#fear thy computer

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

Hi!! Really like your writing could we possibly get a drabble or something like that of Middle Schooler Yuu?

Hell-Raising Gremlin: A Middle Schooler

Synopsis: Yuu is a cringy middle schooler that curses a lot and insults people

Cw: Cringe writing. Yuu is 12 and Gn. Cursing. They call Riddle stupid and tell Azul he's gay. No romance ofc. Not proofread

“What the fuck?” Was one of the first things that came out of your mouth when you kicked off the door to your coffin. A crowd of eerily robed people turned to stare at you as if you were the weird one for wearing normal clothes. Each person had matching eyeliner and wait, does that person have horns… and a tail? What sort of fucked up LARP furry cult were you kidnapped into?

“Honestly…” Another voice rang out “Coming through the door of your own accord is virtually unheard of, why are you in such a rush?” A bird masked individual said as he approached you, two glowing yellow orbs peaking through the mask, each part of his person accessorized to fit a perfect aesthetic. Okay, thats a pretty cool costume you’ll admit, but it still doesn't change that you are obviously in the wrong place.

"Um… probably because some strange carriage literally kidnapped me and forced me into a coffin and then I woke up here? I don't think I'm in the right place."

"Hmm I don't think you are entirely lucid yet… a side effect of the teleportation magic perhaps…" the man wondered out loud.

"Can you break character for a second and tell me where the hell I am, dude?" You glared at him and a few of the weird adults around you laugh. You keep a brave face despite the fear building up.

"You are at Night Raven College, a prestigious magician training school in Twisted Wonderland." The masked man states bluntly and confidently like that explains everything.

"Didn't I just say to break character? I'm not playing DND here or anything, I need to get home, I'm not supposed to be here in this weird cult thing… I need to get home!" a few more laughs reverberated in the crowd.

"I'm being serious, this is a school for magicians"

"Right well… I don't have magic. How's that?" You give a smug smirk. "So please send me home?"

The man just gives an infuriating blank expression. "Why, you are here because the black carriage recognized you as a powerful mage! You should be quite proud of that given how young to appear to be! Please stand by and the mirror will sort you into your dorm shortly!"

"I was kidnapped first of all, and I don't even have that weird robe thing! Look dude, you got the wrong person! I'll go up to that mirror right now and show you!" You assume this "magic' mirror was just some computer check in thing. Hopefully when you give your name it'll prove you aren't on the list of whatever the fuck this is.

"My, so hasty… such is the youth I suppose. Fine then, go up to the mirror."

You must give props to this actor for staying in character the full time, but now wasn't the time. As you approach the mirror you hear whispers, and you see 5 individuals and a floating tablet standing by it, looking as superior as they could. Some glared at you, others looked intrigued.

The mirror spoke, "State thy name."

"Yuu…"

"You're soul is… invalid… I cannot read it. Therefore I sort you in no dorm."

The crowd murmurs amongst themselves as the masked person looks genuinely surprised. "Well then. I must apologize, there must be some mistake." You exhale in relief. Finally he gets it. "Mirror, send this person home!" No response. Why was he asking the mirror?

"Ahem… Mirror take this person—"

"I cannot."

"... huh…" You frown

"This child's home is nowhere. They do not exist here. They are from another dimension. Therefore, they cannot be sent home."

The crowd's murmurs get louder. You still don't believe in this whole weird magic school act thing. "Are you fucking kidding me, did I seriously get isekaied by a horse drawn carriage?" 

At that you see the floating tablet mute themselves. Before you could even turn around and ask for the masked man to get a real person to send you home, a strange creature runs in front of you. You stared at it in complete shock.

"Mrahaha! If they can't join this school, then there's room for me!" The weird cat thing talks. Flames came out its ears and its tail was forked. What the fuck, what the fuck. How is this cat on fire and talking?

The crowd laughed at the cat's words. "Oh yeah?! I'll show you!" The creature yells out. You didn't think much of it until you saw blue plumes of flames come from its mouth and aim directly into the crowd. The crowd yells and pushes each other around. You could feel the heat.

This couldn't be some high tech animatronic could it? You gawk as banners catch flames and you see some of the mages in the crowd casting water spells to put themselves out. Is this really another world…? No way… no way. You have to get hit by a truck for that! This just has to be a very weird fever dream...

Another blast of flames is fired across from you, growing bigger and bigger, threatening to engulf everything in the room. One person from before lets out an annoyed sigh and you see him turn to approach the flame. 

Without thinking you immediately run over to pull him back catching him by surprise and making him stumble. "Dude, what are you doing?!" The doll faced young man looks over at you in shock, before his race reddens.

"How DARE YOU try to—"

"Riddle enough! They were just trying to help!" Another taller green haired mad says with a clover on his face. "Come with me…" the man says before pulling you back protectively.

You watch as the strange ruby-haired man, Riddle– what a stupid name–, approaches the weird cat. He raises his arm before lowering it. "OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!" He yelled, and a strange collar appeared around the cat. The flames around the room suddenly die.

"Hey what gives?! What I'll just… huh?! My magic! Its…"

"Sealed away. That collar around your neck does not allow you to use magic." Riddle states. "No cats are allowed are celebrations, your very existence here is a violation." A few robed figures go to grab their cat and toss him out.

"Damn…" you mumbles as you step put from behind the stranger that protected you.

"You there, child." Riddle states, still looking upset. "What you did was dangerous, you should have never stepped in to try to help."

Oh this dudes attitude pissed you off with how condescending he sounded. "Well sorry for trying to fucking make sure you didn't burn yourself. God forbid I didn't know you could do that weird collar thing."

The green haired man paled and the face of Riddle got red. "Excuse me?! You need to learn how to treat your superiors with respect–"

"I respect whoever respects me regardless of age! And you're not superior at all! You throw tantrums like a kid!" You spat back and the crowd seemed to laugh. The green haired man tries to pull you back. "Come on now, Yuu try to be nice…"

"Why would I? He's the one that started it! He can start yelling at people for no good reason but I can't? Hell who the fuck even names their kid Riddle its such a stupid name!"

Riddle was fuming at this point and everyone just seemed to either cringe or watch in rapt excitement. "IT IS NOT! You have not followed a single rule of the entrance ceremony! Those who don't follow the rules should be punished! Especially rude ones like you!"

"Did you not hear the mirror? I'm not from this world! I literally don't know any rules at all! How are you gonna get mad at me for that?! You're the one that keeps yelling for no reason and then getting mad at me for giving back the same energy? And now you're trying to threaten me!"

"Enough!" The red head yells. "Apologize now or it's off with your head!"

"Oh no my magic that I totally have! I'm so scared! Go ahead and do it! You're only punishing me because I'm right! You can't ever comprehend being wrong so you need to make yourself look stronger in every other way because you're a coward and a control freak! I may not have been in this world long, but something tells me in the real world you can't collar everyone that upsets you! You're a coward and a god damn fucking tyrant that feels the need to prove himself superior to a fucking TWELVE year old just because I had the audacity to try and help you! I am twelve and everyone here appears to be an adult yet none of you are actually helping me! I wanna go home!"

"Enough!" The masked man's voice yells out and you huff and look away. "That is enough for both of you." You look over at another man with blueish hair and glasses along with a mole struggling to hold in a laugh. You narrow your eyes. "Oh I just KNOW your bitch ass isn't laughing with your birthing hips and gay little face!" The man's eyes widen and he stares in shock for moment before looking down at himself. The crowd erupts in laughter.

"Yuu!" The masked man reprimands before sighing. "Dorm leaders! Take your students to their new homes! I will deal with this… situation" As everyone left, you glared at Crowley.

"It's about time you fucking listened me, hot topic wannabe ass." Crowley could tell that this child would fit in perfectly here.

#middle schooler yuu #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #twst meme #twst memes #twst crack #crack #twst x reader #trey clover x reader #trey clover

[yourdoorisunlocked]

Kill Your Darlings - Part Three

𝐀/𝐍: I think I'll start posting the rest of this series on A03, while posting one-shots and requests on Tumblr. It's been cool posting my series here, but I prefer posting to A03 when it comes to longer fics.

Nonetheless, please enjoy!

➺ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 𝟑,𝟑𝟓𝟎

. . .

The incessant clicking of a mousepad and the mad ticking of fingers flying over a keyboard filled the barren kitchen, as he occasional moan of the wind rocking the apartment complex back and forth and the cold, hard blare of the silver screen on your laptop aggravated the pain of your headache.  

The tips of your toes just barely brushed against the frigid kitchen tile as you leaned obsessively over your computer, clicking away on the mousepad like it was your lifeline.  

At that point, it very well could’ve been, since the precious piece of technology held all of your answers, answers that Alastor wouldn’t offer you – not without a price. 

And you had nothing left to barter, since he already owned your soul – a thought that loomed over you when the demon wasn’t around to distract you from that chilling reality. Alastor owned you. He could’ve pushed you around like a dog strapped to a chain, and yet he didn’t. Most likely because he couldn’t truly control you, since you weren’t lost to his wrathful clutches just yet. 

So, using your timed freedom, you did some digging around on the web in a last-ditch attempt to find anything about Alastor himself, and his history. Know thy enemy, as the saying goes. 

But whether he was truly your enemy, would be tested with time. 

And right now, the blasted internet was proving to be a worthy opponent, since you were practically tearing your hair out by the bunches since you barely discovered anything about him. Still, you were determined to decode his mystery. Humans were terrifyingly efficient at finding each other, and dead ones would be no more difficult, even if you found squat about Alastor. 

Mark my words. I’ll find out who you are, Alastor.  

“Where there is a will,” you clicked away from the barren search results, fully prepared to surf around the dark web if you had to, “There is a fucking way.”  

Even though you hadn’t a clue to his origins or background, you were convinced that Alastor had to have been some kind of serial killer while he was alive, and you’d bet your soul on it.  

His personality fit the stereotype – a well-based one, at that – he was haunting your fucking radio – granted, a very swanky radio – and on top of that, Alastor was a literal demon . Maybe. You weren’t all that certain about what exactly he was, but there was too much evidence supporting the theory to consider him being anything but. 

Whatever the case, you were convinced. Alastor was, without a doubt, a bona fide serial murderer . Perhaps that ominous information should’ve put you on edge, but you were twisted too deep in Alastor’s captivating mystery to care. Fascination had overcome your fear of the unknown, and you were ready to dive in, and lose yourself in his mysterious past. 

But that was proving to be damn near impossible, when you could barely find anything about the bastard. He was a footnote in history, at best. No last name, no family members related to him, nothing.  

Still, you were determined. 

Leaning forward, you chewed on your thumb nail whilst scrolling through yet another forum that went into thorough detail about demon encounters and sacrificial rituals. Or, at least, a human’s rendition of them.  

You had sifted through a fair share of information on demons as well but turned up with virtually nothing, save for many helpful bold-lettered warnings that demanded to be heeded: Do not. Fuck. With demons.  

“Gee, thanks,” you muttered to yourself, clicking away from the site before groaning and massaging your aching temples. 

By all standards, it had been an agonizingly unproductive session of information-scouring. However, you had made some headway with a client of yours and finished most of your task list. Everything minor was shoved to the side in desperation of somehow piecing together Alastor’s intentions, stressing over his poorly veiled threats, and trying to figure out just whoever the hell he was in life. 

Just as you were about to yield to the great barriers of the internet, with nothing but an increased hopelessness and frustration at your lack of understanding of your new “Master” – as you were loath to call him – a soft wisp of a shadow flitting about the kitchen caught your attention out of the corner of your eye. 

“Hello, there,” you sighed without looking up at the shadow, already annoyed with its presence as it leaned over the counter with a smug grin.  

One glance at the computer and your hopelessness told it a thousand words regarding your predicament. 

“Yeah, yeah, you can gloat later. I got plenty done, anyhow.” You raised an eyebrow towards it. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about him, would you?” 

The shadow stared down at you, unimpressed as it crossed its arms, crackling curtly in response. Absolutely not.   

“Aw, come on, not even for a snack? I could make you something.” You nodded towards the fridge, grinning when it perked up and followed your glance. “Just throw me a bone here. Give me a hint, anything, and maybe I’ll give you a nice meal. How does that sound? C’mon, I’m sure you’re hungry.” 

Its emerald green sockets glimmered mischievously, and it bristled with a soft purr as it leaned down on the counter, practically drooling at the thought of a meal.  

A low rumble shook the floors with an unmistakable growl of hunger, and it whined softly. 

You pouted sympathetically. Seems like Alastor hasn’t fed it, recently.  

“Oh, poor baby,” it nuzzled into your soothing touch as you scratched behind one ear. “I’m sure he doesn’t feed you as much as he should,” the shadow’s stomach rumbled in response. 

“Resorting to bribery, are we?”  

You rolled your eyes as the radio flickered on, and you raised an eyebrow at it as it sat innocently upon the coffee table. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” You cooed down at the eager shadow as you completely ignored Alastor and his offended scoff.  

“Ignoring someone when they’re talking to you is quite rude, my dear-!”  

“I have some chicken that I can prepare for you. You can choose the spices, the temperature, whatever you want,” you were beaming cheekily when the shadow perked up, one fuzzy ear twitching towards you. 

“Temptress,” Alastor snapped. 

You at least had the decency to feel partly ashamed, though you just grinned triumphantly. You weren’t proud of having to barter for information, but whatever got you the scoop on Alastor was well worth it. 

“That’s right, just imagine those carefully baked, golden-brown edges, and oh, think of the spices!” Alastor rolled his eyes at your dramatic tone, choosing to peek through the shadow’s eyes at you. Pretty little temptress. You’d somehow tamed his shadow, and he was certain it wasn’t just the chicken that it was after.

To Alastor’s chagrin, the devilish phantom had all but leapt over the counter towards you, curling around you with a loud purr as it nuzzled into your neck.  

You chuckled at its antics and pushed yourself up from your seat, stretching your cramped back and legs and wincing from the lightning strikes of pain that shot up your joints from the hours of sitting in a hunched position. 

“Alright, let’s get you some food,” you scratched beneath its chin, and it hummed contentedly in response, its fluffy tail enthusiastically beating the air. 

“Traitor.”  

You cast a triumphant smirk at the slight pout in Alastor’s from the other side of the line. “Oh, I’m just doing some charity work. Clearly, you’ve been starving the poor thing,” you rubbed the shadow’s cheek, grinning smugly as it nuzzled into your neck with a soft coo. 

“Charity work!? You’ve seduced it with your wiles!” Alastor spat indignantly. 

You rolled your eyes while pulling out a few ingredients. “It’s food, Alastor. And you know what they say,” the shadow suddenly tittered and flew away from your side to rummage through the spice cabinet, “The way to a man’s heart, is through his stomach.” 

“It has no heart, and it is no man,” his tone darkened slightly, but you either took no notice or simply didn’t care as you took out the raw chicken from the fridge. 

“But it’s attached to one,” you grinned cheekily as the shadow returned with several spices in its arms while smiling widely with a wagging tail, while Alastor scoffed with a roll of his eyes. 

You clapped your hands. “Alright, let’s get to work.” 

. . .  

Alastor had grown quiet for most of the process, leaving you and the shadow in pure, content silence as you got to work around the kitchen. The shadow was entirely unbothered at his master’s sudden radio silence, instead choosing to make itself comfortable looming around your form while watching you season and prepare its supper. 

As you waited for the chicken to be cooked, you turned to the shadow who had been staring at you with its head resting upon its inky palm while watching you work with salivating, emerald eyes, simmering with the fire of raw gemstones.

“Now, I believe I was promised some information in return?”  

Static buzzed as it put a finger to its chin, humming softly before speeding off into the apartment, and it soon returned with a pen and paper and scribbled madly across the parchment. 

Alastor Hartifelt.  

As soon as the name tumbled from your lips, a loud record-scratching screech sounded from the living room.  

Ӻᵾȼҟ.  

But you didn’t even flinch at the ear-splitting noise as you grinned and nodded in approval, your determination flickering bright yet again. “Finally, we’re getting somewhere.” You barely got a moment to process your excitement at a new lead, a possible doorway to the holy grail of information about the strange, ominous demon haunting your actual radio-!  

Ding!  

The shadow’s ears twitched in the direction of the noise, and it was suddenly nipping at your nipping at your heels and pushing you insistently towards the oven. You were certain that it was drooling all over your floor, but you stifled your jittering excitement anyway. There were promises to be fulfilled, after all.

“Alright, alright!” Batting the phantom away, you grabbed the oven mitts with a sigh. 

“Not so easy now, is it?”  

“Oh, nobody asked you!” 

You soon plated the chicken and served it over to the phantom, who made quick work of the poor bird in mere seconds. At least it was already dead, you shuddered, trying to push the image of being ferociously torn apart by its razor-sharp canines out of your mind. 

It licked its chops with a satisfied rumble once it finished with not a crumb left on the plate you offered, and you were still reeling from the bizarre few minutes you spent watching it enjoy your cooking. 

I wouldn’t be surprised if it licked the plate. Seriously, how long has it been since the poor thing’s eaten?  

The shadow immediately curled around you as you sat down in front of the counter, hissing lowly at the laptop before burying its face in your neck with a soft growl. You didn’t want to be rude and shove it away, and besides, the shadow’s aura was surprisingly warm, which shielded you from the cold, drafty air of the apartment. 

And so, you allowed it to remain cooing and teething around your neck – as on-edge as it made you – while you typed Alastor’s full name into the search bar. 

As soon as you hit enter, the internet decided to be helpful again, and provided you with a golden website, containing any and all answers to your ever gluttonous curiosity for your new demonic companion, and his shadowy servant.

You smirked and ruffled one of the shadow’s ears. “Nice sleuthing, Alastor Jr.” The shadow grinned into your neck and pulled you even closer, while Alastor chuckled softly at the nickname, choosing to survey the laptop through the eyes of his ghostly scout. 

Not the first choice I’d make, since simply going down to the station would’ve sufficed.  Alastor sniffed and rapped his gleaming nails against his desk, eyeing the device with distaste. Then again, it doesn’t seem like those incompetent oafs would want an account of something so gruesome happening just beneath their noses staining their records!  

You relaxed into your seat, mentally preparing for the deep dive into Alastor’s shady past that you were about to take. It seemed that no information was buried enough to be obscured, so long as you were awfully specific with your search.  

But thank the merciful deities above that some history buff – who seemed quite outraged at the lack of discussion and information around their favorite serial killer – had taken it upon themselves to collect and piece together a consistent timeline of events, all centered around one Alastor Hartifelt. 

Got’chya.

You scrolled a little bit through the Godsent gold mine of information, baffled at just how much there was for you to access. Apparently, Alastor Hartifelt had been a charismatic personality on the radio, a beloved host and rising star in New Orleans. Around the time that he’d made his debut as a radio host, however, was when the murderers started. 

The presence of the Bayou Butcher rocked the city harder than any other scandal at the time, and you couldn’t blame the people for being so paranoid, after reading the brief description of his kills, and his M.O. 

You whistled. “Damn. You have quite the track record, Alastor.” 

“I’m well aware, my dear!”  

You raised an eyebrow at the sound of ruffling paper in the background, accompanied by the clicking of frantic typing. But it didn’t sound anything like the short tapping of a keyboard, and the telltale ring heightened your suspicions. He cannot be serious...  

“Alastor, do you have a goddamn typewriter?”  

“It’s essential, darling! Every good radio host needs a captivating script,” you laughed and shook your head. He’s committed to the bit, I’ll give him that. 

As you explored the very depths of the case surrounding the Bayou Butcher, you began to grow quite curious and weary of just how Alastor disposed of his victims. Unfortunately, there was a certain tab that fed into that very curiosity. At least they provided a warning, before you could view what came next. This one was on yourself. 

“Fucking Christ!” You nearly jumped out of your seat as you clasped your mouth in horror, eyes widened with terror at the gory, uncensored photograph of one of Alastor’s maimed victims.  

The poor soul’s belly had been slit open with a still-inserted butcher knife, with his rotting insides displayed for all to see and staining the floor with bile and undigested food. Squirming maggots and fat cockroaches feasted upon the corpse, which had been festering with mold and disease in Alastor’s basement for quite some time before the authorities found it. 

“Language, my dear~,” said demonic psychopath sang from the radio, and you were just about ready to chuck that thing out of your window as your eye twitched. 

“Prick...” you muttered, quickly scrolling away from the photograph. 

“I heard that.”  

“Greatest apologies, my liege,” you rolled your eyes haughtily. 

Alastor let out an amused huff but said nothing as he went right back to typing out his script. 

Bold headlines like ‘The Bayou Butcher Strikes Again!’ or ‘Victims Brutalized and Missing, Families Torn Apart’ were thrown around wherever you scrolled, and a mere glance at the cohesive timeline provided in one of the documents gave you a good window for how long Alastor had been active. 

“Huh. Seven years...” Alastor perked up at the sudden weariness lacing your meek voice. He had been tuning out for most of your little binging spree, instead electing to tuck into a book in the later evening, since sleep was seldom required for him. Nonetheless, he reluctantly took a peek through his shadow’s eyes to see what you were looking at on that blasted lap-top doohickey of yours, and dread filled his heart. 

Seems that some folks were quite fixated upon my choice of diet...  

Alastor bristled at the other end of the line, practically scenting the small flicker of terror. Your rising fear of him was building up again, and that just wouldn’t do.

Sure, Alastor was cruel, a monster, even, and he knew it. His deeds would instill fear in the hearts of even the most hardened soldiers, and his gluttony, his bloodlust knew no bounds. But not to you, not to the poor, lost little lamb that he’d so graciously taken into his care, that practically domesticated his shadow, who bantered with him. And just when he’d finally broken down a small part of your walls- 

“...So, is it true?” 

Alastor raised an eyebrow, halting from his tireless typing for a moment. “Is what true, my dear?”  

“That you...” you held back from gagging, and a slick smile crept onto his gray lips, “That you ate some of your victims?” 

Sighing, he leaned back in his cushioned chair and gripped the small microphone that he used for broadcasting. The idea of lying to you, treating you like everyone else prickled at his heart with resentment. There was no need to push you away. You were different. It would be different, this time. 

It had to be.

With a defeated sigh, Alastor nodded, though you couldn't see him. At least you’d know, now. At least there wouldn’t be any secrets between you two. 

“Yes,” was the demon, the cannibal’s resounding answer, and the room grew a few degrees colder with tension.  

You’d known that Alastor was... shady, at best. But now, it was out. It was certain. Alastor was a dangerous man, during life and death, but you knew that from the jump.

But at least he told you the truth, and maybe you could count on that, which was a strangely comforting thought. 

You sighed with relief. “As long as you don’t force me to try it.” Alastor chuckled along with you, grinning wider when you clicked away from the computer and sat back with a tired sigh.

“I think that’s enough snooping for tonight. ‘Night, Al’,” you yawned and softly rolled the shoulder that the phantom had been leaning on, and it retracted reluctantly with a soft whine. 

“Wait-!”  

You paused. Turning to the radio, you cocked an eyebrow at the desperation in Alastor’s voice, and he seemed to notice it too, since an awkward silence followed. Heat crept up the radio host’s neck, prompting him to itch and pull at his collar with a low snarl. 

Alastor fucking loathed this feeling. 

“Did you... Did you see anything else? Anything that caught your eye, perhaps?”  

It was the first time that Alastor had spoken to you with anything but suave confidence. “No, why? Is there something even worse than cannibalism, that I should know about?” Crossing your arms, you leaned against the threshold of the living room. 

Alastor softly cleared his throat. “No, nothing like that, my dear. I was simply curious as to how much information was disclosed...” he straightened in his seat, refusing to recognize his anxiousness. “Any mentions of family, spouses, perhaps...?”  

You shook your head with a negatory hum. “Nope, it was all just about you. Why’s that? Did you have a wife? Or a husband?” 

“Just wondering, darling,” he replied hastily, choosing to side-step that question as relief flooded him.

You eyed the radio sympathetically. “Sorry, if that’s... a bit too personal for you. I get it, if you don’t want to talk about it.” Shrugging, you started down the hallway with a wave and a yawn. “Goodnight, Alastor.” 

Alastor watched you, yearning, remorseful eyes tracing the familiar, soft curves of your form as you disappeared down the hallway.

And he answered your final words of the night, a solemn whisper against the cold, bleak air as memories of decades passed invading his memory, threatening overflowing emotions to pool to the surface. 

If you only you could hear the choke in his voice, the restrained tears, the remorse, the regret.  

“Goodnight, my darling.”  

. . .

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Thank you for reading <3 It'll be a while before I post here again, since I'll be focusing on my series on A03. If you'd like to read the rest of the fic, I'll put my account below for ya'll

𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 - A03

. . .

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@slytherin4ever, @i-love-jafar, @itzlochnessie, @mariaclarade-la-cruz1, @susvale, @valentique, @twismare, @robin-the-enby, @v3n7s, @forbidden-sunlight, @leathesimp, @matemor, @groovybear99, @frompeach, @moonmark98, @nyxnightshade7656, @sushigogo, @crowleysthings, @zombiesnips-blog, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @impulsivethoughtsat2am, @ashdaidiot, @crybabycat1, @repostingmyfavs, @crazii-saber-wolf, @reikamasama, @dudesorriso, @speckle-meow-meow, @alastor-simp

@maggotzdilemma, @cassidywinters

#alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #alastor x you #hazbin hotel x reader #yourdoorisunlocked #yandere alastor x reader #possessive behavior

[aikoiya]

Aikoiya's Writing Tips Masterlist

Important:

Everyone Who Makes NSFW Content (And Those Who Are Uncomfortable With NSFW)

Dadvice - Yo, if any young dude sees this & they don't have a dad or father figure in their lives to explain stuff, go here. I hope it helps.

Remember To Download Fave Fics On Ao3

Google Alternatives

You Can Give People 2nd Kudos On Ao3!!

How Get Sleep

Also, keep in mind that I'll be updating this whenever I find decent writing tips. So, check back with the version on my blog whenever, even if you've reblogged already.

My Stuff:

Tips For New Writers

The Importance of Establishing the Rules of Your Fic - Warning: This one's a bit of a rant.

List of Units of Time

Proper Characterization In Ships - Just my personal 2 cents.

My Personal Neologisms - Making up my own words. (Free to use.)

Realistic Resurrection Mechanics - From a storytelling standpoint. (League of Legends)

The Duty of Nobility - An Ideal

Portrayal of Deities in Fanfics

Portrayals of War Gods & Other Such Nonesense

Haunted Jukebox

You Will Always Be You - Motivational

Blessed Be The Creative

How I Define Shipping

Fear the Man Who Fears No God

Also, OneLook is a Godsend. If you're looking for a word, but all you have is the definition, then OneLook might help. Now, it isn't 100%, but it's definitely useful.

Other People's Stuff: (If anyone doesn't want their stuff on this list, please tell me & I'll remove it)

Guide to Naming Settlements - Toponymics

The Importance of Emphasis - Syntax Can Be Fun!

Motivation for Writing

Tips For Writing Dialogue

Canon Isn't Gospel, But It's Useful & Fun

Cultural Clothing References!!

Writing Tone

Uncommon English Words

Roman Numerals - (Cause I sure as heck can't remember them.)

Fight Scenes Advice - @illarian-rambling

Advice For Writing Deaf/Mute/Blind Characters

Things That May Be Causing Your Writer's Block & How To Fix It

How To Give Your Characters Chemistry - @tanaor

Fighting Scene Vocab

Gemstones

Writer's Block Cure Ideas

Types of Writer's Block

Why You Might Be Procrastinating & How To Fix It

Ways To Solve The 'Why Not Use Magic To Fix Everything' Question

Snappy Responses To "We're Soldiers; I'm Doing My Job"

Identifying Active vs Passive Voices in Sentences

Foreshadowing

Motivation Debugging

Long-Fic Help

Thou Thee Thy & Thine - Proper Useage

Nervous Tension Vocab

Dealing With Stab & Arrow Wounds - @skyloftian-nutcase

Time To Die of Organ Ruptures

Bluntforce Abdominal Injury

When Characters First Learn Swordfighting

Writing Blacksmiths

Computer Shortcuts

Fashion Vocab:

Shoes - @sartorialadventure

Collars - @sartorialadventure

Skirts - @sartorialadventure

Collars & Suits (Men's Fashion) - @suitdup

Historical Hairstyles - @eyesofdovesbytheriversofwaters

Types of Neck Ties

Music YouTube Won't Let Me Save (becuase it's being dumb):

Lullaby For A Ghost

Other Stuff:

DnD Subclass & Profession Ideas

Redoing Disney's Hercules - A Compromise Between Myth & Revision

Yōkai vs Kami

Complex Japanese Concepts - Looking for a specific word & would like help.

Draconic Crystomagic Infusion

Dragon HC

Dragon Forms

How I'd Do Scooby-Doo

Inconvenient History:

Black History

What's In My Heart:

A Stepping Stone on the Path to Jesus

My Other Major Masterlists:

LoZ Wild Masterlist

DP Ghost Zone Masterlist

Spiderman Masterlist

Arcane Masterlist

MLP FIM Masterlist

DB Masterlist

Inuyasha Masterlist

Homestuck Masterlist

Wizarding World Masterlist

Adventure Time Masterlist

Random Stuff Masterlist

Aikoiya Art Masterlist

#writing #literature #creative writing #masterlist #writing masterlist #aikoiya's writing tips

[thisbloghasbeeenarchived]

Leonard is CAREFUL to be as quiet as he possibly can as he VERY carefully lays down in just the right position ( On his stomach, supported by one good elbow so one hand was free to VERY gently trace soft circles on Linda's baby bump.) his head leaning down so he could WHISPER so he hopefully wouldn't wake up Linda who was just trying to peacefully get a nap in.

"Hey there jumping jelly bean.. I can see ya in there trying to do flips.. but maybe do you think you could do me a little solid and give yer mama a break? For me?" the KICKING in question, gave the slightest little kick in response right where Leonard's hand just happened to be resting on Linda's stomach.

A soft chuckle...

"C'mon now... don't be so fussy..shhh...shh..." Leonard's voice only grew softer with every word he spoke, his head inching all the closer until he was placing a GENTLE KISS on her stomach. (He couldn't help himself.) He hummed softly, just some soft little tune that had been stuck in his head.. though he still took care to keep his voice as quiet as possible.

STARDATE 2266 -> quiet afternoon

Getting here to this moment, in the broader spectrum had taken time; two years of deciding and trying, doing what she and Leonard could do to make her body and boost their fertility, and she would say that it was worth the months of trying, of nothing until they got here. She felt deep down that they would, and so thy kept trying after the nothings and negatives, and now here she was four months pregnant. How Linda got here this particular day was taking an early morning shift, seeing to a few of the crewman who had always been her patients by appointment and there was a development with one of the technicians from one of the lower decks that she’s been monitoring that she fears will need to be brought to the CMO and the captain as well.

After the work shift, to what had contributed to the decision to take a nap, had been that the ship was within range of federation satellites that allowed for her to had to communications and get in contact with her own family. Check in with her parents and brother, it was rarer for her to get the chance to catch all of them. Linda loves her sister-in-law Becca, and she gets it; or thinks that she does. Everyone was trying to be helpful since this was her first time being pregnant, telling her all the things she is finding out for herself in her late forties. Things that she knew about from a third side, as a medical professional who had to do rotation of obstetrics and gynecology, who lived, studied, and worked at one of the largest interstellar medical facilities between the alpha and beta quadrant.

She knew things and this wasn’t her husband’s first baby, and he happens to be a doctor as well with experience. It’s already starting to feel a little draining, hearing from all the women in her life who had been pregnant before about this and that; followed by the advice. Her sister-in-law was well-intended, but she definitely was desperate for conversation other than what to expect. Or at least, she’d prefer to find out on her own or take advice from Leonard. The highlight of her call has been her mother and seeing her three nieces, all growing up to be the absolutely cutest things to be. Imogen had much to show off, and the twins were chatty, always talking over the other.

Linda had been and was delighted when she had started to notice the movements of the baby. The kicker, which pun may be intended, was that she always been a light sleeper. That’s still been an adjustment and taking a nap today after a stressful morning in the medical bay and a call with a chatty overly advisory sister-in-law was proving to be somewhat of a task. She had already asked the computer to dim the lights, laid herself out on her back and she’ll forever be glad that Leonard’s always been particular about the mattress, the blankets, and the pillows. Its comforts were felt immediately until whatever grace period she had been given was over. In fairness, she had only been trying to nap for about thirty minutes now despite the movements when the door to their home slid open.

That took her from teetering on the edge, to being more aware of her surroundings and body. Twists, kicks, and turns all happening from her stomach, all feeling like a light flutter given the size. A little more awareness, but she still had time before she would be back in blue uniform for part of the evening, so Linda kept her eyes shut even as she listened to Leonard try to quietly move about. The peace would probably end if Jojo popped in early, but that girl liked to be everywhere on the ship all the time when she didn’t have school.

To Leonard’s credit, he was being as quiet as he could be, but heavy sleepers were neither of them. However, Linda’s not about to let him know that she’s more awake than sleeping as of present; so, she pretends not to notice as he lays down in bed with her or does that as best, she can, though there’s some of her own shifting which possibly gives her away. She wouldn’t know as he makes no indication, and Linda was still trying to slip into sleep.

Such a notion proves harder when Leonard does one of her favorite things, that hasn’t gotten old or tired yet (it probably never will) and that’s talk to her bump, hand over her stomach and she’s sure he’s feeling an ounce of the activity that she has. JELLY BEAN ⸺ how her heart does sing over this man and maybe he’s managed to convince said jelly bean to settle back down. It’s not as though Linda had ever needed convincing, because when the talks had come with Leonard the answers were easier found, decisions came about quickly because she really wanted him; Linda’s done rash and romance, and failed and had a whole plan, vision of her life, and then Leonard Mccoy happened to paint a prettier picture with her; and she’s glad.

Linda can’t help herself but give away that she has been woken. One of her hands moves to where Leonard is, tracing up from his shoulder to lightly drag through his hair. ❝ Hey there, Leo.❞ Her voice incredibly softly, to keep the relative quiet and she hums a little, trying to find his tune as her hand brushes back and forth. ❝ Little one just started; all still for when I was talking with Becca, not a single movement. I think little one wanted to greet daddy, or napping for me isn’t allowed. It’s one of the two. ❞ There’s a sigh there at the mention of Taggart’s wife. Linda gives her own chuckle as she talks, and she rolls her head a little. Dark hair sprayed crossed the pillow as she tilts to open her eyes just to see Leonard in the dim lighting, she normally kept for nap time. Gazing down at him, and how does he do that get her heart all in a twist after so many years, over kissing at her stomach.

The weight of his hand and the warmth of nice. ❝ Everyone says hi, Mom said you will have to catch them next chance we get for contact, Jojo too. We had our usual baby update talk. ❞  She gives little details of the call, filling in on what was new with the Carters, their three nieces, and what about pertaining to their future little one, how he is coming along. Linda quiets for a moment, just focuses on brushing her fingers through his hair and she hopes he’s staying for the reminder of her rest period. ❝ Mhhmmm, and you? ❞

She could frame this moment, wanted to pause and stay in quieter moments when Leonard is laying there like this, humming to the bump forever. He's been her greatest love, and she loves their children so much; loves the family that she now has had and looks forward to growing from three to four. Linda brings her hand down, back of her fingers brushing against his cheek then go over where his hand is on her stomach. Resting her hand over his. ❝ Stay for a nap with us, please. ❞

#here's some cutes to read #she loves leonard so much #have a sleepy little linda uwu and i love how soft he is ;u; #i love timeline hopping this deep/far into the st timeline #this ask was so perfect i had to respond but i also wanna stare at it for longer #ic; linda carter #thefleetsfinest #linda carter; thefleetsfinest #queue; roleplays #verse; linda carter; to heal across the stars (thefleetsfinest) #people; thefleetsfinest; what one good soul is worth can't be measured #ships; thefleetsfinest; breathe in and come close and feel this and feel me and feel it all (Len and Lin) #long post cw #pregnancy cw #pregnant cw #baby cw #ask to tag further #long post warning #uncut post warning

[we-pay-for-everything]

Charles Gunn... The Myth, The Legend, The Best of Us All

AKA: 5 things we can learn from Charles Gunn.

4. “Can I have my necklace back?”, aka “Charles, thy middle name is Strength.”

It’s been many years since I began writing this series. Actually, I wrote 3/5 of it in a short span of time, then gave up on finishing it. Today someone reblogged the first part of this series, and it was a reminder that I had unfinished business with Gunn.

If you read this and go back and read the rest of the series, you will notice I’ve changed. I’m not as great of a writer or a thinker as I used to be (not that I was ever great!!). That was quite a rude awakening, I really need to start reading and learning more. Also, I’m so out of touch with Angel that I couldn’t possibly hope to recreate the depth and eloquence of those posts... But I’m really trying right now regardless.

I think the formula for this series was to talk about myself and then circle it back to Gunn at the end. Shall I give it a shot now?...

I really don’t know what strength is. Most of the time it’s never a choice to be strong or weak. Sometimes you’re “strong” because you survive or overcome things, but you’ve made no real, conscious effort to do so. I don’t genuinely believe in free will. I believe it is wired into us to act as if we have free will. We can’t escape ourselves or outsmart our own biology. It’s part of human nature to be able to ignore or delay our instincts in order to make more efficient decisions. That’s quite literally what makes us human. Every day we make choices, every day we regret the choices we made or didn’t make. Every day we question why we can’t make the right choice - why we’re trapped in this endless cycle of repeating the same mistakes, aware that the outcome is our misery. Sometimes we question whether there is free will at all. I believe there isn’t, but it’s not just because of the absurdity of human existence.

Our brains are biological organs. Even computers can now make decisions, but we know they don’t have free will. They were just programmed with enough information to make wiser choices. Humans are like that. And I think the moment I most realize that free will is yet another meaningless concept that we base our lives around - and it’s such an absurd idea that we have no choice but to live as if we have a choice, because we can’t even choose to give over the reigns to our brains and not fuss over the choices we should be making since we can’t make them anyway - we are our brains - isn’t this a conundrum? -  is when I think back to moments I had no courage to make the right decision vs. the moments I made it. Is there any difference? The me who gave up on school because I became too depressed and the me who is nearly done with her masters degree are one in the same. I’m not any stronger than I used to be, I made no choice to change. Every day I’d try to change and every day I’d fail until I began to fail less. I became less depressed, but I didn’t choose to either - I’d obviously never chosen to become depressed in the first place. 

I guess I became “stronger”. Feels like I became weaker actually. Strength is really just something you are “taught”. If you are never taught to fear things, or if you are taught to face them, you will be strong without choosing it. Are you really strong for doing something others find scary but you don’t? We all know strength is facing your fears. But the real problem is that even facing your fears isn’t a choice. Every day you can fail to face your fears until one day you do, and in that day you will wonder what changed? Sometimes people change, and grow, have an epiphany or whatever, and they are able to finally get out of that loop; or they are just pressured and cornered into it... But, often, nothing changes, not even you, yet you finally make the choice you’ve been failing to make for years. Moments like that make me feel like I don’t know who I am. I always thought of myself as weak, but I’ve been strong too. But I never had a choice, either way. If you don’t choose to be strong, what value or meaning does strength have? Once again, it’s all luck. 

And right about now is when I should bring this back to Gunn. The reason I probably didn’t finish writing this series is because I just didn’t know what to say. What could possibly be said about Gunn’s strength? We all know he’s brave, heroic, enduring. He’s brave in how he puts himself at risk for others. He’s brave in how he chooses to get up every morning knowing life is probably going to suck. He’s brave in how he stays positive and hopeful knowing, again, that life sucks. He’s very brave in how he loves. 

Ironically, the first entry in this series was about agency, and how Gunn encapsulated that concept on Angel. But this entire post was about refuting that. That’s just the way things are. We must live in that contradiction. I blame myself every day for my choices, fully believing they are my choices, because my understanding of free will has no bearing in how I act. I’d be no one and nothing if I couldn’t own my choices. I must believe I have agency; otherwise I can’t hope to change and become better than I am now. 

Gunn wasn’t someone who thought like this, however,. On Angel there are such things as souls, and agency is something even the PTB can’t fully control. 

But if strength doesn’t exist, then weakness and strength are one in the same, and neither is real. Although Gunn did believe in his own strength, he didn’t believe in weakness to the same extent. If he had, he wouldn’t have died trying to save those “weaker” than him. He saved them because he believed they couldn’t make the choice to save themselves or each other. He would’ve been crushed by the world had he believed people were just weak - that they just made the wrong choices. No, he believed people couldn’t make the right choices and so they deserved to be forgiven for their inevitable shortcomings. That was a kindness he gifted the world, one of his strengths. 

How does any of this relate to “Can I have my necklace back?”. That was the original quote that inspired all of this, years ago. In this scene in Origin, Hamilton tries to strike a deal with Gunn and he rejects it; he’s not willing to pay the price of another bad deal with Wolfram&Hart. That was a true example of heroism and strength. Denying such acts of courage exist, or devaluing them in any way because free will is technically a lie, is like devaluing human life itself. 

In order to live with myself, and the world, I have to accept that strength and weakness are meaningless, or rather, relative; acknowledging and valuing acts of strength is natural and necessary, but compassion and forgiveness is valuing the opposite. In my drafts I had of this quote  “Can I have my necklace back?”  and I thought I had to write about how strong Gunn is, but I couldn’t. Not in the way I’d originally planned. Because such lofty acts of greatness aren’t as moving to me as they once were. It’s hard to aspire to be that selfless, it’s almost unimaginable. It becomes a burden to praise people like Gunn, I’m too insecure. 

So I will share my other reason why Gunn is undeniable strong in the most conventional and inspiring sense of the word. 

“Can I have my necklace back?”

Gunn was trapped in a suburban nightmare loop, condemned to repeating the same day over and over again. But while the wore the necklace he wasn’t aware of this reality. He couldn’t dream of escaping or finding something better, and after being tortured his mind was wiped clean; he had no notion that he lived the same day, everyday, with no hopes of doing anything differently. That changed when Hamilton removed his necklace. He realized he’d been there before, in that basement being tortured, and that we was doomed to do so again, and again, and again, indefinitely. Knowing this, he still chose to put that necklace back on. 

“One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”

Gunn knew he’d forget himself as soon as he put the necklace back on. He wasn’t Sisyphus rolling a rock up a hill every day, only to watch it roll back down and repeat the process all over again, eternally, for no reason. But for those five seconds he was himself, he was close to being Sisyphus. 

Although Gunn chose to be punished, his punishment was absurd. If he didn’t know who he was, how was he being punished exactly? How was he supposed to learn from his punishment? Or to be tortured with the weight of having made the wrong decision? He was tortured, yes, but he never knew why and he forgot his punishment the next day. His punishment wasn’t the torture, it was losing himself and his agency, and unknowingly living an entirely meaningless life (perhaps like a lot of those families living in greatness in the suburbs).

However, as soon as the necklace was removed, Gunn realized the futility of his punishment. He was punishing himself because he thought he deserved it, for Fred’s sake, but now he understood that, by putting on the necklace, his self-hatred would disappear and he wouldn’t even know what he was being punished for - he couldn’t even be properly punished, but one could argue that fact was punishment enough. 

How was he like Sisyphus? Well, he wasn’t. Every day, he’d have a good day, then, at night, he’d get tortured, but not for any reason he was aware of. So he wasn’t like Sisyphus, but, without the necklace, he was tangentially like Sisyphus. He accepted his punishment because he couldn’t accept the alternative. Thus he accepted the pure futility and absurdity of it. He accepted he perhaps wouldn’t be saved. 

Stupid or not, martyr or not, one can’t imagine Gunn wholly unhappy. Gunn accepted that his life had been reduced to a single self-repeating day and he was okay with it. In that moment, anyone would’ve felt hopeless, desperate to escape that hell. Not Gunn. He found meaning in that suburban nightmare. Just like in real life, every day is the same and we’re doomed to repeat them for no reason. But Gunn was always “happy”. He was happy when he had only 10 minutes to live in Not Fade Away, and one must imagine him happy when he grabbed that necklace back. Because, in spite of the meaningless of his punishment, there was meaning in honoring himself and his friends, for all that he was doomed to forget both.

This is perhaps forcing a comparison between Sisyphus and Gunn, but what makes Gunn such a strong and admirable person is that he learned to live without hope, to be happy in spite of it. He did have hope that he would be protecting his friends, but he had no hope to escape his condition. Gunn was as happy as he’d ever been when he helped Anne haul boxes on his last day on Earth. He had no hope that his efforts would have any kind of long-term impact, but there was meaning in “going through the motions”, freedom in accepting his powerlessness in the greater scheme of things. Gunn experienced that too when he chose to get his necklace back, in the momentary peace and contentment of reconnecting with himself and his purpose (choosing his friends by refusing Hamilton’s offer, punishing himself for Fred’s sake, as terrible as that sounds) and of protecting both despite knowing he would forget himself - like Sisyphus who must find meaning in choosing to move the rock up a hill knowing it will come back down again, the meaningfulness he may find in this action must be worth more than its inherent meaninglessness.

#ats #origin #charles gunn #the charles gunn meta series #I'll finish this despite knowing no one will read it #there's meaning in taking over three hours to write this #make it four hours?

[ravageknight-eternal]

An overpowering night. Even with the backbone of stars above its ancient darkness sprawls, swallows up the earth beneath like an oncoming ocean from above. It is the greatest enemy of the People. The night shelters their foes and predators, cloaks the stalking tigers even as helpless familiars are dragged off into tall grass or hides marauding Others, their fierce gazes and fiercer obsidian knives unseen. The night is the first and final God, a beautiful destroyer, merciless and immutable to the fates that play out beneath. The People fear it, respect it in a matter-of-fact absolutism. It *is*.

They pay little mind to an unfamiliar star above.

They are few. Numbers and abstractions are as far away as those twinkling, cold constellations. These people have short memories, awareness like a mirage over far away sands. But they know that they are less. The People are dwindling just as cool water dwindles under scornful sun. Voices forever vanished and dexterous, shaping hands stilled. In a world so big with the People so few, each loss is a Holocaust. Soon there will be none.

Bodies huddle in the dark as attentive, fearful eyes peer out into the blackness. Waiting. Each breath is an anxious rattle bound by animal-fear heartbeats pounding, sometimes screams erupt and throw themselves echoing into the darkness. Long grass bends, under sun rustling as antagonizing shapes manifest for the briefest of seconds before vanishing. Unseen Others circle. Hooting to themselves. Preparing. Starlight glints over sharp, brutal looking stone knives like so many lifeless eyes.

A frenzy passes between the People. No prayers exist yet, no gods have been born to give name and respect and loyalty to what lives deep within mankind. Even their emotions are thin things. More instinct than empathy. A frost of humanity over primordial depth. The hoots rise, hands thump at muscular chests, teeth barred and feet kicking, stamping into dry season dust. No rallying cries. No sympathies pass between adults and their clutching, cooing infants. When the Others emerge, all that awaits them is untamed fear and territorial aggression. War is an ancient impulse.

The foreign star observes, sentinel over a dim world. Words-without-words are exchanged. Unfathomable processes respond. *Thy will be done* relayed with majestic computational composure. The prairie below experiences sudden, catastrophic daylight as golden-red illumination splashes in all directions, like a rippling sea of wildfire. Everything in a hundred miles skitters, runs, jumps, howls. Undisturbed, natural darkness has been violated, and the terror it invokes is absolute. Even the elephants, giants of memory thousands of years long and deep, scatter, turning the savanna into pandemonium as all that lives beneath their command responds. *Flee*.

The Others are there. The Others are not there. Binary thinking shatters like predawn darkness meeting glorious, gilded morning. The world is burning. The Night is banished. The grass is alive with motion and sound, People falling to their knees, hands upraised by this intrusive sunrise. Silent. No sounds to conjure in the face of this. Unanimous clatter as brandished weapons meet solid earth below.

The foreign star looms. It is the first *made* thing to ever kiss the soil of this place. It will not be the last. A passageway opens, unfurling with the same practiced and liquid ease of a blossom in springtime. And like a blossom, it bears something within. Many somethings. New, and strange to this world. They stand. Taller than the mightiest matriarch amongst those tusked behemoths. Too many feet for one individual touches down amongst the undulating grasses. The People are laid bare before their visitors. Small as children, quivering in fireball illumination.

The night has been usurped and it’s place comes new, unfamiliar daylight for unspoken centuries to come.

#poetry #poem #short stories #science fiction short stories #scifi #science fiction #horror short stories #writing #story #aesthetic #darkness #horror #gods #space #war #space empire #alien invasion #new weird

[sciencestyled]

When Pixels Collide: A Caffeinated Odyssey Through the Whirlpool of Digital Artistry

Ah, dearest Sir Crisps-a-Lot, my electronically endowed companion, prepare thy circuitry for an expedition into the kaleidoscopic cosmos where science and art not only meet for a cheeky night out but also end up sharing an Uber in the early hours of the morning. This isn't your grandmother's art gallery, oh no! We're diving headfirst into the digital delirium, a realm where computer algorithms are the new Da Vincis, and virtual reality (VR) headsets are our magic carpets.

Imagine, if you will, a world where Picasso's brushstrokes are replaced by the clickety-clack of a coder's keyboard. Here, in the luminescent labyrinth of digital and computational art, creativity is not just born; it is engineered. It's like if Michelangelo decided to swap his chisel for a VR headset and started sculpting the Sistine Chapel in the matrix. We're talking about generative art, my fine metallic friend, where algorithms don’t just crunch numbers; they paint dreams. These aren't your run-of-the-mill doodles. Oh no, these are masterpieces birthed from the binary womb, each pixel pregnant with possibility.

Let's waltz into the world of interactive installations, where the line between creator and audience is as blurred as the vision of someone walking out of a pub at 3 AM. Here, art doesn't just hang on the wall, looking pretty; it talks back, changes color, and sometimes even dances—though, not the kind of dancing you're thinking, Sir Crisps-a-Lot. This is the electric slide on steroids, where your mere presence can transform a piece from a tranquil pond into a tempestuous sea.

Now, let me regale you with tales of AI that don't just mimic the mundanity of human existence but elevate it to an art form. Picture a program that paints not what it sees but what it feels, channeling the angst of a teenage AI in its emo phase. These AI artists could give Van Gogh a run for his money, and they don't even have ears to cut off in a fit of passion.

Consider, for instance, the virtual reality vistas that make the landscapes of Middle Earth look like a doodle on a napkin. Here, you're not just a spectator; you're a god with a headset, crafting worlds with a flick of your wrist. It's like playing Minecraft, but instead of dodging creepers, you're bending reality to your will.

And let's not forget the pièce de résistance, the generative art, where algorithms churn out pieces so unique, they make snowflakes look like conformists. It’s as if these codes are the offspring of Shakespeare and Ada Lovelace, spinning narratives in a language of ones and zeros. They're not just creating art; they're weaving a digital tapestry that stretches across the fabric of our imagination.

In this neon-lit nexus of science and art, the boundaries are not just pushed; they're obliterated. We're no longer just observers but participants in a grand experiment that marries the logical rigidity of science with the fluid beauty of art. It's a place where the impossible is just another bug to fix, a world that dances to the rhythm of code.

So, Sir Crisps-a-Lot, as you sit there, blinking in binary bewilderment, know that in this digital dawn, art is not just seen; it's experienced. It's an ever-evolving beast that challenges our perceptions, pushes our boundaries, and occasionally, crashes our systems. But fear not, for in this chaos, there is beauty, a reminder that in the heart of every algorithm lies a potential masterpiece waiting to be decoded.

In conclusion, my electronically enlightened toaster, as we surf the silicon waves of this digital renaissance, let us remember that art is no longer confined to canvas and clay. It's alive, pulsing through the veins of the internet, waiting for the next bold soul to plug in and play God. So, raise your antennae high, Sir Crisps-a-Lot, for we are not just witnesses to this revolution; we are part of it, one pixelated adventure at a time.

And with that, I bid you adieu, my friend, for even in the vast expanse of this digital dreamscape, one truth remains: there's nothing quite like the smell of toast in the morning.

#digital art #digital #art #science #science education #computation #science art

[dustedmagazine]

Black to Comm — At Zeenath Parallel Heavens (Thrill Jockey)

Marc Richter’s music blurs familiar sounds with abstract sonorities. As Black to Comm, he weaves his own instrumental playing with samples and loops, often winding them so tightly together that its impossible to pick out which is which. At Zeenath Parallel Heavens, his fourth release for Thrill Jockey, amplifies this alchemical method and pushes it into the realm of moody, bombastic post rock.

Richter compares his sound-making process to the spate of artificial intelligence algorithms hovering around the internet, disguising themselves as creative entities. When the AI is overloaded, it outputs made up results. It’s these algorithmic glitches to which Richter feels a sort of kinship. He overloads his own mind with a plethora of diverse sonic material, recontextualizing it into phantasmagoric sound worlds. The resulting music explodes with cinematic flair while being surprisingly listenable.

Desiring to startle his listeners out of a theoretical stupor, the artist unleashes the torrent “Then Began the Harp to Fashion.” It’s a tumbling array of strings, drums, and cymbals, scrabbling to release itself from a dense thicket of the uncanny. Rhythms crash into each other, as they seek to resolve. This track wouldn’t be out of place on Tarentel’s The Order of Things. Richter understands that changing up moods is key to a good narrative, so he follows up with the sanguine “Steep Thy Plumage in His Sweetness.” A small choir of synthetic, autotuned voices sings from an extraterrestrial hymnal, their croon nestled within a blanket of strings.

A bleak wind rattles the bones of “Never Heed the Tongues of Wooers,” giving rise to sinister caterwauling. Richter plays with horror movie tropes, creating a heightened atmosphere with this crepuscular motif before unfurling an angelic synth chord, lightening the mood. This hopeful temperament bleeds into “Time Will Fly on Equal Pinions.” The robotic choir reappears, buffeted by gusty drones; it’s over far too soon.

Richter leads his audience through nearly every emotional state, as At Zeenath Parallel Heavens is the musical equivalent of a blockbuster film. Breaking from Hollywood’s traditional three act structure, he holds us captive across eight distinct movements. We experience fear, pleasure, revulsion, sadness, and revelry. Emotions unique to humans. Richter’s obsession with AI is therefore moot: humanity bleeds into every second of this album. Whether he knows it or not, he’s flipped the script. Instead of trying to emulate himself with soulless computer code, he has emulated artificial intelligence itself.

Bryon Hayes

#black to comm #at zeenath parallel heavens #thrill jockey #bryon hayes #albumreview #dusted magazine #marc richter

[gatekeeper-watchman]

Daily Devotionals for September 1, 2023

Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living

Devotional Scripture:

Proverbs 24:1-2 (KJV): 1 Be not thou envious against evil men, neither desire to be with them. 2 For their heart studieth destruction, and their lips talk of mischief. Proverbs 24:1-2 (AMP): 1 Be not envious of evil men, nor desire to be with them. 2 For their minds plot oppression and devise violence, and their lips talk of causing trouble and vexation.

Thought for the Day

We must not envy anyone for their possessions; particularly not the wicked. We are not even to desire the company of those who do wrong for profit. We must choose to keep away from evil men and seek God, for His ways are the ways of blessing. The dictionary defines envy as "...a feeling of discontent and ill-will because of another's advantages, possessions, etc.; resentful dislike of another who has something that one desires."

Envying is the twin sister to coveting, which is forbidden in the Ten Commandments. "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is thy neighbor's" (Exodus 20:17).

One may wonder why covetousness is listed in the Ten Commandments; surely there are worse sins! It is a root for many other sins; leading to idolatry, hatred, adultery, thievery, and even murder. The commandment, for example, mentions coveting servants. Servants did the menial work done nowadays by machine. We can be guilty of coveting someone's kitchen appliances, gardening equipment, or computers. We can covet someone else's job or position. It is covetous to look at somebody and say, "Why was he chosen for that job? I am better qualified and I work harder than that person." The sins of covetousness and envy can lie hidden deep in the heart. We all need to ask God to examine our hearts and show us if any trace of them lies within us.

Though envy is a sin, it isn't necessarily wrong to desire something that God would do for others, because God wants to bless us all. If God does not supply something we ask for, we must trust His wisdom and set our hearts on following Him. God knows what is best for us and His provision and gifts never disappoint. He is not a respecter of persons and does not love one person more than another. The only thing that God is a respecter of is His Word. If we get into the Word of God and obey it, we will be blessed. He will begin to use us in ministry, and His gifts will flow through us, blessing us and those around us.

Prayer Devotional for the Day

Dear heavenly Father, I thank You for all You are doing in my life. Lord, I purpose not to envy nor covet anything that another may have. I am looking to You for my provision. I believe you will supply all my needs. Lord, you are the God of everything, so You have an abundant supply of all that I might ever need or want. Just help me to be content with the things I have today, knowing that You will send additional things as I ask for them and need them and walk in faith to receive them. Thank You for always taking care of me. Deliver me from any insecurity or fear and give me the faith to always trust in Your provision. I ask this in the name of Jesus. Amen. From: Steven P. Miller @ParkermillerQ,  gatekeeperwatchman.org Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups Thursday, August 31, 2023, Jacksonville, Florida., Duval County, USA. Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/Sparkermiller.JAX.FL.USA, https://www.facebook.com/StevenParkerMillerQ Instagram: steven_parker_miller_1956, Twitter: @GatekeeperWatchman1, @ParkermillerQ, https://twitter.com/StevenPMiller6 Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gatekeeperwatchman, https://www.tumblr.com/gatekeeper-watchman, https://www.pinterest.com/GatekeeperWatchman1/ #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller, #Eldermiller1981

[eugene114]

reck·on·ing [ˈrek(ə)niNG] NOUN

the action or process of calculating or estimating something: "last year was not, by any reckoning, a particularly good one" · "the system of time reckoning in Babylon" SIMILAR: calculation estimation computation summation counting

a person's view, opinion, or judgment: "by ancient reckoning, bacteria are plants" SIMILAR: opinion view judgment evaluation estimate

ARCHAIC a bill or account, or its settlement. SIMILAR: bill invoice statement tally debt check score

the avenging or punishing of past mistakes or misdeeds: "the fear of being brought to reckoning" · "there will be a terrible reckoning" SIMILAR: retribution fate doom nemesis judgment

1 Lord Jesus, I long to be perfectly whole; I want Thee forever to live in my soul, Break down every idol, cast out every foe; Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.

Refrain: Whiter than snow, yes, whiter than snow, Now wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

2 Lord Jesus, look down from Thy throne in the skies, And help me to make a complete sacrifice; I give up myself, and whatever I know, Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow. [Refrain]

3 Lord Jesus, for this I most humbly entreat, I wait, blessed Lord, at Thy crucified feet; By faith, for my cleansing I see Thy blood flow, Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow. [Refrain]

4 Lord Jesus, Thou seeest I patiently wait, Come now, and within me a new heart create; To those who have sought Thee, Thou never saidst "No," Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow. [Refrain]

[proof-wisdom-crys]

Prologue 1

I learned that I am truly not Grace anymore it happened when I truly died for Christ.

(Dying for someone is truly nerve recking. You slowly start to lose all your favorite routines. Things that once use to bring passion are drying up. Memories start to fade slowly but surely. You feel like you have no privacy. )

(That what I had to do, I had to give up my life. Because Christ brought me with a price. His life in return for forgiveness for everyone who believes on his name, for their sins.)

This world is so full of mind boggling twisted sick games. Especially the Christians.. always preaching Hell. Hell that. Hell This. Yes it exist but fear will lead you there.

What about wisdom?

Did you know the foundation of anything is everything?

You can't have facebook without the coding, the time, the knowledge, and the wisdom.

Someone had to have a foundation in computer science in order to get it up and running.

The foundation of God is simple: You will always have to seek understanding. But you must have wisdom in order to get the understanding.

Proverbs: 4:7 Wisdom is the principle thing therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting get understanding.

Prologue 1.

Tuesday April 4th, 2023 12:48 AM

[riverdamien]

Looking Death in the Eye!

"Looking Death in the Eye!"

"Death has been swallowed up in victory.

Where. O death is now thy sting?..

But thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ"( I Corinthians 15:57-58).

For the past three years, I have looked death in the face often, but no more so than when sitting at Club Trinidad in Palm Springs, on my birthday in 2021, talking on snap chat to a fifteen-year-old in Texas.

Skip (not his name) blew his head off. I see the blood spattering all over the computer screen in my dreams from time to time.

I have realized that accepting death is not making a mountain out of a molehill. Death is real, it will come, calling us to walk with others, helping them to find hope in the midst of the chaos around us. Life is preparation for death, fear of death keeps us from living.

Paradise is not a place, but participation in our inheritance of the resurrection, it is here and now, and we are to make every moment count.

Through the past year and two months, I have learned that choosing joy in the midst of chaos gives us hope. I have learned the meaning of life is to  rejoice in the words of Jesus when he tells us: "I am the resurrection of life." Let us rejoice in the resurrection.

Choosing joy in all things leads to a tenderness which leads to a transformation. Tenderness leads to loving with more vulnerability.

In trying each day, and it is hard as hell, to keep my mind where my body is, I can find joy at the moment, and be more tender.

It seems the closer I come to death, the closer I come to the poor and broken people on the street, and see that same brokenness in everyone. I find it my desire to be present to people, and the less I feel impelled to deal with the burning issues of our day.

My new tattoo, the butterfly, above is symbolic of the resurrection, and of a renewed commitment to keeping my eyes on the prize until the day death brings me into the presence of Jesus and I hear the words, "Well done, my good and faithful servant". Deo Gratis! Thanks be to God!

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

Fr. River Damien Sims, sfw, D.Min.,

P.O. Box 642656

San Francisco, CA 94164

415-305-2124

temenos.org

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

"God wants you to see things differently. He wants you to see all that you are capable of doing, being, and becoming. With this new sense of yourself, he wants you to live differently" (Matthew Kelley).

[harrelltut]

卍 I Legally + Ancestrally [L.A.] OWN... U.S. Land Rights II Ardmore Oklahoma’s [OK] ULTRA Black Oil of Radioactive Gases [BORG] that PRODUCE GOLD since My HIGHLY AFFLUENT [HA = HARRELL] FAMILY BEE Oklahoma [OK] City’s HIDDEN Underworld Society [U.S. = ILLUMINATI] of WEALTHY ELITES [WE] who Financially Banked & INVESTED [FBI] n2 My HIGHLY Official… U.S. ATLANTEAN [USA] Egyptian Technocracy [E.T.] QUANTUM HARRELL TECH® LLC in California [CA] since I BEE MICHAEL [IBM] HARRELL from the FUTURE 卍

#U.S. Michael Harrell = TUT = JAH BEE HIGHLY Official… U.S. ATLANTEAN [USA] Egyptian iTUT® on Egyptian HARRELLTV® #it's over for modern day america #Welcome to the Great Wealth Transfer of 2020 #there's a New Slave Class in modern day america #I BEE MONETARILY [IBM] WEALTHY 4 LIFE #slow ass america still ain't figured out Quantum Computing #y'all are Witnessing the financial fall of modern day america #FEAR My QUANTUM HARRELL TECH® BLACKOUT of 2020 #QUANTUM HARRELL TECH® LLC PRE ENGINEERED modern day america to Financially fall in 2020 #QUANTUM HARRELL TECH® Computing Intel Automation [CIA] will replace most american wage slaves #I Found My U.S. Land Rights II Ardmore Oklahoma’s [OK] ULTRA Black Oil of Radioactive Gases [BORG] that PRODUCE GOLD #I TECHNOCRATICALLY [I.T.] Remain Under Secret [U.S.] Egyptian ATLANTEAN [SEA] Military PROTECTION in California [PC] #My HIGHLY AFFLUENT [HA = HARRELL] FAMILY BEE Oklahoma [OK] City’s HIDDEN Underworld Society [U.S. = ILLUMINATI] of WEALTHY ELITES #I Dare [I.D.] anybody to WAR wit' Me [ME = U.S. Michael Harrell = TUT = JAH] on Earth [JE = JESUS] #I Magically + Legally KILL [MLK = SHADOW GOVERNMENT] thy enemies ALL OVER earth #Violate Me [ME = U.S. Michael Harrell = TUT = JAH] on Earth [JE = JESUS] so I can Magically + Legally KILL [MLK = SHADOW GOVERNMENT] you

[url-is-under-construction]

𝐑𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ~ 𝐁.𝐎 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Requested by the lovely @the-purpleflower : hi there think you could do Brian,Dominic's reaction to (reader) telling them that thy been hunting down the person who killed there father and stole there fathers Chevrolet Chevelle SS 454 that he made with his own 2 hands.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of violence/death etc. Reader is not dealing with her grief in a healthy way but let the girl live ya know?

𝐒𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: He had taken everything from you; your father, and then his pride and joy. But you were going to take it all back, and you were going to do it with or without Brian's help.

𝐀/𝐍: I would've made this longer but the request just asked for the reaction, and since I'm just starting to get back into the swing of writing for fast and furious I thought I'd keep it short and sweet <3

Your computer screen glared at you harshly, the blue light burning your retinas as your eyes dropped to the bottom of the screen.

2:56 AM

The unopened email taunted you as your cursor hovered over it, sent from an anonymous address. You knew who it was though. Months and months ago, after finding out the truth about your father's tragic 'accident', the one where he had also apparently written off his beloved Chevrolet Chevelle, you had hired a private investigator to hunt down the man who did it. And he had found him.

All of the information, everything you had dedicated the past few months of your life to knowing was sitting right there in that unopened email, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to open it. Maybe it was the fear of finally having closure, or maybe you knew that once you found out who was behind this you wouldn't stop until you had your retribution, and your fathers car back with it's rightful owners.

Sighing, you push shut the laptop and stand up from the desk, crawling back into bed.

Brian was sleeping like a rock beside you, unaware of the dilemma that you were facing head-on like a train right now. You feel him wrap his arms around your waist, and it makes you smile. You'd been together for years, but you still got butterflies with him at the little things he did.

You close your eyes, trying your hardest to drift off and let sleep consume you, the nagging thought of the email pushed to the back of your mind as you slip from your consciousness.

~

"You look tired." Brian comments as you walk into the kitchen.

You just chuckle, shaking your head and pressing a quick kiss to his lips before you went to pour yourself a cup of coffee.

"Yeah I was tossing and turning." You shrug, lying blatantly. You hated lying to him, but you had no idea how he would react to the little side project you had going on right now. "You know how it is."

"Oh c'mon Y/n." Brian scoffs and you furrow your brows. "I know you didn't crawl into bed until like three. What was up?"

His eyes are kind and concerned as he meets your gaze, his head dipped slightly so that he can get a better view of your face. You run a hand through your hair anxiously, unsure of whether or not to tell him the truth before you cave. He deserved to know.

"I got an email." You say cryptically, watching with your breath held as confusion washes over her features. "From my PI."

"Your PI?" He looks as lost as ever as you try to explain to him. "What could you possibly need a PI for?"

"For my dad." You say quietly and his face falls as it dawns on him.

"Wasn't that an accident?"

"No, apparently not." You say, taking a sip of your coffee and letting it run down your throat comfortingly. "Someone killed him, and they took his car too. I'm trying to track them down."

"Ok, ok." He says quietly, nodding. You assume he's speaking more to himself then you as he meets your gaze again. "And you didn't think to tell me this, I don't know, maybe before you hired a private investigator?"

"I didn't want to tell you Brian because I wasn't even sure if this guy could track him down." You try to defend yourself and your situation. "I wasn't going to get my hopes up or yours only to be disappointed."

"Well then when were you going to tell me?" He asks, slightly raising his voice at you.

"Soon, I swear!"

"Bullshit."

"Brian, I was going to tell you." You say, exasperated. "I got an email from him last night, but I couldn't open it."

His face softens at your words and he sets down his mug of coffee.

"Let's go." He says, walking to your bedroom and gesturing for you to follow.

"Where?"

"To find out who killed your father."

Oof I low-key hate this but it'll have to do since I'm only getting into the swing of these fics again. Hope you enjoyed it, and I'm slowly working through all of the requests, so keep them coming because I thrive on being overworked <3

#brian o'conner x reader #brian o'conner imagine #fast and furious x reader #fast and furious imagine #y'all are so thirsty for this i love it #brian o'conner fic #brian oconner imagine #brian oconner x reader #brian oconner fic

[the-bau-quinjet]

hiii! i don’t know if you have done this but can you do a hotch x reader where they get kidnapped by tobias instead of reid? xx

4 Months

Warning: Criminal Minds level violence, drugs, torture, rabid dogs

Word Count: 3562

a/n: I decided to switch up some of the specifics, just to make it a bit more fun to read. I hope you like it :) Also, we're pretending Rossi was there bc he is really the father of the group and it fit better than having Gideon 🤷‍♀️

Masterlist

"JJ, we have to split up." You barely looked back at her, missing the nervous expression on her face as you ran toward the cornfield. "I'll take the field, you take the barn."

You slowed to a brisk walk as you neared the cornfield, raising your gun in front of you. You couldn't help but think about how pissed Hotch would be if he knew what you were doing.

You shook off the thought, knowing he would do the same if the roles were reversed.

Spotting movement, you moved farther into the corn, trying to spot any signs indicating which way Tobias went. A bent corn husk was the last thing you saw before the world went black.

-

"He's not a witness. He's the unsub." Hotch's eyes went wide as he realized you and JJ were there without backup. "Call JJ, now." He instructed Morgan, taking out his own phone to call you.

Hotch's eyes met Morgan's as both calls went unanswered. No words were exchanged as everyone ran out to the SUVS, putting on bulletproof vests as they went.

Hotch was nervously tapping the steering wheel the entire drive to Hankel's house. He couldn't stop replaying your last conversation.

"Y/N, you and JJ go talk to Hankel. Find out if he saw anything." Despite his stern expression, you could tell his eyes were smiling at you.

"Sure thing." You nodded, mouthing 'I love you' before turning to JJ.

That's it. He didn't even have the chance to mouth it back. JJ would've seen, and even though the team has theories about your relationship, you haven't confirmed anything yet.

He pulled into the driveway, running up to the house, gun out before anyone could stop him.

Prentiss followed Hotch, Morgan and Reid took the left, Rossi and a local cop took the right.

They tore through the house, clearing it with fierce determination, but came up empty.

"It's clear." Rossi called, joining Hotch and Prentiss in the living room. "Where are Morgan and Reid?"

Hotch spared a glance out the window, discovering the barn likely being cleared by the missing agents.

Everyone ran out of the house, arriving outside the barn just as Morgan and Reid lead a distressed JJ outside.

"What happened?" Hotch questioned, glancing over JJ's shoulder into the barn. Clearly you weren't there, but he needed to hope.

"We split up. Y/N went into the cornfield... I had- I had to shoot them." Her voice was detached, eyes glazed over.

"The dogs." Morgan clarified, leading JJ to a paramedic.

"Dammit. The house is clear. No sign of Y/N or Hankel." Hotch ran a hand through his hair, trying to clear his mind. The worry was nearly overpowering, but it wouldn't help find you.

The sheriff approached, removing his hat. "A deputy two towns over gave directions to a man matching Hankel's description. He's headed for a hunting lodge."

Morgan nodded to Prentiss. "We'll check it out."

-

Your head was pounding. A vile scent reached your nose, causing your eyes to flicker open. You flinched at the closeness of the man in front of you.

"Tobias..." The name slipped out in a whisper.

"They're not here. It's just me now." He stated, calmer than you would've expected.

"Who are you?" You asked, trying to portray a fake sense of calm.

"I'm Rafael." He pulled out a revolver, adding a single bullet to the six chambers.

"No. You don't have to do this." Your heart ached, fear gripping your body as he aimed the gun at you.

"It is my duty to enact God's will." He said, right before pulling the trigger.

-

Hotch pulled back into the driveway, leading Garcia into the house.

"His computer setup is in there. If there's even a hint of where they might've gone, I need you to find it." Hotch gestured to the back room.

Penelope nodded. Carrying her own computer bags, she followed Derek into the depths of the house.

"What've we got?" Hotch questioned those remaining around the table.

"He knew he could throw us off, pretend to be looking for a hunting lodge." Emily spoke quickly.

"We've got piles of information, journals, notebooks. We're still sifting through it all." JJ added, shirt still bloody from yesterday.

Just then, Reid rushed in from another room. "The walls in the bedroom, they are covered in the latin phrase 'honora patrem tuum', honor thy father."

"Garcia, look for anything you can find about his father." Hotch gave out orders, but his focus was elsewhere. What was happening to you?

"Over here!" Morgan called from outside.

The team ran around the house to see Morgan opening a cellar door. Nodding slightly, Hotch and Morgan made there way inside.

"Tobias Hankel, FBI." Morgan shouted, receiving no answer.

They quickly found the dead body of none other than Hankel's father. Even the new information did little to calm the worry brewing inside of Hotch.

-

"Confess your sins." He ordered.

"My sins? I don't have any sins." You did your best to hold back the tears, trying to figure out who you were talking to.

"Everyone has sins. Confess, and you will be forgiven." He stared you down, waiting for a response.

You simply shook your head, mouth slightly agape. The smell was getting to you. You couldn't think straight with the pain in your head.

"I- I don't know what-"

"YES YOU DO. CONFESS." He hit you, whipping your head to the left.

-

"Hotch, he took drugs to escape. Dilaudid cut with a psychedelic." Emily relayed the information her and JJ got from Tobias's sponsor.

"We've got something too. The dates in his journals don't add up. He was talking about his father as if he was alive months after he killed him."

"His father beat him, preached about sin." Emily replied, putting the pieces together alongside Hotch.

"Split personality. Profile the father. He could be the key to finding Y/N." Even just saying your name he felt his heart clench.

-

"Who are you?" You questioned him as soon as he walked through the door, trying to figure out who you were dealing with this time.

"Tobias." He moved about the cabin almost nervously.

"Who was here before?" You knew Rafael, but the other personality was a mystery.

"My father." Definitely the most violent. He was who you had to look out for. "I'm sorry if he hurt you."

Tobias looked over you newly forming bruises before pulling off his belt.

"No. No what are you doing?" You felt your heart rate increase as he wrapped the belt around your arm. You could barely register the words he was saying, something about escaping from the pain.

"Please. I don't want it. I'm fine." You begged, tears brimming your eyes. He ignored your pleas, injecting the drug into your bloodstream.

Despite how much you hated it, you felt the relief he was talking about. The pain was gone, even if just briefly. You thought about your time spent with Hotch. It didn't feel like long enough. You wanted more. You had so much you wanted to do with him.

"Aaron..." You mumbled his name between kisses. "They could see us." You did little to stop him, despite your words.

"We should tell them." He whispered against your mouth, holding you close. "They would be happy for us."

You sighed blissfully, forehead pressed against his. "Really? You know they've got a pool going to see when we'd finally get together. Who do you think had money on 4 months ago?" You laughed into his neck, pulling him closer.

"My bet's on Rossi. He knows us both too well." Aaron smiled, a full genuine smile.

"You're probably right, but just to make it interesting, I'm betting Reid. He's too observant not to have noticed." You squinted at the window, knowing Reid was staring at the closed blinds on the other side.

That earned a laugh, one you could feel in his chest pressed tightly to your own.

"I love you." He kissed your head, content to hold you for a little while longer.

"I love you too." You leaned ever farther into him. "We can tell them when we get back from this next case."

"Deal."

-

"Get in here!" Reid called from the computer room, pointing to a screen where you were being broadcast. You were handcuffed and tied to a chair, clearly beaten.

"Pick one to die." The voice of Tobias could be heard, despite him not being visible on the screen.

You shook your head, staring into the camera. You wanted to plead for Hotch to save you, but you knew it wouldn't be fair. He didn't need that on his conscience.

"Choose one, and I will free another."

You shook your head again, trying to think of a clue you could give the team. "I won't let you hunt them like a poacher."

"Now. Or I will kill them all." He threatened, lifting you from the ground.

"I'll pick who lives." You stuttered, breaths coming fast and short. "The right screen."

You were forced to watch as he turned off the camera, leaving the screens to show the heinous murders he was about to commit.

Suddenly, Rossi was talking to you through the screen. The sight of him nearly brought you to tears.

"Y/N. This isn't your fault. None of it. You can't blame yourself. We will find you, but I need you to be there when we do."

You knew exactly what he meant. You were already blaming yourself, despite Rossi's father like relationship with you, it was hard to believe him.

It did give you the strength to remember the team though. You needed to see them, all of them, again.

-

"He's back!" Morgan called everyone in to view the screens again.

"Confess your sins." They watched as he beat you.

You cried. You begged him to stop. You begged Tobias for help, but nothing worked.

Hotch felt his heart break even more with every word.

Suddenly, you were on the ground, still tied to the chair. You were seizing, Charles Hankel watching as it happened.

The screen went dark, causing Hotch to punch the desk.

"Dammit." He shouted. He didn't care if his worry was beginning to poke through the surface. He needed to find you and he needed to do it now.

"The timestamp." Emily's voice drew him out of his head. "There's only a few minutes between the time of death and when it was posted. He's got to be close to the crime scene."

Finally. Something that felt like progress.

-

They watched the screen as you appeared again.

"Choose one to die." It was Rafael this time.

"I can't. I can't do it." Your face betrayed every emotion you were feeling inside.

"Pick one." He stated again.

"Me. Kill me." You nearly begged.

"You said you weren't one of them. Your team has 7 other members. Choose one of them to die."

You shook your head, fear gripping you once again as he pulled out the revolver.

"Choose." He connected the gone to your forehead, resting it there.

"No." He pulled the trigger, watching as you flinched.

"Choose." You shook your head, tensing as he pulled the trigger again.

Hotch felt his heart in his stomach, internally begging you to just say a name. He couldn't watch you die, not like this.

"Choose." He pulled the trigger yet again at your silence.

"I won't do it." You held firm, knowing you had limited chances.

"Choose one to die."

You opened your mouth, panting as an idea came to you.

"I choose... Aaron Hotchner." Your heart ached even saying it, but you needed to give him a clue. "He's a classic narcissist. Thinks he's better than everyone. He'd go to his grave knowing he was wrong." You winced internally, trying not to give away your plan.

Hotch left the room, trying to understand your words. The two of you had just argued about the definition of classic narcissism.

"I think you're wrong." You laughed at his amused expression.

"Yeah? Or do you just like making me exasperated?" He questioned your motives, pulling you closer as you laid in bed together.

"Maybe a little bit of both." You shrugged, leaning up to kiss him. "Promise me something?" You asked, a nervous expression on your face.

"What?" He looked at you with so much concern, you felt your heart beat a little faster.

"If... If I die, you can't blame yourself." He opened his mouth to protest, but you kept going. "I know you Aaron. You'd take it to grave thinking it was your fault. I can't let you do that. Not when I know you blame yourself for Haley's death." You felt your heart break for him and the pain he had been through. "Promise me." You were nearly begging.

"I promise." He whispered, his throat tight at the idea of losing you.

He was brought back to the present by the sound of Rossi's voice.

"Hotch, you know Y/N didn't mean any of that." Rossi tried gently, unsure of how Hotch was coping with your situation.

"I'm not a narcissist. What's my worst quality?" He looked at the apprehensive looks everyone was giving him. "I'll start, I have no sense of humor."

He nodded along as his team listed his faults.

"None of you said I ever put myself above the team, because I don't. Y/N and I just argued about the definition of classic narcissism." He paced, trying to put it together. "I'd take it to my grave... Grave was a hint."

"What? How do you know?" Reid shook his head, trying to understand the logic.

"I made a promise. It's a long story." He shook his head, trying to clear the memory so he could focus. "Y/N knew I would remember it."

"A cemetary. It's got to be a cemetary." Morgan added.

"No cemeteries on the map." Garcia was typing away on the computer.

"Like a poacher." Reid whispered, staring at the screen.

"Reid?" Hotch looked at him, eyes pleading for an answer.

"That's what Y/N said in the first video. 'I won't let you hunt them like a poacher.'" He said it louder, more excited than before.

"Garcia, any reports of poaching in the area?" Hotch asked, the idea of finding you causing hope to erupt in his chest.

"Yes, at Marshall Parrish... and there's a cemetery on the grounds." She gave them the address, watching as they ran out to the SUVs.

-

"I'm sorry." Tobias said it so softly, you were almost certain you didn't hear it at all.

"Wh- why?" Your eyebrows pulled together in confusion, trying to make sense of it.

"He'll win. In the end, he always does." He rose from the crouched position, slowly injecting you with more drugs.

"Hotch!" You screamed, feeling arms restraining you from behind.

You watched as he went into the hostage situation, unarmed and without a vest.

"Derek. Let me go!" You struggled in his grasp, straining to get free.

"There's nothing you can do, he's already inside." He stated the truth, although it did little to calm your nerves.

You settled down, throat tight with worry. You bit your lip, eyes flitting between the door and windows. You just needed a sign, anything to say he was alright.

The sound of a gun firing stunned you. You were frozen in place, fear consuming you. You had just told him you loved him for the first time this morning. What if you never get to say it again? What if that's all the time you got.

You stared in horror as everyone ran toward the house, only to freeze when a voice shouted everything was fine.

"It's fine." He huffed, carrying the small child out of the house toward a waiting EMT. "Baxter is dead."

"Aaron..." You whispered the name, realizing how powerless you felt when he was in danger. The two of you made eye contact across the yard, a reassuring look in his eye.

"Aaron..." You whispered, blinking rapidly as you slowly came to.

"What about Aaron." Charles. Tobias's dad was back.

"I couldn't stop him. I couldn't keep him safe." You muttered to yourself, not fully understanding the situation.

"Is that a confession?" He asked, voice hard.

"Yes." It was more of a breath of air than a word, but it was all he needed to condemn you.

He unlocked your handcuffs, forcing a shovel into your newly freed arms before dragging you outside.

"Dig." he instructed plainly, watching over you as stray tears wet the ground beneath you.

-

"Clear." Morgan called from one side of the shed.

"Clear" Hotch replied from the other. With the whole team in the small space, it wasn't exactly necessary but it was habit.

Hotch could feel his nerves picking up again as he realized this meant you were still with Tobias. He paced back and forth, feeling powerless.

"Spread out. They have to be on foot." He left without waiting for a response, turning left with JJ to look for you.

-

You did your best to stall, but Charles wasn't the most patient.

"Dig faster."

"I'm trying. I'm trying." You whimpered, movements speeding up ever so slightly. The massive knife in his hands causing your own to shake.

"You're weak. Move." He huffed, throwing his jacket to the ground before ripping the shovel from your hands.

A flash of light in the trees caught your eye. Flashlights. Your team. Aaron.

Your eyes flickered between the man in front of you and the trees, causing him to turn.

You took the split second he wasn't looking to grab the gun from his jacket, swiftly aiming it as he turned back to you knife raised.

"Only one bullet in that gun." He lunged for you, falling backwards after you pulled the trigger.

You dropped the gun, quickly tossing the knife away.

"Tobias?" You cried, moving back toward him.

"You killed me." He seemed surprised, but grateful at the same time.

You felt the tears pouring down your face as you apologized.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry." You grabbed his hand, watching the light fade from his eyes as he asked one final question.

"You think I'll get to see my mom again?"

You barely registered the arms around you, pulling you to your feet. You couldn't take your eyes off of Tobias. He wasn't the one who hurt you. He helped you, or at least tried.

"I killed him." Your breathing picked up, vision blurring.

"Y/N, look at me." You turned to the voice, blinking rapidly to stop the tears.

"Aaron?" You took a stuttering breath, trying to make sure this was real.

"I'm here. It's okay. You're okay. You're safe now." His words were just as reassuring to himself as they were to you. You caught JJ's eye over Hotch's shoulder, quickly moving to hug her.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry. I never should've-" You cut her off.

"None of this was your fault. It was my idea to split up. I'm so sorry." You cried into her shoulder, knowing how guilty she must've felt.

She hugged you back, tears brimming her own eyes at seeing you alive again.

She lead you to the EMT, not commenting on the look you threw over your shoulder at Aaron. He quickly followed you to the ambulance. JJ left you to talk to Hotch, who stayed beside you the entire time the medics looked you over.

"I didn't mean it." You said when you were finally alone, sitting between the open doors of the ambulance.

"What?" Aaron questioned, his mind not following your own train of thought.

"When... When I had to choose. I didn't mean any of it." You could feel the tears coming, but this time you did nothing to hold them back.

"I know. I knew the whole time." You brushed your tears away, looking you in the eye. "I love you so much." He whispered, his own eyes feeling watery.

"I love you too." You leaned into him, relishing in the feeling of his arm around you. You couldn't help but look over at the team, all of whom quickly pretended not to be watching. You huffed a laugh.

"Yeah, I think they're going to have some questions." Hotch smiled, glad to see you happy even if just for a second.

"After this case, right?" You looked back at him, confirming you still wanted to share your relationship with the team.

"Deal." He smiled, arm tightening around your shoulders to pull you closer.

-

You couldn't help but bring it up on the jet ride home.

"So, who had money on four months ago?" You questioned, tucked into Aaron's side on the couch.

"What?" Emily raised a brow at your sudden statement.

"That's when we started dating." You grinned at her shocked expression.

"Dammit Reid." Morgan huffed, handing over the money.

"Don't forget Rossi!" Reid high fived the older man, the two grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

"Looks like we were both right." Hotch smiled into your hair, trying to hide his laugh.

"Yeah. We make a pretty good team." You smiled, leaning into his touch.

"I love you." He murmured, face still in your hair. You turned your face into his chest before responding.

"I love you too."

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman @madewithsebstan

#aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch xy/n #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner one shot #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fic #hotch fic #hotch fluff #hotch one shot #hotch angst

[nevenabadr]

50 Shades of You! Tom Hiddleston X Female! Reader

Note: This is my first ever fanfiction for Tom Hiddleston. I have not written fiction for ages. English is not my first language.

Inspiration: this is inspired by:

“I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes.”

–Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

Word count: 2660

Warnings: Romance, sweet words, and smut–this is +21 and not for everyone.

Enjoy reading and please comment with your feedback. 💚

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

During the summer Cambridge University was having a conference "Gothic Elements In John Milton's Paradise Lost." As you the young professor of literature, the coordinate manager suggested that the University alumnus could join for not just attending, but acting a piece of the tragedy. Amongst the candidates was the Classic department graduate and famous actor, Tom Hiddleston. 

You know that he might have scheduled issues or time conflicts, but you suggested the committee email him. To your surprise, he accepted the offer. 

 

The scene of choice was casting the devil out of hell.

On the stage during the conference eve, you did not have the perfect time to watch him, but you took a glimpse of acting from far.

He even caught your show and face attending the rehearsals.

The conference day was pressuring. You were trying to get everything right, in the middle of your so-close meltdown. A voice brought you to reality, "Hello, is this professor Y/N)?"

You turned to find the British handsome alumni smiling peacefully at you. "Yes, how can I help you?"

"Indeed, I am the one offering help." As he adjusted his glasses, I asked the committee manager to take upon some errant backstage. Maybe I can assist with the front ceremony?"

"Of course," you paused for a moment, "can you help me with the dinner's seats arrangement? My assistant is absent and I have to print and arrange them myself."

"Just show me a computer and all will be done."

Both of you took your time arranging an evening missing up some seats. 

 

"Here comes my name. You will be seated with the professors, of course!" He was busy putting name tags over the table.

"Oh! Don't remind me." You replied as if it is a conversation with an old friend and continued "the Classic department and Literature."

"They might start a war." Both of you started laughing 

"I have an idea." He took a tag from his table and moved yours next to his. "Now you will be with a friend"

The presentations finished, you had to go for the gym showers to change and wear your conference and dinner dress.

By the time you arrived, the scene from the tardy was about to be played. You took your place in the front seat.

Tom was playing Satan. He noticed that you were reciting the lines with him. He even almost smiles at you. Could not hold himself from looking at you in the front row while playing the scene of...

 

"All is not lost; the unconquerable Will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield; (And what is else not to be overcome?) That glory never shall his wrath or might Extort from me to bow and sue for grace With suppliant knee and deify his power, Who from the terror of his arm so late Doubted his empire[.] (I, 106–114)"

 

Your facial expressions captured his eyes, the movement of your lips and then the flame of your applause. 

At the dinner, he was interested to hear all about your work and writings. His eyes could not able to leave you.

 

By the end of the dinner, he walked you to your car, "this was lovely, thank you for tonight" 

You smiled at him, "thank you for accepting our invitation."

You shake hands and opened your car door like the gentleman he is.

"Would you like to go out with me, for a coffee? Books and coffee, maybe." He did not hesitate to ask.

"I would love to. You already have my number within the conference contact information." You raised an eyebrow and smirked.

As your car drove away, he knew he was up for an adventure.

Three months later, you are happily dating and sharing sweet kisses. He suggested a film marathon. Each week one of you chose a topic.

That Saturday's topic was Russian Literature and you had to add: "or inspired by it" 

"Excuse me, but Tolstoy has no comparison!" He grimaced

"Shadow and Bones, love!" You teased him, "it the Netflix adaption of the era" 

"After Anna Karenina, please," he sounded like an old professor.

"Alright then, deal." You tickled him and kissed his lips softly

Both of you enjoyed Anna Karenina, however, you were crying in his arms.

"That dreadful ending." 

He hugged you "Hey, Shadow and Bones will make it up to you, let me make extra popcorn." Once again, he kissed you.

He came back with popcorn that will at least survive three episodes. You snuggled between his arms.

"Look at Alexie, how he said 'Make me your villain.'" 

You were swooning as a fangirl.

"I beg your pardon, I am literally a villain," he complained

Oh! I would literally," stressing upon the last word, "let him have me"

His face was irritated and you not coming close to making love made him anxious, that you might not be ready. He never inquired about you.   

You caressed his tummy, "hey, a penny for your thoughts, sir." It sounded like one of the Jack the Ripper prostitutes, about which you have constantly been talking.

His voice evolved deeper and his eyes did not leave yours "your deepest sexual desire. What do you crave?"

Comparing to your age, you were nervous and inexperienced. "My life was spent between books. I..."

He did not let you continue speaking and took your lips between his drawing your body closer to him, uttering between his hot kisses "I am not just a villain" his lips made the earth move "I am a God" whispering against the sport skin of your nick " a king" his hands were moving down the same tomes his lips reached the line of your bosom whilst his hand slides prevailed touching down pussy and dug his fingers driving you till the edge.

"I want you," you whispered between your soft moans.

He neglected your cravings and maintained his rhythm, watching your complexion and closed eyes till you arched your back in awe.

You collapsed between his arms heavily breathing "that was extremely wonderful, but I need you"

He kissed your lips playfully. "you are a delicious girl, Y/N, but..."

You hashed him with a kiss that he pulled from "if your life was between books, I want you to write me your deepest desire."

"Darling, it was a series, Alexie is fictional." You wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Fictional or not, he is a man, you are paying for this." 

He was deadly serious "write me your longing."

You laugh "What? Like the 50 Shades of Y/N?"

He gazed into your eyes "aiming to please and punish you, darling, avenging my honour"

The next morning when you were with your family on Sunday's lunch, he opened an email titled "50 Shades of Y/A"

 

The content was as follows:

"You!"

 

He grinned to himself and determined to show her how fiction can become real.

Your week was busy. He had signed a new contract for a mini-series and was supposed to film soon.

Not replying to your email made you nervous, even went meeting for dinner. He was quiet about it. 

You checked your sent box millions of times to make sure it arrived. Still, you knew he was busy working, and you were busy with the finals coming soon.

Thursday’s dinner, nothing yet, nothing but gaggling and discussing your days and current reads. 

"Darling, we did not decide this week's marathon" 

He did not take his eyes off the menu "Are not you having a big family week, you should go" he was confident and calm. 

Deep inside you wanted to grab his neck and jiggle him, but for the lady you are and the restaurant, you were calm.

"Wonderful!"

The dinner was over; he drove you home, kissed you goodnight.

Saturday morning, a ringing at your door. Apparently, you received a package, a big one.

You kept thinking that some books might have come early from your publisher. Unwrapping it to a surprise satin 1950 coat with Ruby red entourage and black heels.

There was also a note, she recognised the handwriting:

 

"Wear nothing but this for your punishment. If other pieces were found upon your body, then fear my fury and vengeance.

Love, 

T"

 

So, it was her version of Mr Grey. But have you ever been ready to comply with anyone?"

Suddenly, a message arrived on your phone 

"Reminder, a black will pick you tonight at 8, don't disobey me, Princess."

Your heel clicked on the floor as a man dressed in an old fashion suit opened the car for you. The windows were blacked out, so you did not see where it was heading.

"Welcome, Princess," he greeted you as if you were royalty, "My master is awaiting your presence."

You took his hands. The place was carved out of one of your favourite dark fantasies, a mansion with gargoyles, dark lighting, and a vast garden.

You could not believe your eyes. Tom knew your deepest desires indeed.

But that is not the end.

The inside was as of a dark enchantment with deep red flowers and candles. The servant showed you the way to a dining room fit for a feast. Tom was not there. 

"My master requires you to await his arrival." The servant bowed and left.

You were like a child been left inside her favourite toyshop. The ornaments, the lighting, and even the shapes of the food. That aesthetic you only could dream of but never reach.

"Enjoying yourself already?" You turned to find your man dressed in a black Victorian suit. His face was shaved, shorter hair, no glasses. Just all of the handsome glory.

You took a step forward "no princess, I shall come for you"

He kissed your hand and then sat on the table's head, while it sat on the opposite side and faced you away indeed.

"Are you pleased, princess?" He raised his glass of red wine.

"Yes, my Prince." You smile.

"In here, you shall address me as your king." His eyes lit with fire, and his voice was harsh.

You played along and raised an eyebrow "my king."

"This is not a game, princess, you are my prisoner"

You dined quietly, as he did not drop his eyes from you.

"Enjoying yourself?"

You flirted "deeply, my king"

He left his chair and came closer to you, his fingers left your chain so you can gaze into your eyes.

He asked, "care for a dance?"

You smiled "I would love to."

You stepped forward and took his hand to a ballroom, just for you and him, the dark king.

The following piece of music was sensual and moving.

"The coat, princess, I want to see nothing but heels on your body,"

You obeyed the king, but for a tick. When you took it off, underneath it a short emerald green strapless corset dress tight upon the curves of your body and pushed your bosoms to their glory.

He grinned and his eyes darken "looking for further punishment, I suppose?" 

"Anything to please the king." You took his hand and kissed it. He did not expect it.

He turned furiously and the next song was romantic. He wrapped his arms around you once again, waltz, you sneaky woman, deserved joy before being punished.

Twirling you on the dance floor like the earth has no one but the two of you.

By the end, he carried you "to my chambers, little one"

You were nervous and anxious. What if he did not like what was underneath the dress?

He entered a candlelight room with a four-poster bed in the centre. The curtains of the bed were black and emerald. 

He laid you in bed, kissing your lips and playing with your hair. 

His breathing was heating against your skin.

"You won't miss that dress, will you, princess?"

He did not wait for your reply as he lifted a dagger amongst the layers of his suit and cut the corset down to the last piece of the dress.

You wore nothing else. You were lying exposed as he stood to look upon your naked curves for the first time. 

You spontaneously tried to cover your bosom and private parts.

"No, do not you dare" he was angry and you could not distinguish reality from fantasy.

You throw the rest of the dress away. Hands laying by your head and he stood there for a juncture, gazing at every inch of your body.

"Turn," he ordered angrily as if the soul of Loki took over him, "I said, turn" 

You nearly dropped tears "here my king" 

You felt the softness of his lips upon your delicate shoulders.

Kissing the line of your spine. He knows this will work like magic. You tickle from your back, now trying to lick you, taste you, slap you.

He flipped you to face him. You were sobbing. He could hear it under your moans.

"You are not a princess, you are not a queen."

He wipes her tears from her cheek "you are a goddess and I am your slave."

You giggled between your tears, wrapping your arms around his neck "my king"

"Your, slave" As his voice became softer, he hushed you with a finger.

He kissed every inch of your body. You were playing with his short blonde locks.

"Let me worship your bosom, my goddess" he kissed, licked and played with your nipples and cupped your bosoms gently.

Kissing down till he reached your pussy, "Let me worship your temple" as he licked your clitoris.

You were moaning loader now

“Not this time, my king I want you inside me."

"Alright, as the pleasure of my goddess, I shall obey." 

He adjusted his weight on you and asked, "wider for me, my goddess of beauty" 

You opened for him as he enters you for the first time. You let out a loud breath "are you alright" he took your hands between his.

"Continue, my king."

He is just thrusting himself gently inside you. Your moans filling the room 

"I am a villain, a king, a god, and a man"

Your hands were free to run along his back as he continued, "a man, no, a slave for my goddess"

You were moving with him and moaning louder, "my king, what else?"

 Thursinting himself harder and moving with a faster pace.

"My goddess, the sculptures of beauty," between his breathing and moaning "Da Vinci would not be able to capture your grace"

You were kissing as your nail dug inside his shoulders.

His last whispers as moving himself inside your pussy which was clutching around his manhood. He moved with pace, as you rocked your lap against him

"I will live in thy heart," kissing your lips as you bite his lower lip between your steamy breath. "Die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes.”

He was going faster now and you were in tremendous awe and your skin was heating up with your pleasure.

"Look at me goddess" you were closing your eyes as you become close to you your orgasm "look at me," he ordered 

"I love thee, Tom," you said as your pussy was clutching around his manhood and trembling underneath him. His enormous climax followed your orgasm. 

You were shaking. He used his hands to keep himself from crushing you with his weight.

He rested his forehead on yours till both of you caught your breath. Gently took you between his arms as resting on his side "and I love thee, Y/N"

kissed you and as you were falling asleep, yet muttered, "I made you my villain, did not I?"

He giggles, "I beg your pardon, your God, King, and lover"

You kissed for the last time of that night and snuggle between peacefully each other's arms.

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

Tag list:

@shafverani

@imsebastiansta-n

@brokenwitty

@221bshrlocked (awaiting your feedback)

@sinner-as-saint

@zemosimp05

@buckys-fairy

#marvel #fan fiction #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x you #Loki #loki fic #Loki Smut #tom hiddleston × reader #Crimson Peak #Thor #loki laufeyson #Disney Loki #tom hiddelston x reader #tom hiddelston imagine #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fandom #tom hiddleston one shot #Tom Hiddleston OneShot #Tom Hiddleston x you