#fic: the glitch | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

janaispunk · 1 month

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glitch

pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

word count: ~1k

summary: Prequel to nights are so starry, blood moonlit. How you and Javi became neighbors with benefits.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), smoking, alcohol consumption, able-bodied reader, a hint of dom!Javi, unprotected p in v, kinda rough sex, ass slaps, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), Javi is a menace, a hint of angst and feelings because of who i am as a person

a/n: written for @iamasaddie’s writing challenge 2.0 with the prompt "never knew you were such a freak", and since my first story about these two was also part of one of aly's writing challenges, it just made sense to revisit them :)

dividers as always by @saradika-graphics <3

find my full masterlist here and follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates!

It had started out with fleeting glances in the hallway, quick greetings when your apartment doors opened at the same time, then short conversations on your adjoining balconies, late night talks with your feet propped up on the railing and his back leaning against it, sometimes exchanging a cigarette or a light, or occasionally a bottle of beer when one of you had run out.

Of course you noticed the ridiculously tight jeans that really shouldn't look that good on him, the way his broad shoulders strained against his clothes, and the way his shirts always revealed a little too much of his golden-skinned chest. You couldn't deny the fact that your neighbor was incredibly attractive, and that he knew it.

You probably should have said no when late one evening, after Javi had found you on your balcony, smoking and watching the glistening city lights, he invited you to share a glass of bourbon. Together. At his place.

He had been flirting with you, which you suspected he did with every woman he met, and you had tried not to pay it any mind, but you were well aware of how this evening would end if you accepted.

You should have said no, and a stronger, less lonely version of you might have, but you craved human contact, craved to be touched by someone else than yourself, and if the sounds that traveled through the thin walls from his bedroom to yours frequently enough were any indication, Javi knew what he was doing.

You should have said no, because it became clear to you very quickly that Javier Peña would ruin you for all other men.

He was more gentle, more caring than you had expected him to be and he prioritized your pleasure in a way that you had never experienced from any man before. He took you to heights that you hadn’t thought possible before, and it was addicting.

You should have said no, but you hadn’t, and now you keep coming back for more.

You keep coming back for the way his skin tastes under your tongue, for the way his lips press against yours, swallowing moans and whimpers, for the way his fingers and his cock reach so deep inside of you that you still feel him hours later, when you have said your good nights and crawled under the covers of your own bed. Never his, never crossing the line to a different kind of intimacy.

It’s another one of those nights, a soft knock on a door, a mutual understanding passing between you, gentle touches that burned under your skin until they got more demanding, until you both gave in to that pull that kept you coming back.

He’s already made you come on his tongue twice, until you were dripping onto his sheets, his name the only word in your mind and on your lips. You’re on your hands and knees, limbs shaking, trying to accommodate his length and the harsh rhythm that he’s setting.

“Taking me so fucking well,” he pants, running his hands down your back and over your ass. You chase his touch, goosebumps forming in its wake, your moans filling the air as he keeps hitting impossibly deep inside of you.

His palm connects with your skin, nothing more than a playful swat, but the sensation sears through you, lighting your nerve endings on fire as you all but scream your pleasure into the softly lit bedroom.

“Oh?” His voice is low, rough in his throat. You don’t need to turn your head and look behind you to know that he’s smirking down at you right now. “You liked that, huh?”

You nod eagerly, too far gone to be ashamed of the way your hips are bucking back against him, working desperately to feel him deeper inside of you.

He slaps you again, harder this time, and you feel yourself clenching around him, feel the way a new wave of slick is coating his cock. His fingers dig into your shoulder and he pulls you up, until your torso is pressed against his, his mouth moving against the delicate skin of your neck.

“Never knew you were such a freak, baby,” he whispers, his lips curling into a grin, teeth nipping at you.

“Shut up.” You try to hold your voice steady, ignore the throbbing need between your thighs, but he just chuckles and presses another kiss against the side of your throat before he loosens his hold and pushes you back towards the mattress.

His hands grab your hips instead, pulling you into his thrusts, filling you so deeply that you see stars behind your eyelids.

“You want me to do it again?” You hate how smug he sounds, would love to deny him the satisfaction, but god, you do want him to.

“Fuck– please, Javi.” You’re breathless, reduced to a mess of trembling thighs and desperate whimpers, and you wish that you could stay like this forever.

He slaps your ass twice in quick succession and deepens his thrusts at the same time, punching all air from your lungs. His hand snakes down to graze your clit and you’re overwhelmed with sensations, pure pleasure coursing through your veins so suddenly that it’s almost disorienting. You collapse onto the sheets, your pussy pulsing around him as your body shakes through its third orgasm of the night and you’re whimpering his name as he buries himself deep inside of you and comes with a groan, painting your insides with his release.

After more kisses, more touches, and a shared cigarette, you get dressed and eventually, his apartment door clicks shut behind you. You lean your back against the wall, closing your eyes and breathing deeply for a moment before you enter your own place.

Again, you know that you’ll be coming back for more. And that no matter how many times you come back, it will never be enough.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

#writing challenge 2.0 #janas fics #fic: glitch #javier peña #narcos #narcos fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x female reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories

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nuzipilled · 3 months

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been really normal about @interstyx ‘s fic kenosis as of late, really great character study + made me feel things. huge thx to @drowninginfelines for the rec

#i was gonna draw more but i got lazy #uzi doorman #murder drones #glitch productions #murder drones fanart #murder drones v #i think this is the first time ive drawn her actually #this fic is probably one of the best ive read and im picky #serial designation v #vuzi #?#not technically ship but u can tag it as that if u want idc #i see them w more of a sisterly bond tho #my stuff

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muzzlemouths · 22 days

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[CW: Death/implication of death]

The clock reads a quarter to midnight when Sun powers on. Too early. He isn’t meant to come online for another six hours, and the daycare itself won’t open for another hour after that. He promptly runs a scan to determine the reasoning behind his premature entrance and when it returns inconclusive he turns to Moon. It is his metaphorical toes he is stepping on by encroaching on the night as he is, after all.

It’s quiet. The kind of quiet that settles like dust. A quiet that makes one aware of the breath that stirs within their lungs or, in Sun’s case, the gentle whir of an internal fan that perpetually keeps his system from running itself into the ground. A quiet so frequently interrupted by the welcomed voice of his other half…and yet, nothing. His question goes unanswered, left to gather with the dust, and he is forced to proceed as though these strange happenings haven’t disrupted his entire morning routine.

A routine further disturbed upon having to remind himself for the second time already that it isn’t morning, he isn’t meant to be going through the start-up procedure to begin with, and he can’t be blamed for the corrupted sense of awareness he feels as a result. Sure, the lights are on, and his systems, too, return with normal results after a precautionary scan, but there is a discomfort to all of this scratching at the inner plating of his frame. Something is wrong wrong wrong.

“…Moon?”

His second attempt at communication yields no better results than the first, only a vague static answering the call, murmur-soft background noise, as though someone had plucked a phone from its receiver and then walked away. Frustrating is what it was. To ignore him was childish at best, but at worst, it was concerning. His relationship with Moon was reasonably amicable even on the longest of days, he worked better with Moon than without, so the absence was unusual as much as it was alarming.

Alone with his thoughts for the foreseeable future, Sun decides there is little point to sitting around in the midst of this confusion when he could be using the time to busy himself with more important tasks, such as tidying up all the apparent dust around here. Better yet, he can get a head-start in preparation for that day’s activities. Something to keep his mind from wandering into worrywart territory, at the very least.

An ache stemming at the tail of his exoskeleton twinges with particularly horrendous vengeance upon finally convincing his legs to move. He buries the vocalization of a wince and carries on across the carpeted room with little more than a brief mental note to mention the pain to a mechanic if it worsens by tomorrow. No use in wasting company time for what he’s sure is only the result of one or both of them landing wrong after receiving a hug from one of the daycare’s more excitable children (or several).

Still, it makes the process of retrieving a stray toy from the floor that much harder when he sees it lying in wait by the slide. If anything, bending down to reclaim the doll only exacerbates the ache until it grows into a proper sting, now difficult to ignore. Yet ignore it he does, to the best of his ability. There are things to do and he isn’t about to let a pinch of soreness slow him down now. No, sirree! He has play equipment to wipe down, craft supplies to ready, and–

and…

His hand stops just short of reaching the doll, long yellow fingers curling inward, against his palm which is painted with splotches of salt and pepper, as though a bottle of dully colored glitter glue had exploded across his fingers and hand. He straightens again and lifts his other hand, noting a similar stretch of television static, one that carries beyond his wrist up the length of his forearm in smeared blotches and specks like splattered paint in dirty snow hues.

Messy messy messy. What could Moon have gotten up to that resulted in such a mess? He’d have made a face, had he a nose to wrinkle in the first place.

Instead he allows for one small tut of disgust to escape his voice box before turning his attention back to the doll, taking note of the static that stains the carpet beside its head, and just beyond it, too; a trail made up of one scattered drop after another.

Ever curious, he knows not what to do besides follow it, hoping for an answer to the many questions burning through his system. Each continuous speck leads him in the direction of the exit, every patch of static more plentiful than the last, and as he allows the strange color to guide him forward he begins to question not only its existence, but why it all seems so familiar, as though he’s seen it somewhere before.

There is little time to mull it over. He arrives at the service desk where the trail ends abruptly, and Sun pauses with the toe of his slippers stood just an inch before a stray, black shoe that might have sent him stumbling face first into carpet had he not already been looking down. A shoe isn’t the most bizarre thing to lose in a daycare of all places, and he decides right away that it isn’t anything to worry over, just another item to drop into lost and found, but where there is a shoe there is bound to be someone missing it and, well…

Sun finds the answer he’s looking for just a few inches behind the service desk.

Face down and tucked in on themselves as they are, cloaked in the desk’s shadow, it’s impossible to tell anything about the person beyond their age, and even that is somewhat uncertain — though the size 9 shoe left behind offers a decent clue. This discovery does wonders to quell the anxiety in Sun’s chest. An adult was much easier to escort from the daycare, given the lack of parental contribution it necessitated, and it looked like this one was just sleeping! An odd place to go about it, sure — against the rules, most certainly — but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a purposeful tap to the ankle.

So, that’s exactly what he does. Bending dramatically at the knee, head swiveling to one side, Sun’s fingers dance as though he intends on tickling the trespasser awake before extending his index finger and tapping twice in quick succession against the exposed skin between their pant leg and sock. “Rise and shine, friend!” He chirps, “It’s time to head home now.”

He’d have preferred the tried-and-true method of rousing someone (that is, a gentle rock of the shoulders), but given that their guest was currently resting in the one area that Sun was not permitted entry to, he was forced to resort to more…creative measures. Unfortunately, this action does not yield the results he is hoping for.

“Friend?” Sun calls again, allowing his voice to raise a decibel from the polite mumble it had been before. The laughter that cuts from his voicebox is nervous and too loud on its own, his anxiety returning tenfold. The points of logic he had used to reassure himself before were now quickly dwindling with each passing second in which he received no response.

With his steps now admittedly growing frantic, Sun tiptoes around the desk to the other side, hoping for a better view of their comatose companion. What happens instead is an almost comical flailing of limbs as his slipper takes to an unseen puddle of static like it were a banana peel, resulting in a scramble to keep himself upright that only comes to an end when he braces against the nearest wall for support. The distraction is agitating, but short lived. A commotion like that would surely have awoken anyone, no matter how deep in slumber they were, and the continued lack of response does nothing to relieve Sun of the stress threatening to fry his circuits.

“Friend, this is n-no time for jokes!” He asserts, speaking at full volume, now, every word drenched in tense frustration. His gaze falls to the puddle of static soaking into the bottoms of his slippers, that twinge of recognition rearing its head once more. “I’m not in the mood for games, right now, so if you’re only pretending to sleep—” his hand comes away from the wall feeling wrong, the familiar sensation of sticky static blanketing his palm and crusting in the grooves between his joints as it further dries. His fingers curl into a loose fist long enough to observe the way each digit smears against his palm and leaves behind a tacky residue that he can feel, but not see.

He looks up. There, on the wall, two handprints interrupt the static. The first is larger, an obvious testament to the humbling misstep he’d only just finished recovering from, but the other…it was far smaller, surely left behind by the same stranger currently snoozing away beneath the desk, and it ran from the lightswitch down down down to the floor, where the accusing hand now rested just outside the desk’s shadow.

How strange, Sun thinks, tilting his head to get a better look. The way the static paints their skin, it almost looks like—

“You’re doing so well, dewdrop, just a moment longer and you’ll be right as rain again!” Sun gives the small hand intertwined with his own an encouraging squeeze as the other, equipped with an antiseptic wipe, dutifully dabs away at a scuffed knee. His young patient, having tripped and burned her skin along the carpet, is nothing less than a trooper as he cleans the static from the shallow wound. Not even a sniffle!

He tucks the wipe into the flat of his palm and trades it out for ointment, smearing a healthy dollop of it along the reddened surface before wiping his finger along the striping of his pants and reaching for a bandaid; Chica pink with pizzas on one side and cupcakes on the other.

“There, now. I’m sure that feels better already!”

Blood. Viscous, cold, pooling at his feet. On the walls, the carpet. His hands. Cherry red like a lollipop and twice as sticky…or so he’s told. Nothing a robot of his nature is meant to see or understand. His censors make sure of it. Rather than allow him to see things are they are, the incarnadine color is suppressed behind a layer of static, as if he won’t care to acknowledge it at all beyond its existence on scraped knees and split lips. As if he is meant to ignore the way it feels in its abundance, caked against his palms and festering between his open joints.

Messy, messy, messy. He feels dirtied beyond repair, filthy in a way that even a deep cleaning won’t fix. The wires in his stomach feel twisted, begging to come undone, shorting like sparklers against their ports and threatening to make short work of bringing him down. His screens are flooded with alerts that warn of an inevitable shut-down if he can’t manage to pull himself back together, but moving feels impossible, an insurmountable task. He can not think past the sensation of someone else’s life soaking into the cotton of his slippers.

And what of their guest? Sun can hardly get himself to look again, pleading with the matter of logic itself as he is forced to reckon with the knowledge that this is a rest they may never wake from. But he does look. He has to.

He wishes he hadn’t.

The brief glimpse he endures before looking anywhere else is more than enough. From this angle, the static – the blood – paints a grim picture. In spite of this, Sun finds himself circling the desk a second time and preparing to draw the body – the visitor – out from under the desk. It is a daunting task, but a necessary one, by Sun’s account. If there is nothing to be done in such a hopeless situation then, at the very least, he owes this stranger the dignity of recognition and an attempt. He can claim to have looked for a pulse. Even so, he hesitates.

There is not one to be found; Sun knows this. He knows painfully well from the static lingering on his silicone that it is already too late. Oil is warmed by the processors it fuels, and similarly, blood is meant to be hot. The soles of his slippers are cold. The pads of his fingers, against even the raging inferno of his overworked circuitry, are cold.

The body is cold.

He perseveres, regardless, dragging the stranger out from under the desk by a shaky grip on their ankle one inch at a time, pausing every few tugs to look away and regather his confidence, trying so, so hard to tune out the ever-constant music as it merrily sings through the speakers.

He begs the underlying silence. “Please have a pulse.” Tug. “Please don’t be cold.” Tug. “I don’t know what to do.” Tug. “I can’t do this alone.” Tug. “You have to wake up.” Tug. “Please.” Tug. “Please!” Tug. “Please, please, please, pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseple—”

He knows this visitor. Not a friend, but not quite a stranger, either. His scanner attempts to process the identification of a man whose head is so thick with static that it returns as an error. His face is contorted grotesquely, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide with fear. They don’t look like they’re sleeping.

A security guard whose name fails to ping in his registry. Sun had spoken with him once, maybe twice before. He drank coffee by the mile and hardly stuck around long enough to do more than complain about the weather. Sun hadn’t been in a hurry to befriend the man, but he only wished the best for him. Squeezed a joke in where he could in an attempt to turn his frown upside-down. It had never worked before, but Sun was no quitter. Now he would never get the chance to try again.

“Focus, focus.” Sun carefully lowers the man’s foot back to the carpet again, choking on the sensation of bloodied clothes slipping through his fingers and resisting the urge to tear the rays straight out of his faceplate in response. He is inconsolably panicked and at a loss for what to do, two steps from outright laughing, the complete absurdity of the situation driving him to hysterics.

He needed to call security. He couldn’t call security. Security was–

Management. There were other employees that worked the night shift if Moon complaining about them making too much noise during naptime was anything to go by. If he sent out a general call for assistance surely someone would come and tell him what to do, even at this late hour. It was his best option. His only option.

“Don’t.”

The voice makes him jump clear out of his casings. He has half a mind to swear, but as it stands, Sun thinks the long divots he dragged into the service desk out of surprise are enough damage already. On top of everything else.

“Moon?” He whispers. “Nice of you to finally join us – and by us, I mean me and the deceased guest I discovered a moment ago. Do you have a clue what’s going on here?”

“Don’t?” Sun echoes, agitated, “Don’t what?”

“Don’t.”

If the tether keeping his sanity intact was fraying before, it’s now down to a single thread. “Why not?” He asks with great exhaustion, “Did you not hear me? This is an emergency! There is a dead body in the–”

“Call management.”

“I know.”

Silence answers. Despite having a hundred and one snarky retorts building in between each crackle and pop of his voice box, Sun has nothing to say to that. Nothing good, anyway. It takes nine steady ticks of the clock for him to recollect his thoughts.

“You…you know?” He stutters, “How could you…” but he doesn’t finish the question, and he doesn’t need to. Realization strikes him with an iron fist for the second time that day and it is no less kinder than the first. “Did… you do this?”

It’s Moon’s turn to go quiet.

That silence stretches on for what feels like hours to Sun, each passing second more agonizing than the last, until he starts to believe Moon had simply disappeared like before. He waits, and waits, and finally decides to interrupt the silence with a repeat of the question, despite already knowing the answer. Moon beats him to it.

The tired sigh that escapes Sun’s throat is thoroughly earned. “Well, it’s too late to figure something else out, I already sent out the emergency ping.”

“Not sure,” he says, and Sun can tell from his tone that it’s the truth. “Blurry. My head hurts.”

A sound like nothing he’s ever heard before tears itself from Moon’s voicebox. A growl, if he were to put a name to it.

“Get rid of it, then.” Moon insists through the noise, “Clean up, clean up.”

“It?” Sun gawks, “Moon, that – that’s a person. He has dignity, a family!”

“Had a family,” Moon corrects, “dead, now. No dignity. Who will they blame?”

The question gives him pause. Surely there was a better way to go about this, a solution that didn’t have his morals (and wires, for that matter) all up in a twist. Yet the longer he thinks about it, the more he realizes Moon is right. Management hardly listens when he tries to explain that it was the children who broke a piece of playground equipment, not him! They aren’t likely to give his explanation of simply having found the body any mind, much less understanding. With his counterpart practically admitting to the heinous act, already, informing management of the body would sooner see them decommissioned.

“Running out of time,” Moon reminds him, “Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick–”

“Alright, alright!” He wails, “What should I do, then?”

“Clean up.”

“Where?” Sun looks around with the desperation of a teenager attempting to play hooky, rays practically nonexistent with how he’s tucked them away. His eyes search the room from top to bottom before landing determinedly on the ball pit.

“Good enough,” Moon tuts, a rather uninspired response to the happenings around him. Of course he isn’t panicking, it isn’t him who takes the body by its ankles and drags the dead weight across the carpet. It isn’t him who shoves aside enough plastic to carefully hide a corpse in. But it should be him worrying, it should be him panicking, because if management finds out about their secret, it’ll spell doom for both of them.

“You’ll get rid of it – him – properly once there’s no one around, right?” Sun finishes reshuffling the ball pit, mostly confident that the ill deed is successfully hidden from view. “I’m going to have to wash each and every one of these balls before the kids arrive in the morning.”

Right, the kids. When they arrive in just a few hours, will he have things tidied up? Will he be able to carry on as though nothing happened? He’s a brilliant actor – or he used to be, anyway, before the company decided he better fit the role of a nanny – but this is well beyond the scripts he is most familiar with.

“They’re close,” Moon warns him, “Don’t let them see–”

“I know, I know.” No time to dwell on it now, he makes quick work of crossing the distance between the ball pit and the exit, and manages to slide his head and torso through the gap between doors within seconds of it opening, scaring the living daylights of the poor employee sent to greet him in the process.

Unlike Sun, they do swear, clutching a hand over their chest and fitting him with a downright awful deadpanned stare. “Fuck, you couldn’t have waited a few seconds longer for me to come inside?” They hiss.

“Sorry, friend! Didn’t mean to spook you,” Sun chirps. He is careful to keep his bloodied hands safely tucked behind his back. “It’s just a mess in here, is all, and I’m rather embarrassed. There’s still equipment to clean, toys to organize, papers to fold–”

“Sure,” the employee interrupts, “It doesn’t really–” they pinch the bridge of their nose, exhaling with notably less exhaustion than Sun is feeling right about now, “I don’t particularly care. What’s the big issue that I was called down here for?”

“Oh! I just wanted to know if the next shipment of wipes had come in, yet. Like I said before, much to do! Always busy, busy, busy!”

Their stare turns into an outright glower. “That’s why you called the emergency line? For cleaning supplies?”

Sun shrugs, feigning ignorance. “Well, that’s an emergency to me. Apparently our standards are not the same.” He watches them roll their eyes with more enthusiasm than necessary. ”Do you know how messy children can be? It’s practically a barnyard in here, every single day, and don’t even get me started on how much of a health code violation it would be if one of them were to pick their nose and then–”

“Fine, I get it,” they snap, “I’ll make sure your damn supplies are delivered before the daycare opens. Anything else?”

“Told you they were annoying,” Moon chimes in.

“That’s everything!” He replies, “thank you a mighty amount, friend!”

“Mhm,” they mutter, waving him off with nothing more than the noncommittal sound. When they do turn to leave, it’s not soon enough, and Sun just barely manages to close the door with a whisper instead of a slam.

His back rests against it a moment later, and he allows himself to collapse from there, sliding down the smooth wooden frame until his tailbone reaches the floor. His knees twinge as they tuck against his chest, and he folds both arms atop, resting his temple against them and taking one long, much needed moment to just breathe.

It had only been half of a lie. There was much to do, much to clean, and only so many hours remaining to get it done. The wires nestled deep in his chest had calmed, yet the tremor in his hands continued, as it likely would until the very last speck of blood was washed clean.

“…Moon?”

“Hm?”

Sun tucks his knees ever closer. “Why…why did you do it?”

“…”

“I w-won’t be mad, promise! I’m sure this is all just one big misunderstanding, after all – a one time event, no biggie! But…was it out of anger? Fear? I mean, did he hurt–”

“In my way,” Moon replies.

Sun’s head lifts from the dark haven his arms provide, noting with growing exhaustion that, for the very first time, the lights felt too bright even for him. “What do you mean by that?” He asks, “Did he keep you from doing something?”

“…I don’t know.”

Again, Sun’s head falls against his arms in defeat, and again, not two seconds later, it lifts, determined not to lollygag any longer.

His legs creak with vocal effort as he gets back to his feet. “Well, no point in dwelling on it now, I suppose. I’m sure it’s nothing.” He takes in a wide view of the daycare – static trailing everywhere – and deflates with a sigh. “Guess I better get started. The sooner we get the place cleaned up, the sooner we can forget about all of this.”

He takes a step forward, and only that, swiveling on his heel when he catches last night’s roster from the corner of his eye. A single drop of static had landed and smeared across the name of a child meant to go home later in the evening.

Strangely enough, it appears they were never picked up.

Sun shrugs, gathering the paper in both hands and crumpling it into a ball to dispose of the smeared evidence. A simple mistake with the roster, that’s all it is. The parents often forget to sign their name after all. Accidents happen all the time!

The paper lands with a soft thunk in the nearest trash can and is just as quickly forgotten. Sun pivots towards the play area once more and heads for the supply closet, steadfast in his determination to be cleaned up on time, and feeling more confident than he ought to be about how things ended, all things considered.

More than anything, he is just happy to have all of this behind them.

#drabbles #sun fnaf #moon fnaf #sundrop #moondrop #no y/n #death cw #blood mention cw #can you believe it? tumblr user muzzlemouths posting a fic that ISN'T y/n related?#I needed an additional example for my app. lmao #anyway! if it isn't obvious this takes place at the very beginning of Moon's glitch #his First Kill(tm) even #hope it isn't too heartbreaking for all my fellow Moon enjoyers out there <3 stay strong

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mamawasatesttube · 3 months

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tired: the bats are so weird and creepy and everyone else is always so normal compared to them!

wired: impulse started fidgeting so hard he just started vibrating and clipped halfway through the floor and part of helen's foot before he realized what he was doing. this is just a normal tuesday

inspired: superman, superboy, and supergirl are sitting together in midair having a mild-mannered midwestern discussion as to which of their nonpowered combatant friends has the most fucked-up looking bones. several of said friends are in the room and really wish they wouldn't do this

#rimi talks #sorry every time i see a ''wow gotham is so weird and everyone else plays straightman'' post or fic i just #speedsters are walking bethesda glitches and supers are freaky powered aliens.#i haven't read as much amazon lore so i don't want to make Inaccurate Jokes but theres Definitely ways for them to be weird as fuck too #like im SURE there are theyre magic and also have superpowers #Everyone In This House Is Kind Of A Freak. All Of Them #constantly thinking abt becketts post of jon asking if he can look at bruce's fucked up skull #bc his dad says batman gets hit in the head nightly and now he's curious and wants to see #fucking devastating man laskdjflkdjs

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demxters · 4 months

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—GLITCH

jake seresin x f!reader (aka star)

top gun maverick au

synopsis: when star moves in to her late grandmother’s beach house, she meets the man of her dreams. the only problem, he’s from seven years in the past and when she meets him in the present, he’s unlike the man she fell in love with. unable to recognize the man in front of her, star takes it upon herself to bring back the man she once knew. the man before hangman. the man that was jake seresin.

series warning(s): 18+, talks about death and grief, swearing, mature content (see individual chapter warnings)

✧ plot and details of this fic are based on the novel “the seven year slip” by ashley poston

✧ part 1

✧ part 2

tgm taglist: @joaquinwhorres @harrycherrylove @smoothdogsgirl @t-nd-rfoot @dempy @ollyoxenfrees @averyhotchner @2guysonascooter @loveforaugust @blue-aconite @fandom-life-12 @stiles-banshees @iamdannyday @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @breezemood @eli2447 @angelbabyange @finelytaylored @pono-pura-vida @hecate-steps-on-me @blueoorchid @aviatorobsessed @blackwidownat2814 @hallecarey1 @averagereader35 @laneylovesglen @atarmychick007 @kajjaka @urfavelocagirl @clancycumber230 @memeorydotcom @kmc1989 @percysaidnever @thestarspangledcaptain @wkndwlff @shanimallina87 @dracosluvbot

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin fic #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x y/n #hangman fanfiction #hangman fanfic #hangman fic #—glitch series #jake x star 💫#demxters writing

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askuemki · 1 month

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cuz im kinda bored and sick ill torture myself with writing a fic (also happy late easter)

The Other Way Around

Valeria x fem!reader

Usually she takes care of you, but shit hit the floor when she got her period. In the past, it's been manageable enough. No clue what changed exactly... (womp womp)

General warnings/info idk 888 words 2nd person Pronouns Fluff(?) Blood (sort of) & google translated spanish

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You just came back from shopping in the small farmers market in Las Alamas. Despite all of the crimes and spilled blood, it's been standing strong—something you appreciate. The door swayed open, to what you expected to be a sleepy home.

Moaning howled from upstairs.

Your brows creased, staring at the small hole leading into what could lead into a hell of a situation. It had been just you and a few soldiers residing in the home. Your lover had been a workhorse for the past month or two now. A thunderous wail fractured your line of thought. Maybe the quiet wasn't so lonely after all.

Strolling over to the kitchen, you were sensible enough to put refrigerated items away. The rest of the clutter can flump on the counter. Now, time to deal with whatever sex-crazed soldier was upstairs. Your thundering steps sung a chorus with the groans, turning from hall to hall. At the door, your hand launched for the knob. It hurled open, bashing into something. A figure stumbled, flinging back like a stick in the dirt. There was an odd absence of a counterpart...

The counterpart was you, dumbass!

A frown contorted your face as you reached out to your spouse. "...Valeria? God, I'm so, so sorry..." You uttered her name as if she were holy. (It's partly true, for you at least.) Her softened gaze flickered to you when your hands stroke her frizzled hair. "I'm fine, Cariño," she wheezed. Valeria was perched over the sink, clutching her abdomen. Her mewls in anguish disrupted your thoughts...Fuck! Your partner was better at this then you were, the whole contingence thing.

"Please don't play stupid with me..."

" I'm fine, really—I just need some time."

Your head shook at Valeria's languish. Drawing the cabinet open beneath the both of you, scavenging for some pads, pain medication, and some lotion. Valeria slumped onto the toilet, bunching her torso downwards. Before fetching some other necessities, you shrunk onto your knees, in front of Valeria. "Hey..." you lured her hair away from her face, before your hands lowered to her cheeks.

"Think you can take the Ibuprofen before I come back?"

She lowly nodded as you set the medication near her, loosening the lid enough for easy access. Sure, there were other things to get, but you can't help to dote on her a little. Rubbing her lower back, your lips pressed into her neck. A mumbling sigh swept from Valeria's lips into your shoulder. One of your hands slid from her back, and to her abdomen. It was a bit harder to tug your digits in, but Valeria shifted enough to help you. For a while, it was like this, your palm on her thigh, knuckles massaging her stomach.

"Consigue lo que necesitas, amor." (Get what you need, Love.)

"But I don't want to leave you alone," you grumbled as an excuse, your lips were on her collarbone, taking in the smooth bumps she blessed you with.

"I can see that, esposa. It's OK, I'm strong enough to handle this."

"... But I miss you."

You feel the hesitance as Valeria tugged you away. She strained to reach the medication, taking the pills. You saw her head nudging towards the doorway as you heaved upwards. A nod in return, you begrudgingly dragged yourself out. You return with a heating pad, some hand towels... "I need some shorts..."

An understanding nod, you fetched some clothes, and one of the paper grocery bags from the kitchen.

"Some water, please." And some water...

"Some blankets?" And some blankets... You were panting after sprinting back and forward, seeing your lover had moved from the bathroom; she was lenient enough to put back most of the things you got... Except the bloody underwear and shorts. A grumble huffed from your lips, washing the garments. Your hands grew sore, bloodied and dry, kneading the fabrics within themselves. Hanging them up on a rack, your legs ached with sleep. Now hauling yourself to your shared bedroom, your gaze flickered to your wife. She was sprawled out in bed, a damp towel laying on her head. The heating pad you gave her was set on her stomach, as well as her nightstand littered with some bottles of water and medication. You never ended up using the lotion for Valeria, but that was fine. Her eyes were closed, entangled in the sheets. Your cheeks swelled with warmth; a smile teased your lips. Strolling to the bed, you sat on the plush comforter. "You don't need that much medication," you faintly advised, busying your hands by rubbing her calves. "Hmph... I'm lazy to put it back." You heard a light chuckle whisk towards you, Valeria's legs wrapped you in a clutch, tugging you towards her. Careful not to sweep off what Valeria had on her in the moment, you laid on your side. Luckily you weren't in her leg-clutch for too long; it would have been awkward enough. You were held close instead, a thought igniting in your head. She was home, finally home! You were back in your lover's arms—maybe it should be the other way around—but relief sprout like fireworks. You were free to continue to dote on her, but sleep drew near. Your lids weighed you down, nuzzling into her side. "Bonita...Mind making dinner?"

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Pet Name Translations:

Cariño - My dear Esposa - Wife Bonita - Pretty

#i hope i put in my warnings right #idk if i grammared right either #my website glitched and i had to restart my laptop smh #AT LEAST MY PROGRESS SAVED #cod valeria #valeria garza #valeria garza cod #valeria x reader #valeria cod #valeria x you #valeria garza x fem!reader #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare II #valeria garza fluff #this fic took like 3-4 hrs to make wtf #happy late easter again

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hychlorions · 1 year

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good news guys they sell klapollo at ikea now 👍

#.docx #you don't need to go crumb hunting in nrmt fics anymore 👍#for an affordable price and a little bit of effort you too can have your very own self-assembled klapollo!#this is a screenshot from my phone btw. the firefox app glitched and mixed up the names and links of my recent websites

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sleepykas · 1 year

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Some memories don't fade with time.

1/3

First (you're here!) | Previous | Next (tba)

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gglitch1dd · 7 days

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Submitted by @lemon-qu33n : Hi sorry to bother u i was just wondering if u had any fic recommendations. Ive read most of yours and i love them! I was just wondering what some of your favorite fics are?

Hey lovey!! You're not bothering me at all. TBH, I swear people maybe its you, have been asking me.

The reason why I haven't been answering is mostly because I really don't have many fic recs OR many favourites. There aren't a lot of writers that cater to my breeding kink or they aren't for the pairings that I like. I did have a few small favourites but most of them are discontinued and a lot of the bigger finished ones, sometimes I don't finish them.

I don't finish them either because the second hand embarrassment gets too big in one scene so I put it down, but I've got a few.

My number one recommendation is the most twisted story I have ever read and I love it so much. It isn't finished but the writing is exquisite and I one day wish to write a yandere/dark fic just like this. Its so disturbing and literally fear inducing, you literally feel like the reader. I love it. Hope it gets finished soon. I'm not a big fan of Katsuki but this one was delicious.

Love of a Hero by TrashPotatoes

Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

being a new villain was horrible. Your team left you, and Pro hero Dynamight is hot on your trail. The only questions echoing in your mind are: What does he want? How long does he plan to keep you? And how long do you have before you break completely to his will?

2. This one was amazingly written as well. Kudos to the author!! It's a one-shot though, but honestly, it was a stroke of genius and hopefully it gets a second part to it.

What Once was Mine by Mindninjax

Bakugou Katsuki x Reader x Kirishima Eijiro

Invaders from outer space seek to take over all humans. What happens when you come face to face with the man you love after his assimilation? What happens when he finds out you've been hiding out from the invaders with his best friend who's madly in love with you? And what happens when you realize you may just have feelings for both of them?

3. This one is just pure smut heaven. Indulges the fact that Eijiro is the most HUNG person in the entire of Class A and I love it.

Bad dragon by Makoodles

Kirishima Eijiro x Reader (later chapters include Bakugou Katsuki)

Kirishima Eijirou was a perfect gentleman. He bought you flowers, he opened doors for you, he gave the sweetest goodnight kisses, he ate you out so good he had you seeing stars. You had the biggest, fattest crush on him, and you would be embarrassed about it if it weren’t for the fact that it seemed, at least for the most part, to be reciprocated. The problem was Kirishima never let you touch him.

4. This one was just really cute. I loved it. It was so sweet. fluffy and sweet.

Paws for Panic by Hero234

Kirishima Eijiro x Reader

When chaos strikes and quirks collide, one innocent collision turns pro hero Red Riot into an adorable red puppy! Little does (Y/n) know, that the newly turned pup is none other than her favorite hero, and he understands more than he lets on. Unaware of the puppy's true identity, (Y/n) spends the day pampering her fluffy victim.

5. Fans of Viking Kirishima will love this one. It was amazing and honestly touched my heart in all the right ways, sweet fluffy smut.

Consummation by tothestars00

Kirishima Eijiro x Reader

You and Kirishima have an arranged marriage, however, it is not a loveless one. Now it is the night after the ceremony. And we all know what happens on your wedding night.

6. Another self indulgent on my man Kirishima and why he's every woman's best dream. INTENSE SMUT THO.

XXL by seraphiq

Kirishima Eijiro x Reader

A giant dragon hybrid walks into your adult toy store looking for some help with a problem. A HUGE one.

But those are just like half of my few. Remember I write because sometimes I don't find what I want to read. But people write amazing things!! Pros to these writers!!<3

#submission #glitch recommendation #glitch1d questions #mha fic #mha fic recs

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neoncherryblossom · 3 months

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Sonic: You can be whatever you want to be! You don't need to keep fighting me, or anyone! When we get rid of that code, you can just be happy- Metal Sonic: I'll be happy when I win. Sonic: No you won't! If I'm dead, you have nothing to live for- Metal Sonic: Exactly. No reason to keep going.

(Because the cycle will always repeat again and again and again and again. Peace comes when the cycle breaks.

Peace comes with the death of us both.)

#doing this with my fic because metal keeps losing over and over again #wonder if metal would stop even if killing sonic wasn't his prime objective #because like. you can only lose to someone enough times that you NEED to win right? at least once #(acceptance in death #if he gets to stand atop sonic's corpse and just win)#sonic the hedgehog #sth #metal sonic #Glitching Away and Holding Tight #finally working on that new chap and no #it isn't about this

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eternalglitch · 2 months

Note

I want to read your "Like Father, Like Son" fanfic, but it's not there. I went to your ao3, it's like it wasn't there.

I'm just going to have to direct you to my answer last time. Do you see the "log in" button at the top right. Yes? You click it. ✨Magical.✨ A whole new world of additional fics.

#glitch answers #I'm ngl I've gotten way too many of these asks lately #the instructions “be logged in” are the best I've got for you guys #I'm going to be deleting any further queries on how to read locked fics bc the answer is right in my pinned FAQ

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snezario · 3 months

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Sub-Optimal; Ala/stor & Vo/x

based from an idea that @sneezingfetishftw posted. I kind of want to expand on that beginning part with a prequel ficlet of Alastor being sick but idk if I'll actually get around to it... I think this is the longest one-shot I've ever written... somehow this turned out to be 1.7k words?

Alastor leans against the headboard of his bed and takes a sip from his mug, grimacing as the hot liquid travels down his throat. Coffee was probably not the best choice right now. The warmth of it was nice against his sore throat. Of course that wasn’t the only unfortunate telltale symptom of illness he had awoken with a couple days ago.

He had been pretty good at hiding the whole illness thing under wraps for the first half of the day, that is until he had to sneeze. Usually he was good at stifling them into oblivion, but this particular cold seemed hellbent on disrupting his ability to control his faculties. The first unstifled sneeze caused all the lights in the hotel to flicker, which wouldn’t have caught much of anyone else’s attention. It was the second, third, and fourth ones that well, almost destroyed it.

It was after that whole fiasco that he was banished to quarantine in his room because according to Vaggie Who the fuck knows what other chaos his sickness will wreak havoc on the hotel? Normally he’d be holed up in his radio tower, but his quarters within the hotel are not half bad. Hence, him still being in bed to begin with. A sharp prickle in his nose reminds him how miserable being sick makes one feel.

hih'ZZSSHHhue!

He tries to keep it contained, lest he face Vaggie’s wrath. Not that she’s much of a threat to him really. As Alastor recovers, he’s interrupted by a loud BANG! His bedroom door swings open to reveal Vox standing dead center in the door frame. Alastor rolls his eyes at the other Overlord.

“Do you mind?”

Vox ignores Alastor’s question and breezes past the threshold, plopping himself on a red armchair by the fireplace.

“I was just passing through the area and a little birdy told me you were feeling a bit… under the weather.” He scrolls on his phone as he speaks, although the wide grin on his screen makes it obvious how much he’s relishing this moment. Alastor narrows his eyes, an unlikely story— Vox would never pass up the chance to taunt him, especially in a case like this.

“Well, I’m not quite on my deathbed as you can see. I didn’t realize that you missed little old me so much that you just had to come by and visit. It is flattering that you stopped by, in any case.”

Despite how awful he’s feeling, Alastor flashes Vox a cheeky grin, knowing full well just how to push the other demon’s buttons. The entertainment value of seeing Vox absolutely lose his cool is almost limitless. Although the pesky tickle is urgently becoming more than a mere annoyance. Alastor would much rather listen to Pentious’s Egg Bois spew nonsense to him for hours on end than be seen like this. Vulnerable and weak, in front of Vox no less. But it’s not something he can avoid at the moment.

Vox wasn’t someone who shied away from physical contact. He never denied himself the opportunity to encroach on someone’s personal space when he saw fit, it was mostly a tactic he employed to assert dominance or to emphasize a point. Or in this case, threaten his rival. Leaping off the chair, he’s in the radio demon’s face in a heartbeat, clenching the collar of Alastor’s pajamas in his hand.

“You arrogant prick, you think that I give a flying FUCK where you’ve been—”

Vox pauses when Alastor inhales sharply, no doubt to make a scathing retort. The radio demon raises a fist to his face and angles himself away from the other Overlord.

hhzh—hhh’ZTCHhiew! hih! ihĨ̴̢̛̘̠̪͍̠̣̪̪͗͒̓̃̎̀̓̕͜Z̵̪̝̱̪̘̺̣̗̘̍Z̷̡̜͔̱͖͉̰̭̽̽̎̆̿̉͝͝T̴̨̧̼̫̜̤͈̖̬͈̈́̄̒̓̾̀̎͠͝S̷̨̱̭͚̬̻̬͐̑̐̏͆͝ͅḨ̵̣͍͈͙͈̝̜͑̓͋̉͊͛̀̑̚H̵̤̯͔̱̓̎̈͘̚̕uu!

The space around them crackles with Eldritch energy, tendrils of which encompass the room. Vox’s screen glitches and completely shuts off.

“What the actual fuck?” The lights flicker back on and Vox’s screen illuminates again. He gives in to a full body shudder (not of his own accord though) as the static shock between them fizzles out. He jumps back from Alastor, his eye spiraling intensely. Alastor sniffles into a plain cloth handkerchief.

“Oh dear, pardon me. I’m not quite in control of my faculties at the moment.”

“I hope you fucking choke on your own mucus,” Vox snarls at him before storming out of Alastor’s room.

It’s humiliating but because the hotel has Alastor as its facilities manager, there is very little modern technology at Vox’s disposal. Meaning, he has to walk… out the front door like a common sinner. The hotel is located quite a bit away from the main hubbub of Pentagram City, which is both a blessing and a curse, depending on who you talk to. Vox makes his way to the edge of the city, a chaotic and desolate area and at the first sight of a screen (an old television set sitting in the window of a dilapidated pawn shop), he transforms into electricity and travels back to the Vees’ penthouse.

What kind of weird voodoo magic did the smiling freak do to me? Vox sits alone in his penthouse suite, glaring at nothing in particular as his eye dilates as he fumes about the outcome of his interaction with Alastor. One day, that pompous bastard would find something more than coffee in that stupid mug of his.

He idly rubs a hand down his screen as a fleeting fuzzy sensation runs through the circuitry in his head, almost like an itch he can’t quite reach. He proceeds to take a long sip from his mug, the coffee in it is only lukewarm but it’s the caffeine boost he wants anyways. Vox is feeling more drained from engaging with Alastor than he thought. It’s not entirely out of the question, but it does surprise him a little. Nothing a little caffeine wouldn’t fix. He downs the rest of the drink and settles into the sofa, turning the plasma screen television screen across from him on with a simple thought. The ambient sound immediately soothes him and the incident with Alastor floats into his memory archives to be forgotten.

An hour passes and Vox is sleepily scrolling on his phone. He could nod off right there. That is until a buzzing in his head catches his attention. It almost feels like tiny feathers caressing his internal wiring, not so much caressing as tickling. Similar to before, he can’t seem to reach it and quell the sensation. But unlike before, it’s not just a momentary annoyance. His deliberation is interrupted when his breath hitches once, then twice before he pitches forward.

“ih…ih'DZZSHHH!”

He blinks in confusion. That’s it? He just had to fucking sneeze? Again, he finds his thoughts disrupted by a familiar sensation. Vox tries to rub the tickle away but given his… specifications he realizes he doesn’t even have a nose to—eh'TZZSSHIEW! hih’IZZSHuhh!

What the fuck is happening? He sniffles. Ugh, gross.

Between the sneezing, the developing tension headache, and the exhaustion it feels like—Vox’s screen lights up as it dawns on him. He fucking has Alastor’s cold. That motherfucker. His blood pressure skyrockets and sparks shoot off his frame, threatening to short out the electronics in the room (of which there are many). Before he knows it, he’s already electro-teleporting across the pentagram to confront the radio demon.

“ALASTOR, you pretentious manipulative fucking son-of-a—”

Although Alastor can’t determine the actual content of Vox’s plethora of insults and cursing, they do steadily increase volume as he approaches Alastor’s room.

“Hmm?” Alastor turns his head as Vox barges into his room for the second time that day. He is sitting in one of the red armchairs by the fireplace, with a book in his grasp. He wears his deceptively inviting smile as always, although it is slightly dulled down by his current illness. Vox breathing is heavy and ragged, his rage undeterred by Alastor’s placid expression actually seems to intensify as he stands face-to-face from his rival.

“YOU… you did this to me!” He jabs a finger in the radio demon’s face, mere centimeters away from stabbing him in the eye. Alastor calmly pushes Vox’s hand down.

“Careful now, unless you want to cause another city-wide blackout.” Alastor teasingly reminds him of their previous on-air encounter.

“Whatever stunt you phhhulled this m-morhhn—” Vox’s voice falters, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He sharply turns away as he succumbs to the persistent itch.

“hh—hHEHh’IZZSH! Fuh—hih…h’KSHHHIiiue! ih’Z̷͖̥̩͕͒́ͅZ̷̩̲̯̠̺̘̟̆̕T̴̛͔͆̒͌̄̚͘Ć̷̘̒̌͐͝͠H̶̥̦͖̰͙͙͙̩̠̋͛ͅH̶͍͕̪̙̦͎́́̋͝uu! ”

The lights pulsate with each sneeze from the television demon. Vox groans, leaning against the wall. That last one hurt like a bitch.

“Oho! I see the problem. Apologies, old pal. Snf! I thought someone so advanced as yourself would be immune to such trivialities.” Despite his flippant tone, Alastor is genuinely surprised. He wasn’t actually certain the static shock would have affected Vox when he did it. He is, however, quite entertained by the development.

Before Vox can respond, Vaggie throws the bedroom door open.

“Alastor, what the fuck are you even doing? I thought we told you to—” The ex-exorcist jabs her spear in his direction and is about to go off on him when she notices Vox is slumped against the wall. Spinning her spear, she redirects the point towards him. “What’s he doing here?”

“Oh him? He’s no threat, at least not in his current condition,” Alastor makes a dismissive motion with his hand, a mischievous smile on his lips. Vaggie scowls at him, her hands crossed over her chest. Her gaze flits between Alastor and Vox.

“What did you do—Actually, wait I don’t want to know. Just… stop fucking with the lights.” She swiftly turns around and shuts the door behind her. Still smiling, Alastor turns his attention towards Vox, who’s looking quite pathetic. Well, more so than usual.

“You hear that, my dear Vox? Get a hold of yourself. Now if you’ll exhhcuse me I hh-have— (dang it, now it’s his turn) hh’iZTSHHuu! eh’D̴͚̼̊̂̒Z̵̳̥̈́̀̐͊̃̊̄͘̚Z̵̻͓̖̪̤͊͒̄̓͗́̂͑͜͝͝S̵̼̖͌̔̚HHHiew!” Unfortunate timing, but can’t be helped, Alastor thinks. He scrubs a finger under his nose and proceeds to pore over his book.

Vox narrows his eyes, adjusts his bowtie, and stands up. Vox glares daggers at Alastor, who appears to be ignoring him now. As he heads to the door, he feels an unfortunately familiar prickle at the back of his screen. NO! Not aga— heh’DZZSHHuh! Fuck. He catches Alastor smirking in his periphery.

“Gesundheit!” The radio demon calls out after Vox’s retreating figure.

#hazbinhyperfixation #fiendwriting #also new HC unlocked: alastor’s abilities going haywire when he doesn't stifle #barely proofread tbh so apologizes for any issues with grammar and the like #anyways here's so more audiovisual demons #the title is cheesy i'm sorry!!!#i recently realized that all my old fics don't have any titles so they're all like untitled 1 or untitled 6 #here i go just another fucking day where i throw out fics into the abyss #heyheyhey fuck my life #i hope the glitch text shows up okay...

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chaosinplural · 3 months

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Sobbing because Vox has a non-glitched out photo of Alastor.

#like bro canonically HATES being on camera #how close were they that he didn’t glitch it out?#what do you guys think the context of the pic even was?#like did vox just pull out a camera and ask for a pic?#or were they at like an event together #if anyone has a fic rec with angsty unrequited radiostatic hurt no comfort that would be delightful #hazbin hotel #alastor #vox

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picturejasper20 · 20 days

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Bruh, if you were to tell me around 4-5 years ago that Danny Phantom was going have a graphic novel that gives redemption arcs to Vlad Masters and Dan Phantom and ending up with Vlad adopting Dan, i would have thought you were really messing with me

#danny phantom #danny phantom a glitch in time #dan phantom #vlad plasmius #bruh the ammount of badger cereal- fics with Vlad having a sort of redemption arc i read back on 2019 was crazy

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demxters · 4 months

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—GLITCH, part 1

jake seresin x f!reader (aka star)

top gun maverick au

“i think there’s been a glitch…”

wc: 3.1k

warning(s): 18+, f!reader, nicknamed reader, talks about death and grief, swearing, mature content

✧ plot and details of this fic are based on the novel “the seven year slip” by ashley poston

series masterlist | find it on ao3

a/n: i hope you all enjoy this first part! as always special s/o to @blue-aconite who is really the whole reason why this series even exists in the first place, ily

It wasn’t fair that you were here without her. If you listened close enough, you could still hear her laughter bouncing off the walls. You could smell the snickerdoodle cookies she always baked when you came to visit. You could feel the warmth of her rib crushing hugs wrapped around you. Opening your eyes, you are met with a dark and empty house. You have spent more time here than in your own home, but now it was unrecognizable. This house and the box that sat in the attic was the only tangible thing you had left of her. Your chest aches as you’re pierced through the heart at the realization that you were never going to see her again.

You were here and she was not. There was nothing you could say or do that will change that.

_____________________________________

“So. You think you’re ready to man this side of the bar on your own?” Penny Benjamin stands in front of you with her hands on her hips, dish rag slung over her shoulder.

It has been a week since you moved from Colorado to San Diego, California, and things were surprisingly starting to fall into place. On your first night there, you ran into an old childhood friend of yours, Natasha Trace. Her family owned the beach house a little ways away from your grandmother’s. The two of you met on the beach when you were kids and she became your summer best friend whenever you came to visit. As time came and went, the two of you continued to grow, drifting farther and farther apart. It was a miracle that she was right where you last saw her on that very same beach, taking a late night walk at the same time you were.

The two of you fell into place like pieces of a puzzle, catching up and getting along like no time had passed at all. When she brought up your grandmother, you disregarded her with a shake of your head. You deflected with complaining about your recent unemployment and how desperately you were looking for a job.

Natasha lit up, immediately knowing the perfect place for you to go. You spent one week under Penny Benjamin’s wing, learning how to be the perfect bartender for her establishment.

With a sigh, you rest your forearms on the tabletop across from her. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” While most nights, you sat back and watched as she manned the bar alone, this would be your first time helping her out with the rush. Your palms were starting to sweat, leaving an outline of your hands on the table. The nerves were finally getting to you and it didn’t help that tonight was the night that Natasha’s friends and colleagues were coming back to North Island. The Hard Deck was the best Navy bar in town and Natasha assured you that everyone in a uniform would be flocking there.

Barely your first hour into your shift, you realized that Nat wasn’t over exaggerating at all. The place was filled to the brim with people. A sea of khaki and navy blues were all pressed shoulder to shoulder in that bar. You were surprised that anyone even had room to drink, let alone breathe, with how congested the place was.

The bar was warm and the air was buzzing with excitement from the aviators and other patrons. Being the first new face to grace the bar in a while, you immediately drew attention to yourself. You liked to think you were doing a good job so far, considering no one had complained about their drinks. That or they were too nice to complain. It wasn’t until a mustached aviator approached your side of the bar with a stoic look on his face that you were afraid you messed something up horribly.

You gulp, wiping your palms on the front of your apron, hoping that it wasn’t obvious that you were a nervous wreck. “What can I get for you, sailor?” You disguise your discomfort behind a snarky remark.

He arches a brow, leaning against the bartop with one arm and tilting his sunglasses down the perch of his nose. The man gives you a once over, his eyes darting up and down your figure.

Your cheeks burn at the action.

“Aviator,” he states, matter of factly.

“Excuse me?”

“You called me sailor. I’m an aviator. Naval aviator, to be exact. And you are?” The way he leans in ever so slightly clues you in on what he wants.

With a scoff, you slap your rag onto the table. “Not interested, flyboy.” You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. “Now, did you actually want anything or did you just come here to flirt?” Your eyes flit to the bell above your head, just in case the words that flew from the man’s mouth were unwanted.

He opens his mouth to respond before his head falls slightly forward, his sunglasses toppling onto the counter. An embarrassingly girlish squeak leaves his lips as Natasha steps up beside him.

“Leave my friend alone, Bradshaw.” Nat asks you for a glass of water that you hastily prepare.

With your back turned to the duo, you listen intently to their conversation.

“This is her? Well, shit, Nat if I had known I wouldn’t have been such a–”

“Douche?” She finishes for him with a snort.

You turn with an uneasy smile on your lips, placing the water in front of Natasha.

“Bradley, this is Star,” she gestures to you with a smile.

His mustache twitches as his lips pull up slightly at the corners. “Star, huh?”

You huff, crossing your arms across your chest. “Yeah, it’s just a nickname I’ve had since I was a kid.”

“Well, Star,” he grins. “Welcome to FighterTown, USA. You’re gonna love it here, I’m sure.”

You return his greeting with a small nod before busying yourself with the other patrons.

Nat eyes you warily as you make your way around the bar. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her that you purposely don’t tell Bradley about your complicated history with the small town.

As the night went on, you saw more and more of Natasha’s crew. They were an interesting group, one you wouldn’t think to be compatible with one another had you have met them individually. Seeing them altogether, however, helped you understand why their last mission went so successfully. Despite them being unable to share all the details, they were more than happy to vaguely reenact the events of the mission just enough for you to understand.

The “Daggers,” as they called themselves, were more than welcoming towards you. You knew it was partly because of your association with Natasha, but you appreciate their kindness nevertheless.

Upon getting to know each of them better throughout the night, you decided that you liked Bob the best. He was quiet, shy, and a bit of an introvert. But he was unabashedly sweet.

Fanboy and Payback were a little more rambunctious for your taste, but they were entertaining and a joy to be around nevertheless.

Your impression of Bradley was slightly tainted from your first interaction with the man, but you could tell he was a good guy.

Overall, you could imagine yourself finding a place among Natasha’s posse. However, this thought was almost a little too good to be true. You curse yourself silently for even entertaining this idea in the first place.

You put back up the walls you’ve built around yourself over the years, not wanting to let them in, only to get disappointed once again. People always leave. They wouldn’t be any different, especially with the nature of their job. It was inevitable. You wouldn’t get too attached.

A commotion has begun to stir up around the billiards tables and your attention gets pulled towards the sharp whistle that leaves Payback’s left. “Hangman, Coyote! Get over here!” He gestures towards the two men.

The crowd parts like the Red Sea, making way for Hangman and Coyote who both sport charming smiles that are sure to make the ladies weak in the knees. You pause your bartending duties, curious to meet the two men. Natasha had told you briefly about both and you were interested to see what they were like in person.

Coyote, just as his callsign, gave you a wolfish smile that suited the features of his dark eyes and wide smile.

Your gaze drifted to the man behind him and your heart stuttered in your ribcage. You’ve never met the man in front of you before, yet for some reason there was an air of familiarity around him that had you dying to get closer to him. Your head cocks to the side as you observe him.

Surely you’d remember meeting a man like him before. With a gorgeous Southern California tan and golden hair that complimented the green of his eyes, he was a sight you knew would be hard to forget. Hangman was just as Natasha had described. His posture and arrogant smile screamed cocky and overconfident. He knew the effect he had on people and he wasn’t afraid to use it to his advantage.

The last thing you expect is for him to catch your wandering eyes. The second his gaze lands on yours, that smile of his vanishes in an instant and he pails. Almost as if he was seeing a ghost.

“Stargirl?” He speaks, shock evident in his tone.

Now that sends your heart into a frenzy. You knew Natasha hadn’t told any of her friends your cherished nickname until she properly introduced you to them. The slip of Hangman’s facade as he makes his way to the bar confuses you just as much as the word he uttered.

Before you’re even given the chance to ask the man how on Earth he knew you, you’re whisked away by the patrons on the other side of the bar who are now calling for your attention.

By the time you have them all taken care of, when you turn around to face the Daggers, Hangman is gone.

You try to ignore the lack of his presence for the rest of the night, distracting yourself with the rest of the group once more, but the look on his face and the way that name fell from his lips wouldn’t leave your thoughts.

Stargirl.

_____________________________________

There’s a warmth that hums in your chest every time you step into this house. Staying at your grandmother’s was your favorite part of summer vacation. Here, you felt like you were transferred to a completely new world. Deep down you knew you were really just in Southern California, but your childish wonder liked to pretend you were somewhere far away from the world you knew.

At your grandmother’s, you could be a pirate whose ship was sunk and washed up onto the shore of the beach house. Your grandmother was a tavern maiden who offered you shelter from bandits who were also looking for the buried treasure.

Or you could pretend that you were a princess and this beach house was your castle. The sand and the sea was your kingdom and every day you would journey through the treacherous waters in search of your one true love.

Most nights, however, you pretended that you never had to leave and face the real world. That you could stay in this particular moment in time, forever. Never being forced to grow up or face the reality that was ahead of you.

As you sat on the wooden deck of the house, bundled up under blankets and drinking hot cocoa with your grandmother as you looked out to the sea, she told you the story of how she and your grandfather met. About the magic of the beach house.

“You’ve heard this story a million times already, my Star,” she chuckled under the pale moonlight. Her features shone in the light, giving her a look of youth that she hadn’t inherited in a long time.

“That’s okay, I want to hear it again,” you smile toothily at her.

She wraps you tight in your arms as she stares out at the sea with a dreamy look in her eyes. “Oh, alright. The first time I saw your grandfather was on the shore of this very beach…”

A place that was once so alive has never felt so dark and empty. You couldn’t even bear to unpack any of your boxes, not wanting to taint the impression that your grandmother had left there. Why had she left this place in your name? She knew you never wanted to come back here and even in the afterlife she had managed to get you to step foot into this house again.

Four years. It has been four years since the last time you were here. Nothing had changed and yet everything had changed. When you looked around, everything was just the way it used to be. Your grandmother’s walls were still littered with picture frames filled with the people she cherished most in this world. Her bookshelves displayed knick knacks from her expeditions around the world. The throw blanket the two of you had knitted the summer of your freshman year of high school still sat neatly folded on the arm of her cream suede couch, almost as if your grandmother had just folded it back up after using it on the deck. If you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, there were still hints of sandalwood and perfume that lingered in the air.

One more step into the foyer was enough to shatter the illusion in your head. One more step gave you a better look at the dust that collected on the furniture from being untouched for years. The cobwebs on the ceiling, a clear sign that your grandmother’s weekly cleaning schedule was not being kept up with. The house was quiet. Quieter than it has ever been. It lacked the joyous laughter and melodic singing your grandmother’s voice used to fill the room with.

You were left with nothing but this house and the memory of her. Unpacking your boxes and touching her things solidified the fact that she was really gone. That she was never going to come back. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t destroy the one thing you had left of her. The one thing that wasn’t tainted by the sickness that took her away from you.

You’ve been in FighterTown for over a month now and your boxes still lay untouched in the center of the living room. Your knees shake as you toe off your shoes and kick them haphazardly next to the shoe rack.

Throwing yourself onto the couch, you wrap yourself in the blanket that still smells like her and you choke back a sob.

“I need you, grandma,” you whimper. “Why did you have to go?”

_____________________________________

Hangman knocks back another shot, hardly feeling the burn in the back of his throat. He had dragged Coyote from the girl he was flirting with at the bar to resume drinking in the comfort of his apartment instead. He knew Javy was probably pissed and slightly confused at his proposition, but he couldn’t stay at The Hard Deck a second longer knowing you were there.

What the hell were you doing back at North Island? It didn’t matter now, especially after seeing the way you looked at him with absolutely no sign of recognition in your eyes. If that’s how you wanted to play this game, then fine.

“That was her, wasn’t it?” Coyote breaks the heavy silence. “Penny’s new bartender?”

Hangman runs a hand through his hair, unsure of how to answer his friend’s question. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He grabs at the bottle of Tito’s sitting on the coffee table and pours himself another shot.

Coyote snatches the bottle and his shot glass away from him. “That may work with everyone else, but not me.” He looks his friend straight in the face as he asks again, “Was that her?”

Hangman’s heart tightens in his chest as he lets out a shaky exhale. “Yes.”

The confirmation makes his stomach churn and seconds later, he runs to his sink, emptying out all of the night’s contents.

_____________________________________

The serene sounds of birds chirping and the waves crashing onto the shore wakes you from your slumber. You push yourself off the couch, bleary eyed, as you search the cushions blindly for your phone. You must have fallen asleep downstairs the night before. With no luck on finding your phone, you plop back down with a heavy sigh, throwing your arm over your eyes.

Glancing out the big bay window, you’re able to see the light pink and blue hues of the early morning sky. You could just barely see the sun peeking out over the horizon signaling that it was still the early hours of the morning.

Forcing yourself off your makeshift bed, you round the coffee table and instinctively dodge the boxes scattered around the room.

Except, there weren’t any.

You’re immediately snapped out of your sleepy trance, frantically looking around the room with wide eyes.

Your mind begins running a mile a minute upon realizing the lack of clutter. You were robbed. You were sleeping right there on the couch and you got robbed.

But who the hell would want boxes of old stuff when you were sure there were more valuable things to be found in the house?

Shuffling from the room over pauses your spiraling. Whoever it was that stole your boxes was still in the house.

You still have no idea where your phone is and you were not going to be a sitting duck in the middle of a crime.

Glancing around the room, you look for anything that you could use as a weapon against the intruder. You silently pray that your grandmother forgives you in the afterlife for using her antique lamp as a form of self defense.

Taking a deep breath, you quietly yank the lamp on the side table out of the outlet and hold it over your shoulder. You creep into the kitchen on shaky limbs, tightening your grasp on the cold metal that had started to slip from your sweaty palms.

Upon entering the room, you’re met with the figure of a man you’ve never seen before.

The man yelps, almost comically, at the sound of your footsteps and he spins around with a hand on his chest. He’s breathing just as heavily as you are. His wide green eyes meet yours and your heart drops to the pit of your stomach.

Those eyes, you swear you’ve seen them once before. You’re just having a hard time pinpointing where.

Swallowing harshly, you muster up enough courage to make your voice sound strong. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?”

He throws his hands up in surrender as he backs himself up against the counter. “Jake Seresin. Who the hell are you?”

𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊, 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃!

glitch series taglist: @mamachasesmayhem @hookslove1592 @buckysteveloki-me

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