before i discovered fandoms, so for my first real in-fandom otp let's count jasperella, as in jasper and bella from twilight (yes i was weird like that) 

R - A pairing you ship that you don’t think anyone else ships

lol hello again twilight, riley and jasper, that's it, the most rear rear-pair i've ever shipped, which is no surprise because they have so much in common with sebjace it's crazy, and i mean i've read like two fics about them so i'm sure there's at least one other person that ships it, which is really surprising, the thing with that ship is when i was in twilight fandom i was a 15 year old repressed kid raised in a really homophobic environment, so i didn't even consider this to be a ship and yet i was so sad we never got to see them interact, if anyone could have saved riley and if anyone could understand him on the deepest lvl possible it would be jasper, they are pretty much the same character, yin yang shit like sebjace 

U - 5 favorite characters from 5 different fandoms

i have tons of those so it's just five random characters out of dozens of my faves: 

diego hargreeves 

caitlin snow (killer frost) 

newt (the maze runner) 

proinsias cassidy

noora sætre

W - 5 favorite ships and 5 kinks you like best for said ships

ok for this we'll go with the 5 ships i named as my current otps, and i'm not sure those can be called kinks but anyway 

sebjace: 

soulbound - them literally being bound by souls that much that they share physical wounds, emotions, thoughts, dreams, they basically morphed into one, just like sebastian said, can you imagine how much mind blowing porn one can write about that? all one of them has to do it bite his own lip or dig his nails into their own skin for it to instantly echo and show up on the other's body, god it's so beautiful hold me 

yin and yang dynamic, where they are literally the balance between the sides of dark and light, that constant conflict inside both of them

loyalty kink, they never had much of that in their lives so yeah, them being loyal to each other 

runes of course, i mean in general biting and licking of runes and etc, but also the lilith rune and them like touching/kissing the rune on the other and feeling it themselves, also something like one of them drawing the loyalty rune on the other 

fighting as a foreplay, that's it 

kliego: 

softness, so much softness that it hurts, feather light touches and kisses, just ALL THE SOFT 

unrequited love, diego being seriously head over heels in love with klaus since they were teens and klaus never really fully understanding what love is enough to reciprocate it on the same lvl until they are 30, all those years of diego just wanting and yearning and thinking it will never happen, it kills me but i'm always here for it 

bottom diego, don't get me wrong i don't really care about sex positions and i love both when diego tops on fics and when he bottoms, but this fandom doesn't have nearly enough bottom diego fics and i need those 

vulnerability, i love it when both of them are vulnerable with each other on a lvl that they can't be vulnerable on around anyone else 

being each other's safe place since childhood 

harlos: 

 understanding, complete and total, i fully believe those two can understand each other like no other characters can, they both have very similar parents and most likely have gone through similar treatment as kids, so yeah, that 

carlos being more forward and dominant(?) in this relationship, just carlos knowing what he wants and going for it while harry is trying his stupid flirting tactics that don't really work, just in general carlos looking at harry and realizing that he's in some sense a feral dog on uma's leash and carlos is good with wild things and maybe he could hold that leash too sometimes

harry being overwhelmed and scared by feelings, carlos basically killing him with kindness without really meaning too, the sweetest ways in which carlos treats him are harry's ultimate weakness, i can totally see him crying during sex because carlos is just too gentle, too attentive to his needs, too warm and open and everything is just TOO MUCH, because harry is used to it being rough and emotionless and just about getting off, but carlos can't do that, he's all for making love to harry, you see 

harry drawing constellations on carlos's skin using his freckles, just harry being in love with carlos's freckles in general 

small and tall in which small seems to be a sunshine but can be a bitchy asshole and the tall seems like the big bad but in reality can be a lap dog 

reylo: 

again like with sebjace yin and yang, balance between light and dark, soulbound and all that shit, can't get enough of it 

dark rey, a scenario in which when rey finds out how fucked up jedi were she just goes "fuck it all, fuck it all" (with 'let it go' motive) and leaves everyone behind to become the empress of darkness and her and kylo reign forever 

secret lovers which is basically canon, but like them having their force skype dates or even sneaking on "meetings" to places where no one can find them

again fighting as a foreplay

ben solo being alive and well is my biggest fucking kink for them right now 

geraskier:

jaskier being the monster fucker that he is, seeing geralt on some of those potions all scary and dark eyed and having a boner from that instantly 

again vulnerability kink with geralt being vulnerable around jaskier, also like give me all the injured geralt and jaskier who has to help him, i'm always here for it 

jaskier who's weaker physically standing up for and protecting geralt 

bottom geralt again just like with diego because it's rear and interesting to explore

monster jaskier and geralt who has to deal with it 

Y - What are your secondhand fandoms (fandoms you aren’t in personally but are tangentially familiar with because your friends/people on your dash are in them)

probably like hannibal, harry potter, shameless, skam france, wtfock, a lot of those i think 

fandom meme

#bee answers #takaraphoenix

[ars0nism]

trying to convert my best friend into a destiny nerd

only knows shaxx because hes addicted to pvp & i am. no hetero but i love shaxx

he vaguely recognizes saladin as salad man, the man that was yote by a hunter woman

he tried to pronounce xivu arath, savathun & oryx, failed miserably, and got visibly upset (as upset as you can get over text) when i told him that all three of them didnt always have these names

since hes russian i showed him saint and he was disappointed there was no vodka

he knows cayde because i kept crying every time he showed up in a cutscene

he laughed when i told him about the shaxx & felwinter story

he has seen eris (well my drawing of her)

he probably vaguely knows most destiny women because im a simple lesbian who will have a breakdown over every single woman wearing armor

i told him warlocks are based on jedi and asked why the hell he wasnt a warlock until he remembered he likes punching shit

he doesnt know the drifter by any other name than garbage/trash man

he knows both banshee & spider as "those fuckers that only coordinate when im not able to play" because sometimes you can spend glimmer on materials you can use for upgrade modules or legendary shards and since ive had max glimmer for the past. forever i just really want more legendary shards

on that note, hes listened to me crying over the fact that banshee had upgrade modules for those tangled shore materials (of which i usually have around 300 because 1. i love the aesthetic of the shore and 2. theres no npc to increase reputation with)

i let him try the shattered throne dungeon on my 993 titan before season 10 ended and he rage quit after dying 7 times in the opening maze and told me hes never going to play that dungeon with me even tho i got to vorgeth solo and all hes gotta worry about is making sure we dont fucking wipe as soon as one of us dies

i showed him the season 11 big fucking sword and thats the most motivated ive seen him to do bounties in this game

[dxlansfxck]

Saints & Sins [G.D] - Part 1

Summary: there's nothing that pisses Y/N off more than her own life. her family is highly religious, wealthy and nothing she'd consider fun. her surrounding is boring, but once the new guy, grayson, decides to sit right next to her, Y/N enters a new world filled with romance & fun. little did she know that this kind of fun had his shadow side to it.

Warnings: DRUG ABUSE!, this story is all about drugs, sex & a toxic relationship, if you don’t like stuff like that, you probably shouldn’t read this.

00 - Prologue

„I don’t get it, y/n! What did we do to you? How could you end up like this?”, her mother broke down in tears while looking down at her dirty, probably disgusting smelling self, “You’re the worst that could have happened to our family! Just because you needed to fall in love with this Grayson guy. The devil has sent him to test you, but you failed. You sinned just to receive a bit of pleasure instead of listening to your god!” She’s talking herself into some kind of rage but she isn’t even listening, ignoring her own mother like she did the past few months.

God here, god there. That’s all her family talks about, this weird guy that seems to live in the sky and watches us living. But how could she think him or Jesus when her mind is full of other things. Like her next shot. “Y/N, I can’t believe it! You’re not even listening to your own mother. I need to call the church so they can send father Louis to us, he needs to clean your mind! He needs to get those demons out of your thoughts.”

Suddenly, she starts praying, which Y/N’s opportunity to get out of here. She slowly walks back into her room, ignoring the cold floor on her naked feet, closes the door and smirks at the beautiful boy that’s already laying in her dirty bed. “Took you long, babe. Did your mother tell you I’m the devil’s son again? That I came straight from hell to ruin your life? Why don’t you listen to her, angel? Why won’t you leave me for your own sake?”, his fingers trail over her lips, making her already weak to the bones. Grayson chuckles, his still very muscular chest rising. His voice is full of sarcasm while his lips form the devilish grin that made her fall for him long time ago. Meanwhile, he takes the old, rusty utensils from the nightstand and slowly pours the white powder on top of the spoon. As soon as she sees his actions, her mind goes crazy and her tiny, destroyed body starts to shake from the sudden pain she feels. But Grayson takes his time preparing his own shot, holds the lighter under the spoon painfully slow.

“For fucks sake, hurry!”, her raspy voice breaks, but she bets he understood what she was saying, he just didn’t want to listen. “Gray, I can’t wait anymore!” Her cold hands were starting to shake so badly, that she was sure she couldn’t even prepare her own shot anymore but she knew Grayson, he wouldn’t do it for her, the were far past this point and he didn’t even wanted her to start this anyway. “If you’ve got enough time to prepare it that slowly, hand it over! I need it now! You know that once I’m on turkey I can’t do it myself. GIVE IT TO ME!”, she tries to rip the improvised belt out of his hand, but he just pushes her away with his foot before ramming the needle in his veins. A few seconds later, his eyes were already closing while a soft smile appears on his lips.

“Fucking son of a bitch”, she mostly mutters to herself before pulling the needle out of his arm and starts preparing her own shot of happiness. She didn’t even bother to clean the needle, if they didn’t get ill from sharing by now, it’ll probably never happen.

Her hands won’t stop shaking while cooking the substance on the dirty spoon and it gets even worse while she was trying to get it into the needle. She nearly dropped everything while searching for a good enough vein, trying not to shoot into the scar tissue, but after a few misplaced shots, she finally gets a good one that beams her somewhere else before falling asleep on Grayson’s chest.

01 - Grayson Bailey Dolan

Her life is boring. Not interesting at all. She’s been in this Christian boarding school ever since she was 6. Now she had to change to a Christian college and to be honest: it really fucking sucks.

She needs to take religion classes every day, visit the college  church every Sunday and her parents seem to be the most boring humans on earth.

“Y/N, c’mon, we’re coming late to Biology!”

Have I already mentioned that her classmates suck as well? She’s never seen someone coming late to class, it’s always been her and always her. By her, I mean Y/N Y/L/N. Ugh, she knows it could’ve been worse, because there’s a guy sitting in front of her called Thaddeus, I mean… You probably know what I mean.

After lunch – strictly vegetarian, of course – and without any motivation left, she attempted the last class of the day. Her uniform was already loose because she had opened the first two buttons of her blouse, the tie hanging loosely around her neck. Which college had uniforms anyway? This was a fucking cult.

“Ms. Y/L/N, could you please put your feet back on the holy ground instead of the table? Or do you want to clean it afterwards?” Y/N huffs in annoyance, placing her feet back in front of her. Instead of mocking the teacher, she gets interrupted by the door swinging open loudly. None of those fuckers would come late to class, but nobody heard of a new student joining them. The guy that walks in seemed a bit older, he was taller and… built. He was a giant, broad shoulders, thick thighs and you could tell through his uniform shirt, that his chest was phenomenal.

“My lovely students, this is Grayson Bailey Dolan. His parents moved here from New Jersey, please don’t be rude to him! I bet he’d be glad to know all of you. Grayson Bailey, why don’t you tell the class more about yourself?”

Grayson Bailey Dolan, as the teacher told them, didn’t seem to be very affected by anything. He studies every single face, which gives Y/N the opportunity to study his. A mop of bleached hair, narrowed eyebrows and brown eyes that had the same annoyed look as hers. His plump lips were pressed into a line, probably hiding a rude commentary to his introduction.

“It’s Grayson. And I don’t see the point in introducing myself, wouldn’t want to make friends anyway.” His deep voice didn’t surprise her at all, while he begins walking towards the only empty chair – which of course led to be the one next to Y/N. She fought for this place for about two years, she would never share it. Not with him, not with anyone. “I want to sit alone”, she spat. “And I don’t care.”

“Alright, the seat next to Ms Y/L/N is empty as you already saw. Now, tell us about your hobbies, your favorite book, don’t be shy!”, their teacher still tries to make him talk, but Grayson just huffs in annoyance. “No hobbies, I don’t read, just look at the pictures, and for that I prefer the dirty ones, you know?”

“Oh, okay, well… Anyways, we’re going to start with our next topic which will be DNS and genetics. I’ll show you a little short film and you have to take some notes so we can discuss it later on. Have fun with our little friend Geni!”

With that, the teacher started some stupid clip of an alien called Geni that wants to teach genetics while being funny. Didn’t work out that well.

“Hey, is she always like that? She seems to be a bit sick in the head.” Grayson’s voice drags Y/N out of her thoughts, and she was surprised that he decided to talk to her. She shrugs her shoulders while muttering a quick “dunno”. She feels his eyes burning through her body while he was obviously checking her out, so she kept starring at him. “Is there something interesting to see? You should focus on Geni, our little friend, not my unbuttoned blouse.” With that, she continued studying his face, his jawline was very strong in contrast to his hallowed cheeks. His eyes seem to be tired because they’ve always been kind of closed while his gaze is starring somewhere else.

Just in the moment he was about to open his mouth, the teacher screams “Well that was fun! Never been so amused while learning important lections! Ha, Geni is a genius. I hoped you wrote down anything important so we can discuss them in the next lesson. Have a night evening and I hope everyone will be there to cheer on our hockey team, they have their first official match today!”

 Soon, the classroom is empty, and everyone is inside their dorms. Y/N changed into something more comfy before sitting down on her desk while painting with her new oil colors.

“Wow, damn! This is sick! Looks like some kind of a trip. Do you draw often? I mean, of course you do, it looks so fucking good!” Y/N got so terrified that she nearly fell out of her chair, then she realized it was Grayson standing right next to her, his eyes on the piece of paper in front of her.

“Ehm, hi Grayson? Nice to see you, I guess, but that’s my room?” “Hi, cool room. I like your style, fits mine”, he points to her pair of joggers while opening and unbuttoning his shirt. Then he sits down on the bed which hasn’t had an owner. Yet.

“Anyways, this college sucks. I mean, it really bloody sucks. Teacher and students. Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you, but you know how it is. Everyone seems to be manipulated by god, it’s really scary. Well, I live here now, but I gotta go. See you later, alligator.”

He was soon gone and Y/N was more than confused. She was a girl, living in a dorm, not knowing there was any chance to have a boy as a roommate. Of course, sometimes boyfriend and girlfriend were able to share a room, but most of the time, it was strictly separated. Shrugging the thought off, Y/N prepared her stuff for a quick shower, still thinking about Grayson Bailey Dolan and the impact he’s going to have on her life.

 The next morning already starts with a surprise, it seems like Grayson Dolan hasn’t been in there the entire night. His suitcase and most of his clothes are still spread across his bed. This boy was such a mystery.

Not even an hour later, Y/N finds herself in the first class of the day, not listening to what the teacher said, drawing in her notebook again. “Do you always draw that stuff? I mean, yesterday, today, literally all the time. Not that it bothers me, I really like it. But I wanna know what’s in your head.” She was kinda pissed about Grayson’s presence that she couldn’t ever answer his question. “Oh c’mon, don’t act like you’re listening to that bullshit this nun is talking about. And since you’re a student here, you should be drawing churches or the holy ghost or I don’t even know. But for sure not that”, he points to the burning people she drew, burning in the purgatory and her cheeks got instant red.

“Where were you last night? When I woke up I found your suitcase on your bed, just like you left it yesterday. Listen, those professors are so fucking strict, I don’t want to lose this place, okay? And one of their simplest punishments is scrubbing the church floor – which I don’t want to do either because there will be 20 Jesus figures watching you. And..” “Y/L/N, Dolan! This lesson is more precious than your conversation, seems like I have to inform both of your parents. Detention, both of you!” Their fat, disusting teacher interrupts them.

After 4 more hours of maths and religion, Y/N practically runs into her room, Grayson Dolan right behind her. “Y/N, why aren’t you talking to me? Are you angry ‘cause of the detention? Listen, I’m kinda sorry, but it’ll be just two hours of sitting there, it could be worse. And why is the ugly rat calling our parents? Y/L/N are you even listening?” She feels Grayson’s large hand on her shoulder, but shrugs it off. “Hm? Yeah, sure I am.” “You’re weird, but oh well. Are you hungry? Should we head out to Subway or McDonalds? We still have a bit of time left before detention starts and I’m starving.”

The girl is looking up to him, confusion written on her face. “Leaving? The only time you’re allowed to leave is between 3 and 7. Lunch is in the canteen, but the food is vegetarian.”

Grayson’s eyes widen in shock. “Vegetarian? Seriously? Dude, this is torture! How are you even alive?” “Dunno, never had meat, never wanted to, it’s dead animals. That’s disgusting. There’s plants for a reason, y’know?” “Sick”, Grayson nods. “Hey, Y/N! Why can’t ants go to church? ‘cause they’re insects. In-sects! Understand?”, he laughs so hard that he needed to sit down on his bed, holding his stomach. Y/N on the other hand opened the bible on her desk. “Haha, funny”, she mumbled and began to write down the daily phrases they needed to hand in the next day.

“Have you ever drunk alcohol? Or smoked? Oh, you hesitated, you’re a literal virgin. In everything! We need to change that, but first: lunch!” He drags her by her tiny hands and almost runs into the dining hall. “What’s that smell?”, he scrunches his nose, looking confused. “I don’t even know, it always smells like cabbage, but there’s never cabbage in the meals. You need to get the vegetable burger, but never the vegetable sausages. Everything with noodles or potatoes is fine, salad is okay but the soups are disgusting, got it? We can go to the city later on and find something better for you.” They both decided on getting the burger and while Y/N bites into it, Grayson takes a bite of the fries, then scrunches his nose again and adds half a bottle of ketchup onto them.

“I can show you around then, but there aren’t any cool stores to buy clothes, I usually order them once I’m home”, Y/N managed to speak while chewing her last bite of burger. “You’re pretty cool, angel. Never thought I could meet someone I’d like in here.”  

#grayson dolan #graysondolan #dolan twins #Grayson Dolan fanfiction #Grayson Dolan smut #masterlist #smut

[stripestheboar]

Ooooh my stars can you do more PTA Sans scenes?! I absolutely adore that AU!!

Sorry this took so long. Weeks of sickness is getting to me. Not to mention making up jokes can take hours.

Anyways…. PART 3 OF THE PTA SANS COLLECTION!

ENJOY

~Undertale~

Sans: *comes in* okay, what’s going on? Frisk has been late to five doctor’s appointments because the teachers won’t let them leave until i come get them.

Helen: *motions for him to sit down* I’m afraid we just can’t trust your child to leave the class anymore. He keeps writing fake notes just to get out.

Sans: *blinks and sits down* fake notes? whoa whoa, what? that doesn’t sound like them.

Helen: *nods* Yes, he’s quite the troublemaker. Not being her father, it’s clear you don’t know him as much as you thought. He makes fake doctor’s notes, clearly written by him.

Sans: well, how do you know? I always write their notes since Tori’s teaching.

Helen: Well, for one, it’s all types up lowercase. Probably so we don’t recognize her handwriting (he doesn’t seem too bright).  

Sans:… typed?

Helen: Mmhmm. Typed up on a flimsy piece of paper. All lowercase and with bad spelling and grammar. And in Comic Sans no less! *slowly coming to realization* If he really thinks the teacher and…. I are dumb enough to let… that… pass…. *blinks*

Sans:…..  

Helen:….

Sans: *sighs* y’know, it’s pretty hard being a married working mother when you’re single, unemployed, a skeleton, and most importantly a dude, but damn it, Helen…. Frisk and i donated fifty cans to the food drive. i think we deserve some respect here.

Helen: Well I’m head of the PTA, so there really is no-

Sans: how many cans did you donate, Helen?

Helen: That doesn’t really matter-

Sans: how many, Helen?

Helen:….. *looks down* Four.

Sans: really? wow. i would’ve though you would’ve had the time to donate more with how much time you spend bitching about my kid.

~Underfell~

Sans: *hands Frisk money* here’s twenty g. vending machine is around the corner. don’t go around spending it all in one fuckin’ place. now run along, ya little shithead.

Frisk: *snatches up money and runs off*

Daniel: *walking when Frisk suddenly races past him* Hey, watch where you’re going. *sighs* Little shithead.

Sans: *suddenly next to him* uh, what the fuck did you just call my kid?

Daniel: What? You call them that all the time!

Sans: yeah, it’s okay when i say it because they know i still fucking love them. when you say it, you actually fucking mean it.

Daniel: then maybe you shouldn’t speak to your child that way.

Sans: then maybe you should mind your own fucking business or else!

Daniel: Or else what? It’s your fault you don’t love your child enough!

Sans: *stops* oh… you fucker… *chuckles evilly* i’ll show you love, asshole. *disappears*

The Next Saturday 

Daniel: *helping his young son onto his bike* Alright, Cody, today’s the day you’re going to learn to ride like all of your friends. *hands him his helmet* Now, it may be scary at first, and you may fall down a few times, but remember that I will be here to help you-

Cody: *puts on helmet* It’s okay, dad! I already know how! *rides off on his bike perfectly with a smile*

Daniel: *shocked* What? How did he-? When did he-?!

Sans: *rides by on his tricycle* ha ha asshole! i taught your kid how to ride a bike! you’re never gonna get that back! *rides off into the sunset*

~Underswap~

Sans: *finishes checking off the last name* AND DONE! THAT’S EVERYONE! *grins* GOOD WORK, EVERYBODY! THIS FUNDRAISER WILL MORE THAN HELP THE BAND GET NEW EQUIPMENT! SINCE MARIA’S CHILDREN RAISED THE MOST, THEY GET TOP PRIZES. *walks over and hands Maria a bone* HERE! A TOKEN OF MY ETERNAL GRATITUDE!

Maria: *smiles and takes it, shaking off how weird it is* Aw, thanks, Sans. I really appreciate it. Cindy had fun selling to all her friends.

Sans: WELL CINDY IS DOING AN AMAZING JOB! HERE, A BONE FOR HER AS WELL. *hands her a smaller bone* TELL HER THE PRIZES WILL BE HERE IN A WEEK.

Linda: Bones? Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?

Sans: *tilts head* I’M JUST SHOWING MY GRATITUDE. DO HUMANS NOT LIKE THAT?

Linda: It’s just kinda weird with all the bones. What’s with you monsters and your obsessions with bones? Or is that just a skeleton thing?

Sans: *thinks hard* I’M ACTUALLY NOT SURE, LINDA! I’VE ALWAYS THOUGHT IT WAS WEIRD THAT YOU HUMANS LIKE TO GET MARRIED THREE TIMES AND PULL THEIR CHILD INTO THEIR DIVORCE BATTLES THUS DRASTICALLY AFFECTING THEIR SCHOOL WORK AND MOTIVATION TO DO THE ACTIVITIES THEY LOVE SUCH AS BAND. OR IS THAT JUST A LINDA THING?

~Swapfell~

Sans: AS HEAD BOOSTER MOM-

Gloria: *aside to her friend* As you’ve proclaimed fifty times this meeting.

Sans: - I AM THOROUGHLY SATISFIED BY THE RATE AT WHICH WE WERE ABLE TO HELP FUND ADEQUATE  EQUIPMENT FOR OUR CHILDREN. NOW THAT ALL OF THIS HAS BEEN SETTLED, LET US DISCUSS SETTING UP THE STAGE ON THURSDAY TO GET READY FOR THE SHOW. I ASSUME IT MAY TAKE US A GOOD SIX HOURS TO GET IT READY.

Gloria: Wait- what?

Sans: WE NEED TO SET THE STAGE FOR OUR CHILDREN. WE MUST MAKE IT PERFECT; OUR CHILDREN SHALL ACCEPT NOTHING LESS.

Gloria: Six hours of setting up? Look, I don’t have time for that.

Sans: IT WILL BE IN THE AFTERNOON. YOU CAN’T SPARE YOUR TIME FOR AN HOUR?

Gloria: I still can’t make it. I have a busy schedule. Can’t we use some of the money from the fundraiser to hire a few people to do that.

Sans: THAT MONEY IS FOR THE EQUIPMENT! FINE. I SHALL TAKE YOUR CHILD TO THE PERFORMANCE AS WELL.

Gloria: E-excuse me?!  

Sans: IF YOUR SCHEDULE IS SO BUSY TO WHERE YOU CAN’T MAKE IT EVEN FOR AN HOUR, YOU WILL SUEELY BE TOO EXHAUSTED TO TAKE YOUR CHILD TO THE PERFORMANCE THE NEXT MORNING. DO NOT DESPAIR. MY MUTT CAN EASILY TRANSPORT YOUR CHILD.

Gloria: You are not touching my son. Look, my schedule is packed tight and there’s nothing I can do about it.  

San: GLORIA, YOU’RE A STAY-AT-HOME MOTHER RAISING ONE CHILD. I COULD GET CANCER AND DIE OF IT IN THE AMOUNT OF TIME YOU SPEND WATCHING “THE REAL HOUSEWIVES” IN A SINGLE DAY. IF YOU CAN’T SPARE A SINGLE HOUR, WHY ARE YOU IN THE PTA AND BOOSTER CLUB TO BEGIN WITH?

~Horrortale~

Sans: *sits down in front of the desk* so what’s the deal, Suzanne?  

Suzanne: *folds her hands* I’m afraid it’s about Aliza.  

Sans: what’d she do this time?

Suzanne: *pulls out a hand-drawn picture of King Asgore getting stabbed by a little kid* The teacher showed me this. Aliza drew it in her spare time; she’s starting to really scare the other children.

Sans: *looks at it and laughs* ha, that’s just Asgore, the former king, being slain by a human who condemned us to rot in the Underground and starve to death.

Suzanne: Why would she draw such a thing?!

Sans: the kid’s growin’ up. soon she’ll be old enough to follow the last one’s footsteps and slay the Undyne. i think it’s kinda her dream at this point. little rascal. kids, amaraite?

Suzanne: You-you actually encourage your child this to do this?!

Sans: hey hey, calm down. don’t worry, Tori and i have already sat her down and had the talk with her.

Sans: college comes first.

~Altertale~

Lillian: Oh, hey, Sans. How’s Kate doing in class?

Sans: *smiles* she’s doing very well. however, i have a few… concerns.

Lillian: *sits down* Concerns? What’s wrong? Is she misbehaving?

Sans: well… somewhat. she’s been spreading around very foul language as of late. swear words and the like. do you know where she could be hearing these words?

Lillian: Oh dear! I have no idea where she could have picked this language up. I’ll give her a grounding when she gets home. How bad is it?

Sans: she’s been saying these words every chance she gets. *turns around* Katie? can you come in, dear?

Kate: *pokes her head in and giggles* Fuck!

Lillian: Hey! Watch your fucking mouth!

Sans: *silent*…..

Lillian: What?

Sans: Lillian do you even have ears?

~Underlust~

Karen: Did I hear right? You’re signing up to be the Sexual Education teacher.

Sans: you heard right, babe. i thought that if it should be anyone, it should be someone with tons of experience and a scientific background.

Karen: That’s….. extremely problematic.

Sans: i kinda get where you’re coming from; you don’t want someone like me teaching your children. trust me, they’re in no better hands than mine.

Karen: Says the one with dozens of past sex partners and only one boyfriend.

Sans: says the one with three marriages and four children and yet somehow clearly not getting enough sex in her life.

Karen:……

Sans: and pfft. “dozens?” you underestimate me. smh, boo, smh.  

~Echotale~

Martha: My child just had a cold, is all.

G: no, he has the flu. he needs to stay home. i thought i told you to get him vaccinated.

Martha: Oh what do you know?

G: *hands her his PhD*

Martha: *tears it up*  

G: *pulls out another* i know what i’m talking about, Martha.

Martha: Wha- *tears that up as well*

G: *pulls another PhD out* i’ve won this game before, and i’ll win it again.

Martha: *snatches it up and crumples it* How do you have so many?!

G: i made sure to print, like, fifty before i got here. *pulls out two more*

Martha: *smacks them away* You’re insane!

G: *pulls out four more* you can’t fight the inevitable, Martha.

Martha: *backs away* What are you doing?!

G: *pulls out thirty more* *PhDs are all she can see* i’m gonna vaccinate the fuck out of your kids Martha, and they will live a healthy life.

~Outertale~

Anna: -and that’s why I believe every child should be given gluten-free lunches. This is what we should be spending our funds on, not a play about peace between humans and space monsters. It has good intent, yes, but these lunches are far more important!

Sans: *has been silent this whole ten minute period*

Anna: Sans? Are you even listening to me?

Sans: of course.

Anna: Your thoughts?

Sans: just missing the sounds of the cold vacuum of space. that’s all.

~Reapertale~

Elizabeth: *lying in bed, asleep* *eyes shoot open when she hears a creak*

Sans: *slowly rises from the ground and out of the darkness* greetings human mortal. my faithful messenger, Frisk, has told me of your ways. what is it you desire, human mortal?

Elizabeth: *eyes wide, shaking and sweating in fear* M-more coin f-for the schoolhouse? A-and a new writing slate?

Sans: very well. the contract has been sealed. you have five.

Elizabeth: F-five? Five what?!

Sans: no… make it four. *slowly sinks back into the darkness* *appears next to Frisk* this is probably the best thing i’ve done in centuries. alright, who’s next on the list?

~Dancetale~

Beatrice: *grabbing some brownies from the food table* *turns around and shrieks in surprise and drops her paper plate*

Sans: *breakdancing right in front of her*

Beatrice: *sternly* Sans, for the last time, I’m not changing my mind. We’re not wasting our funds on a dance club when they’ll never use it as a future skill.

Sans: *continues breakdancing*

Beatrice: Sans, you can’t keep doing this every time I refuse-

Sans: *breakdancing harder*

Beatrice: S-Sans, I-

Sans: *breakdancing intensifies*

Beatrice: S-stay away from my family-!

Sans: *just breakdancing* *only breakdancing*

~Aftertale~  

Frisk: *made a science project featuring Geno and Sans, and how their existence proved the theory of multiple timelines*

Geno: *hops off the table once the science fair ends, pulling sticky notes off of himself*

Sans: *doing the same* first place, kiddo. we’re proud of ya.

Frisk: *smiles proudly*

Helen: *approaches and crosses her arms* Well it’s quite and achievement for an idea so absurd.

Geno: *pulls the last sticky note off of him* Excuse me?

Helen: *turns her head* I just believe Frisk is too much of an… overachiever. We already know he’s saved the world. Why should he rub it in everyone’s faces when he clearly has an advantage over everyone else.

Geno:… lady, i stand here as living proof of the existence of both multiple timelines and universes. i spent countless lifetimes within the Void in endless loneliness and agony, only to be released by this special kid right here. they deserve every award they get, especially when second place was an airplane model built by you, not your kid.

Helen: *cheeks turn red* What?! These are just harmful accusations!

Geno: Helen, i’m a firm believer that people truly can change, but we saw you double dip with Maria’s salsa at the meeting. we know you’re that kind of person.

~Machinatale~

Sans: *looks through the plans* Wait… we’re getting rid of the computer lab? Why?

Sharon: *looks over* Hmm? Oh, that’s just a request for now. We need it approved by the administrators. Children need to tear their eyes away from a screen and hold something real.

Sans: How else are they going to get all the information they need? They’re too young to earn smartphones.

Sharon: The library, of course.

Sans: Okay, yeah, but kids are only allowed to check out two books at a time. Why should they spend so much time trying to find a book with the information they need when the world’s database is at their fingertips?  

Sharon: *sighs* They don’t need a screen to figure things out. They spend too much time on the internet.

Sans: They need computers to do the proper research from multiple sources, as well as print out papers. Research could be conducted within minutes, not hours.

Sharon: She can do that at the library. *scoffs* Of course you would be all over technology. You’re a robot. What makes you think you’re smarter than a loving parent?

Sans: Sharon, I have more processing power than modern day’s best calculators, and yet, somehow your bullshit still isn’t adding up.

#ask #the third part of the PTA Sans trilogy #kinda wanna try it with other characters #PTA!Sans #Sans #Undertale #PTA AU #Underfell #Underswap #Swapfell #Horrortale #Altertale #Underlust #Echotale #Outertale #Dancetale #Machinatale #Aftertale #Reapertale #all these AUs