#gotta swallow rat poison

[blacknidstang]

Literally with what sort of goggles you watched spn to consider Sam the straight in middle of ALLL the queer cast. What hallucinator drug you snorted man. Things like this makes me so disgusted bc you want someone for that role and you don't give a fuck about Sam in the first place. I wish there was a way to block every single person with this sort of take.

#anyway if there's actually one queer it's sam #too early for me to be spiteful #gotta swallow rat poison #spn #sam winchester

[nastybuckybarnes]

Deep End  -  Two

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers X Reader

Summary: He’s back. After all your best efforts at getting away, he’s found you again. And this time, he’s not letting you go so easily. He’s determined to do whatever it takes to get you to be his. Forever.

Warnings: Dark Themes, Language, Angst, Smut (DubCon,) Manipulation, Anxiety

Word Count: 3.4K

A/n: Boom part two! I wanna hear what y’all think’s gonna happen with this series

Madness Masterlist

Bad Dream Masterlist

THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!

~*~

“Good morning, Darling.” Chapped lips press a kiss to your cheek, strong arms winding around your figure and a sharp chin digging into your shoulder.

“Breakfast smells delicious.” You only hum, trying to get your hands to stop shaking.

“Is it eggs?!” Sarah bounds down the stairs excitedly, running straight for your legs.

Steve intercepts her, tossing her up in the air then catching her in his arms again.

She erupts in a fit of giggles and squeals as he starts tickling her, and you find yourself biting your tongue to stop yourself from saying anything to him.

“Eggs and bacon and pancakes only for you, Princess!” He exclaims, kissing her cheek then setting her back on her feet.

“Do I still go to school?” Sarah asks, climbing up onto one of the barstools and kicking her legs.

“Yes, sweetie, you still have to go to school. We’re gonna get you back to school soon, there’s just some things that... your dad... and I need to discuss first, okay? But today, you can relax at home, eat your breakfast and explore the house if you want.” She nods her head eagerly, little hands holding her fork as you slide a plate of food over to her.

You portion some out for Steve too, grinding your teeth together in distaste.

You scoured the house for anything that could be used against him but came up completely empty-handed. Rat poison, bleach, Lysol. Nothing.

He takes his plate with a smile, his free hand gripping your waist and turning you to him slightly.

He leans down, lips pressed against yours for a brief gentle moment before pulling away and sticking his tongue out at a snickering Sarah.

He sits down beside Sarah and starts eating, his eyes boring holes into your back as you gather some food for yourself. As you’re getting ready to sit down, he stands up, unlocking a drawer by the sink and grabbing a bottle of something.

Your heart races in your chest and you hold your fork just the tiniest bit tighter, prepared to use it as a weapon if you need to.

He turns back to you with a smile, setting two small pills on your napkin, away from Sarah’s curious gaze.

“Take them with your food,” he instructs, kissing your forehead then sitting back down between you and your daughter.

"Morgan’s gonna get dropped off for a little while, Sarah. She’s around your age and I think you two will get along great. You guys can play while your mother and I talk, okay?” She bobs her head up and down, shovelling the eggs into her mouth.

“Good.”

~*~

“They’re really hitting it off,” Steve says with a smile, watching as his daughter and her new friend play in the backyard.

You hesitantly come up beside him, a small smile spreading on your lips.

“I-I’m always nervous about her making friends. She’s never really had problems with it but...” You trail off, taking a step back as he turns around to face you.

“Tony’s got Morgan enrolled in a private school, says it’s really good. I was thinking we could send Sarah there too.” You bite your bottom lip and shrug. “I-I don’t know how I feel about private schools. What are the reviews like? And are they strict? I don’t want her... all I want is for her to have a normal childhood. That’s all I want.” Steve’s face softens and he nods, taking your hand and ushering you to the living room.

“It’s all gonna be okay. I know it’s gonna take some getting used to, but it’ll all work out in the end, you’ll see.”

You take a couple of deep breaths, wanting so desperately to believe him but you know better.

“Tony says the school’s really good, and it’s not super strict. The kids still get to have fun and make friends while learning. I think we should give it a shot and if she doesn’t like it we’ll find another school for her to go to.” You nod, eyes fluttering over to the window looking over the backyard.

“Now, I think you and I need to set down some ground rules, okay?” You turn to him, your guard up in an instant.

His face is calm, but you still don’t trust him.

“Sarah’s going to be at school all day, I’ve gotta go to work, which means you’re going to be here to look after the house. My beautiful housewife.” You furrow your brows, “What am I supposed to do here all day?” He looks around with pursed lips.

“Cook and clean? Keep the house looking nice, maybe you could start a garden if you want. But soon you’ll have less time for moving around and more time for...” he trails off, his hand coming to rest on your stomach.

“You’re gonna give me another baby, gonna carry it in that beautiful body of yours. And when the baby gets here you’ll have your hands full so you may want to start planning for that now.”

You’ve got no choice in this.

“D-did you keep any of Sarah’s old baby furniture?” You ask softly, fighting back tears.

“No, I gave it to Nat and Bucky cause they were talking about adopting. But you can buy more. I’ll give you my card and that can be your task. When Sarah’s at school and you’re done with cleaning, you can start setting up the new baby’s room.” He says it like it’s the most prestigious task he could give and you should be thanking him for the opportunity.

“Now, one last thing...” He eyes you for a moment then shakes his head.

“Your old wardrobe is going to be gotten rid of. I don’t want to see you in these leggings or jeans. I’ll have Nat bring over some clothes that are more acceptable, but until then, there should be a few decent dresses still in the closet from... before.” His eyes dark the tiniest bit at the mention of how things were.

“I want you to go change, then gather up all your old clothes. Once that’s done, you can start making lunch. I’m going to run out to grab a few things for dinner, we’re having guests over tonight, so I expect you to be on your best behaviour, okay?”

You say nothing, eyes focused on the floor.

He grabs your chin roughly and forces you to look at him, his eyes blazing.

“I asked you a fucking question, dear. You’d better answer me before I get angry.”

You swallow hard then nod, “o-okay. I will.”

He nods and lets go of your face with a smile, rising to his feet and fixing the sleeves of his shirt.

“Good. I’m thinking pasta for dinner.”

~*~

You’re wearing a yellow sundress that comes just past your knees. It flows with every step you take and you’ve gotta admit that it’s quite pretty. You hate that he chose it, though.

You set the dining room table silently, mind racing. You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t notice you’re not alone until a hand is grabbing the bottom of your dress.

“Mommy, did you hear me?” You gasp, jumping in surprise then shaking your head.

“No, Sarah, I didn’t. Mommy was just thinking. Sorry, what did you say?” She huffs a breath.

“Daddy said that Aunty Nat is coming over for dinner! Do you think she’ll bring ice cream?” Your heart clenches and you sigh.

“I uh... I don’t know. You’ll have to go ask... your father.”

“Ask me what?” Sarah turns to him and lifts her arms, giggling happily when he scoops her up in his arms.

“When Aunty Nat comes is she gonna bring ice cream?”

“Well, I don’t know if she’ll bring ice cream, but maybe after dinner we can all go out and get an ice cream cone. How does that sound?” She claps her hands together in excitement, squealing when she hears the front door open.

“Knock knock!” A female voice calls.

You swallow hard, trying not to let your anger get the better of you as Sarah shimmies out of her father’s grip and rushes to the door.

“Aunty Nat!” The redhead picks her up and spins her around.

“Hey, pumpkin! How’s my favourite girl doing?”

You walk back to the stove, stirring the noodles and imagining how satisfying it would be to dump the boiling water on the traitorous redhead.

“How’s dinner coming along?” Steve asks, his hands finding your hips.

“Just about done. Everyone can sit down, it’ll only be a minute more.” He nods, kissing your temple and opening the fridge to grab drinks.

“Hey, pal.” You stiffen, too many memories filling you at the voice.

“Hey, Buck. Glad you could make it.” You keep your back to the brunet, not wanting to see him, to remember what happened any more than you already have to.

“Aren’t you going to greet our guests, dear?” Steve asks, one hand grabbing the waistline of your dress and tugging. You reluctantly turn around to face the brunet just as the redhead walks into the room.

“Well?” Steve asks, looking at you expectantly. You say nothing, glaring daggers at Natasha. She meets your gaze for a moment then looks away, knowing full well what she’s done.

“Dinner’s ready.” Is all you say, yanking out of Steve’s grip and turning back to the stove.

“It’s nice to see you again too, (Y/n),” Bucky says, walking past you and into the dining room.

Natasha brings Sarah after him, leaving you and Steve alone.

“You and I will need to have a long conversation once they leave,” he hisses. “If your attitude doesn’t improve, then you’re going to need to be punished for it.”

You turn and look up at him with defiant eyes.

“I’m wearing your stupid dress and I’m playing your stupid game. What more do you want from me? You’ve got me and my daughter held hostage in your goddamn dollhouse and-” He grabs you by the throat, shaking his head at you.

“Fine. I’ll fucking teach you now then.”

He shoves you aside and walks into the dining room, a smile on his face.

“She’s just gonna bring dinner out. Then she and I need to have a little chat before we join you.” You reluctantly bring the food out, if only so Sarah can eat. You’ve hardly set the steaming dishes down before Steve’s grabbing your hand and yanking you through the house and up the stairs.

Your heart races in your chest, fear coursing through your veins at what he may have planned for you.

Flashes of different ways he’s punished you run through your mind and you feel your eyes fill with tears as he shoves you onto his bed.

His chest is heaving, with anger or exertion, you can’t tell.

“S-Steve I’m sorry. P-please don’t hurt me.” He watches you for a moment then shakes his head.

“You know I can’t tolerate that kind of behaviour.” You crawl back, tears dripping down your cheeks.

“I-I’m just, please! I’m scared and tired a-and I don’t have any friends and m-my dad is-is...” You shake your head, hoping he has a shred of decency left inside of himself.

“Please!” He stares at you long and hard then sighs. “You know I love you, and I love Sarah with my entire heart. But I can’t tolerate this rude behaviour. I know it’s a big transition for you, and I’m willing to be patient, but you can’t treat our guests that way. Rudeness directed at me is different, but you have no right to treat Bucky and Natasha the way you did. That’s why you’re being punished. I’ll forgive the snappy behaviour towards me, but not them.”

You shake your head and shove your face in your hands, sobs bubbling free from your chest.

“Please don’t hurt me. I’m sorry.” He nods, turning to the dresser and pulling out a familiar box.

It’s the box he keeps his torture toys in, you realize.

“Lay down on your stomach. If you listen, your punishment won’t be nearly as severe.” You sniffle and nod, rolling over and laying down on your tummy.

He flips your dress up and yanks your panties down your legs, eyeing your ass for a moment.

“Bucky and Nat are important members of this family, and you will treat them as such, do you understand?” You nod, crying out in pain and thrashing away from him as a leather paddle comes down hard on your ass.

“Am I going to have to tie you to the bed?” You can’t answer, you’re too busy trying not to choke on your own snot.

He grabs your wrists roughly and ties them to a hoop on the headboard, successfully leaving you at his mercy.

He smacks you again, and again, then a fourth time, and you squirm away as much as you can.

“When you’re good, you don’t get punished.”

He delivers sixteen more impossibly hard hits, then tosses the paddle onto the ground and climbs onto the bed, cock raging in his pants.

His knees push your legs apart and you shake your head, tugging against your restraints desperately as he lines himself up with your entrance.

“Huh, would ya look at that?” You press your face into the mattress, humiliation filling you as he rubs his cock through your wet folds.

“Feels like somebody enjoyed that a bit more than they were letting on, huh?” You shake your head, crying out as he sheaths himself fully with only one thrust.

Your walls burn at the intrusion, body instinctively creating more moisture to lubricate the violation, but that’s not how Steve sees it.

“Fuck, your body misses me, huh? Hates it when my cock isn’t fucking you.” He grabs your hips and hoists them up, then starts a punishing pace, forcing you to take every painful inch of him.

“Fuck, feel how tight you are... squeezin’ me so nice...” Every hit of his hips against your ass makes you cry out in pain, your entire lower half on fire.

“M’gonna fill you with my cum then lock it in. You’re gonna give me another fucking baby. Gonna grow nice and big.” He picks up the pace, eyebrows furrowed and face screwed up with pleasure.

His hips still, warmth exploding within you as he reaches his climax.

He stays inside you for a long while, catching his breath while his cock softens, then he slowly pulls out.

“You know,” he begins, rooting around in the box for something, “it’s much more effective if you orgasm too. Really sucks it all up in you and improves the chances of fertilization.” A switch flips and then there’s a constant buzzing noise filling your ears.

Right as you realize what it is, he’s got the vibrator pressed against your clit.

You jolt away from it, hips wiggling at the stimulation.

“N-no,” you whisper uselessly, inhaling sharply when he grabs your waist with one hand to keep you steady, forcing the vibrator against you.

“Look at that... feels good, huh?” You don’t reply, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as the coil in your belly tightens, your toes curling and your back arching, forcing the device against you even more.

Your mouth drops open and your eyes roll back as your body starts to convulse, a powerful orgasm tearing through your entire being.

“There it is,” Steve whispers, watching with dark eyes as he forces an orgasm out of you.

Your pussy flutters and clenches, clit swollen and aching when he finally removes the vibrator.

You’re still recovering from the intensity of your climax when he presses something cool to your entrance.

He forces the plug inside of you, despite your protests, then yanks your underwear back up your legs.

“Now c’mon. We’ve got guests to entertain.” He unties your wrists then helps you to your feet, watching in satisfaction as you struggle to walk down the stairs.

You rub your raw wrists, heart racing in your chest as you slowly walk into the dining room.

Bucky and Nat each look up at you, the redhead turning away while the brunet eyes you, a dark look in his eyes.

Steve’s hand remains possessively on the small of your back, and you carefully sit down, wincing at the burn in your backside and the throbbing of your core.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Steve says, a smile on his face as you portion out some food for him and yourself.

“It’s alright. Things happen,” Bucky replies, eyes stuck on your face.

“It’s been a while since we... since I last saw you, (Y/n). How have you been?” You swallow hard, eyes focused on your plate as you answer Bucky’s question.

“I’ve been fine. How have you been?” He takes a moment to answer, and in the thick silence of the room you can hear the metal plates in his arm whirring.

“I’ve been good. Happy that Steve has you back now.” You nod, forcing yourself to chew and swallow a mouthful of pasta.

“Mommy I’m full! Can we go for ice cream now? Aunty Nat and Uncle Bucky said we could!” You nod, pushing your almost untouched food away and standing up quickly.

“J-just let me clean up, then we can go for ice cream.” You start gathering the dishes, eager to leave the room and put some distance between yourself and the people at the table.

“I’ll give you a hand,” Nat says, rising to her feet and gathering the other half of the dishes.

You ignore her, grabbing the remainder of the food and starting to pack it up in containers in the kitchen.

“(Y/n), I’m sorry.” You shove the food into the fridge and turn to face her, tears welling up in your eyes.

“You’re sorry? That’s it? You’re fucking sorry?! I’m right back where I fought tooth and fucking nail to escape because of you! You’re the reason I’m back here with him, why Sarah’s back here and why he’s hurting me all over again and all you have to say for yourself is ‘I’m sorry’?!” Your voice is whispered, but the words may as well be shouted.

She shakes her head, hating the truth behind your words.

“Y-you don’t understand, (Y/n). I had to.” You sniffle and scrub a fallen tear off of your cheek.

“Or what? Would he kill that rapist boyfriend of yours? You swore you’d keep it a secret and now, because of you, my father’s dead and I’m stuck with a man who’s going to torture me and possibly my daughter as well. So don’t you fucking dare tell me you had to or that you’re sorry because those are both lies.”

You take a few deep breaths, walking to the sink and starting to wash the dishes.

“I trusted you. And you led him straight to us. I don’t care what you say or what you do, I’ll never fucking forgive you. If it were up to me, you’d be left at that cabin to bleed out. It’s what you fucking deserve after what you’ve done.”

She’s silent, standing there behind you for a long moment before turning and leaving the kitchen.

Your hands shake with the intensity of your outburst and you have to stop yourself from crying, chest rising and falling rapidly as your emotions get the better of you.

Your vision starts to blur, soapy hands gripping the edge of the counter tight enough to hurt. You lean over slightly, trying desperately to suck in more air as anxiety fills and overwhelms you.

“(Y/n)?” You don’t notice his hands on you until he’s pulling your hands off of the counter.

“I-I can’t.”

His hands find your waist, trying to usher you away from the sink, and your ears begin to ring.

Your knees give out and you crumble in his arms, him easily supporting your weight as you lose consciousness.

“Buck, take Sarah out for ice cream now.” His voice holds the same type of authority as it does when they go on missions, and the brunet pops his head into the kitchen to investigate for a moment before nodding.

“C’mon Sarah. Do you know what you want?” Bucky asks, taking Sarah’s hand and leading her to the front door.

“Do you?” She sasses.

“Well missy, I’m gonna get two scoops of chocolate, and Aunty Nat's getting mint chocolate chip.”

“I want cookie dough!”

The front door closes with a soft click and Steve sighs, scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to the bedroom.

#Steve Rogers x reader #dark!Steve Rogers x reader #dark!bucky x reader x dark!steve #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!au #dark!fic #dark!steve #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #tw: dubcon #TW: Dubious Consent #tw: noncon #tw dark themes #tw dark fic #tw dubcon #Steve Rogers smut #Steve Rogers fanfic

[lovee-infected]

hello! may i please request NSFW headcanons of Lilia, Rook, Chenya (if you write for him), and Floyd dating a f!mc who is a brat in bed? thank you! (ps, i love your work so much, you deserve more attention and love!!!💖💖💖💖💖)

Feeling spicy tonight, aren't we?~

Warning(s): Nsfw, Bdsm, Orgasm denial, Dirty talk, Cum play

Spice will remain undercut!

He loves to have you explore his body. You little koebi sure are pretty curious, aren't you? He's a brat all the time nonetheless of how you're going to play, but watching your enthusiasm to challenge him and his big dick energy in bed makes him wants to take a step back and watch how far you may go.

He can pin you down within a second but if you wanna top, go on. It's your chance to show him how entertaining you can be, though it won't last all night. He'd just lend your body for you to play until you no longer can. But in case that you'd prefer to have him top you instead he won't be as kind.

Floyd has literally got no mercy when he tops, and having you continuing to tease him although you're well aware of what his immense thirst can do to you can only have one meaning: You want more. You look so cute when you get nasty in bed, so adorable. He loves in so much when you, his naughty baby, squirm under his rough touch like a tiny fish begging for water.

You won't need to tell him to go any harder or faster, he already knows how to turn the bed into a jungle. All he needs is you going along with his rough pace and driving him even crazier than usual.

Be careful not to go too far though, he's got his own limits. You're free to do whatever you want as long as he hasn't reached his orgasm but note that if you keep on teasing him afterwards even Floyd can be bothered. Better slow down with a slower pace or softer actions like kisses on tip of his cock or softly licking him so he can enjoy his orgasm.

Instead of getting to the point of causing him too much pain or making him ask you to stop, try teasing him. If he ejaculates in your mouth, instead of immediately swallowing it, keep it in your mouth and play with it. He'd surely be turned on even more if you go kinkier, you can open your mouth and use your fingers to play with his warm, sticky load. Making satisfying sounds or just gently humming "Mmmmm" as if you're so hungry for him to feed you his seed is another way of making it more erotic for both of you.

Go as kinky as you want to, but don't be fascinated if he decides to punish you when you're done. He'll force you to wear your underwear without cleaning after sex so you'll have to keep his seed on all the time. No need to mention that he'd probably leave a mess of markings and bites on you especially on places that are hard to hide, even your cheek.

You may be a brat in bed but remember that Floyd would continue to be a brat even after you're done, so when you're playing around in bed, better be prepared for the consequences coming after wards.

You know what they say: “Treat her like a Queen, fuck her like a whore.” Doesn't matter how much of a gentleman Rook is in the daylight, when the night comes, he's just the animal and you're the pray, watch him eat you.

Not that Rook is always one to go that wild during sex since he's still pretty considering toward his darling's emotions and limitations; he doesn't want to be the one enjoying your lovely time after all. He is more into love making than just having sex for fun, but he'd prefer it with more, well, excitement.

Why of course he doesn't mind you being a brat at all since it's nothing different from receiving your permission to go wild. Wanna play? Let's play.

You may end up being the one topping him at first because he is probably... intrigued. He likes to see whether your actions are as tough as your words when you ride him or not. Remember: He's got the stamina. He'll patiently wait until you can't take it anymore then pin you back and have his own turn. See how the tables are turned-? He can go for long, tiring rounds all night leaving you both in a mess of sweat and each other's juices as you'd still have to take in his huge cock.

When he tops, there's no stop until he makes you scream. He'd love to see how you'd go from a insubordinate brat to a helpless bottom hoe begging for mercy. So pittyful and needy, isn't that just beautiful?

Though he's quite the opposite as a bottom. He can see your growing excitement and nasty thoughts through your eyes so he doesn't mind giving you the chance to take advantage of him. He'll give his body to you with pleasure so you can play with him as you wish.

Other than getting to have his perfectly masculine body and sexy abs, remember etter that that soft, thicc and squishy butt of this man is an absolute treasure on its own so you better not lose the chance of getting to eat mister Hunt. You can get him to lie on his chest while still on knees so he is pushing his ass into the air, giving you the best advantage to have your meal.

You can do whatever you'd like to then, show how much you can do with that mouth of yours. Even give him a rim job in case you're into it. Use lots of saliva to make more enjoyable as you kiss or lick, he'd absolutely love it. Best part would be... biting. That squishy flesh of ass of his is softer than you'd ever imagine so better take the chance to eat him. In contrast to many men Rook doesn't mind you leaving some of those savage markings on his ass and you'd even get to hear him letting out some deep, sensual moans to the pillow when you're having his butt. It'd surely drown him in pleasure.

Got a kink you wanna try? Go on and throw it at him. He doesn't mind trying new things on you but often decides to let you be the one choosing them. Mostly because of the high possibility of his choices being too much for you, he doesn't want it to be that merciless. Be careful not to give him too much power though, try not to bring in any dangerous kinks otherwise it cannot be guaranteed if Rook can hold himself back or not.

Beware, Rook is a gentleman who knows when not to be gentle...

Oh lord, is he being underestimated? No matter how much of a brat you are, when Vanrouge's in the mood it's far beyond your limits to have a chance against a this pink gremlin in bed.

Better be into bdsm: Chains? Whips? Collars? Gags? Ropes? Butt plugs? Bring it on baby!

He actually does already keep quite a few of bdsm toys and matetials in his room, somewhere no one else can find but him of course. He allows you to choose your favorite color what he's going to use on you and when it's the time, he allows you to choose them for him.

Tie him up and make him your bottom slave, he doesn't mind at all~ People are quite predictable and uninteresting these days so, he likes to see how you may surprise him. Go nasty, go feral, go wild. Make him seriously cum after all these years with his uncool sleeping mates.

He may not seem to but he's quite hard to satisfy, especially as a bottom. Doesn't matter how much he's enjoying himself between your legs, it isn't going to hold him back from trying to piss you off.

"My my, Is that all you've got...? And I thought you were going to bring me some fun..."

He has a thing for humiliating you and watch how far you can go to prove him wrong. Top brat x bottom rat= Ultimate freaky cycle.

Regardless of how much of a bottom he can be, better be prepared for the times he tops. Both of you are freaks in bed but there's a difference: He's got the power. He'll definitely make you cry even if he has to use another of those orgasm spells on you.

As a top he'd want total dominance over his darling but he sure does want it to be hard to achieve. He wants to have to push you back in bed. Tease him so he can tease you even more, that's how it works.

Is into into inflicting pain through both physical side( Biting, chewing, nailing) and the erotic side. Leaving Markings behind and bloodplay may be his simplest kinks but he's also got a thing for playing with your body and mind.

Misbehave and you'd be punished; he can easily dig his long fingers inside you and have his long nail mercilessly crumb your walls before pulling out right as you're about to cum, leaving you in a painful mess inside your stomach wanting to cum so badly.

He's such a freak ass for edging, he'd get you to the brink of orgasm then backs off. He'd repeat this over and over as long as he likes to play before giving you an explosive orgasm. To bring you even more pain, he'd come up with one of his secret orgasmic spells to make you even needier that'll make you cry in pain. Ah yes, he is being a bitch and he doesn't mind at all. You would often end up screaming as you beg Lilia to let you cum, as if he's going to give in this easily. He's going to make sure that you'd learn your lesson.

"N-gah sugar. You gotta be punished for your veeeerrry poor manners tonight. My pet must learn to behave,"

Were you looking for that one pink neko who also happens to be a bottom bitch? Here he is! So get on top of him and kitty-play with him all night because it's all both you and him are asking for.

He isn't even going to fight back, things are much easier and better when someone else is in charge of the game, he can just lay back and enjoy the show. You have no idea how much fun you bring him everytime you pin him to the bed and tell him what a fuckable furry he is.

Chenya as well has got a little bratty side in him which can also be seen in bed; but it usually won't go any further than either make specific parts of his body invisible right at the moment you aren't expecting him to (Especially when you're giving him a hand job / blow job and suddenly his cock fades away-) or giving you nicknames. He isn't really into cursing or calling his partner names in bed but sure does have a thing for them having nicknames; especially those that radiate top energy. He'd actually come up with lots of fancy nicknames for you: Poison cookie, Marsh Mallow, Juicy lips, Majesty, Mama, Sexy witch,...

He's lowkey into bdsm as well so go get him some pink collars and gags, maybe some ropes tie him to bed as well- Note that he really enjoys getting o your nerves and having you punish him after wards. The harder, the better.

Chenya is more than ready to be your pet in bed so don't be surprised when he calls you mama; he's your pink naughty bitch so go on and would love it if you punish him for being such a nasty kitten.

He literally wants you to treat him like your bitch so the brattier you get, the more he'll love it. One of his favorites would be when yo give him one of those wild rides as you savagely pull the chain connecting to the tight collar you've put around his neck, lowkey choking him everytime you pull it up.

He loves watching you play with his cock, even thinking about that seductive sight between his legs as you take his length in makes him want to cum.

As he leaves most of the play-thing and decisions to his darling you won't get to see him doing much more than breathlessly smirking through his moans and dirty talking, telling you to either discipline him like a slut or keep him tied up forever and use him as your personal sex toy.

In case that you want to use him even more, know that he's an absolutely cute one to be pegged, his ass is more than ready for you to make him cry.

Feel free to sit oon his face cause he'd gladly command your order. While being a bottom hoe, he still knows how to put that mouth of his into use to satisfy his owner. his long togue would sharpy dance through your clit making you all wet in your magical juice like heck, he's really got something speak in that filthy tongue that'll make you want to force him to eat you out over and over.

He'd be recklessly laughing through his moans as if he's mistaken having sex with a free visit to the circus. He sometimes rambles nonsense as well; asking you unrelated questions using fancy nicknames he has given you. He mainly means to get on your nerves through it so you'd go even wilder.

See he loves having you punish him, bad kitties need a lesson.

#twisted wonderland #Twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #Floyd Leech #rook Hunt #Lilia Vanrouge #Chenya #floyd leech x reader #rook hunt x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #Chenya x reader

[stevie-wicks]

the hitchhiker

holy fuck so i forgot to post this,,, oops

wrote this for the lovely @drinkingbeerfroma and posted it on ao3, and i usually post my shorter oneshots here but i... forgot

trigger warnings: murder

ao3 link

The Beamer’s a beauty. 1983, mint condition, mahogany paint job gleaming in the midmorning sun.

Billy’s jaw hits the ground when it comes to a stop in front of him.

“Well?” says the guy at the wheel. He’s got a pair of hilariously large wayfarers balanced on that pointy nose of his, hair all puffed up like a movie star’s. “You comin’ or not?”

Ain’t no use looking a gift horse in the mouth, that’s what his momma used to say. Way before Neil bashed her head into the wall.

The apple don’t fall far from the tree. She used to say that, too.

“I have-” Billy scratches the back of his neck. Looks down at the trash bag at his feet. “I have a lotta baggage.”

The guy clicks his tongue. A little annoyed, a whole lot pretty. Billy can see him doing the same to some pretty blonde cheerleader when she’s playing hard to get. Can hear the, “Well, I guess I’ll just have to ask someone else.”

Instead, he says, “Put it in the back.”

There’s a pair of suitcases in the back, both of them big enough to fit Billy and all his meagre possessions, and then some. Billy heaves the bag into the trunk, checking and double-checking that the mouth is tied shut.

Pretty boy’s got a cigarette dangling from his lips when Billy finally slides into the passenger seat. He spends a beat too long staring at the curve of his pretty pink mouth when he blows out the smoke.

“You want?”

Billy startles, then looks down at the pack of Camels he’s being extended. “Yeah, sure. Fuck, why not?”

His hands still shake a bit when he flicks the lighter on. The dancing flame illuminates the red he hadn’t managed to get out of his nails. Or maybe it’s just his eyes playing tricks on him.

The first hit of nicotine is always the sweetest. Billy takes a long, slow drag, tipping his head back. “Shit,” he breathes. “Thanks, man.”

“Don’t mention it.” One hand on the steering wheel, the other hanging out the window. Something out of a picture.

Some Top 40 song filters through the speakers. Billy’d kill for some Metallica, but he’s already getting a ride and a smoke. He doesn’t want to push it too far.

He settles for, “So, what’s your name, pretty boy?”

“Steve.”

“Just Steve?”

Billy blinks at his own reflection on the sunglasses. “Were you expecting something more?”

The reflection grins back at him. “I dunno, man. Somethin’ like-” He breathes in a lungful of smoke. “Shit. Antonio, or- or fuckin’ Leonardo.”

Steve turns to the road again. “What’s yours, then? Rob Lowe?”

It’s not the jab he thinks it is. Rob Lowe’s prime jerk-off material. “Folks call me Billy.”

“That so?”

“Uh huh.” Another lungful, almost as sweet as the first. “You, though? You can call me anything you like.”

For a long moment, all he gets is silence in return. Maybe he’s gone too far. He can still feel the phantom ache of fists on his face, on his chest, on his ribs.

And then, softly, over the hum of Foreigner, he hears, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

…

Billy’s first meal as a free man is a plate of soggy bacon and congealed eggs. It’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Steve, though. He picks at his hash browns like they’re rat poison.

“’S the matter?” Billy asks around a mouthful. “Rich boy like you ain’t used to us poor folks’ food?”

Steve’s big eyes grow bigger. “W-what? I’m not…” He swallows. “I’m not hungry.”

“You want some of mine?” Please say no.

Steve’s knuckles go white against the edge of the table. “I don’t eat meat.”

Hallelujah. “Vegetarian?”

“Something like that.” He stands, abrupt. “I gotta go to the bathroom.”

“You gonna finish this?” Billy asks hopefully.

Steve’s already halfway across the diner. “Knock yourself out.”

Billy scarfs down the food, on account of the off chance Steve changes his mind. It isn’t as bad as he’d made them look. Susan’s cooking is- was- worse.

Billy wonders if she’d made Max her famous burnt pancakes for breakfast. Wonders if he’s still allowed to think of them. Wonders if they think of him.

Wonders if they got the blood out of the tile.

“Breaking news,” blares the TV mounted on the wall, and Billy’s blood runs cold.

A young reporter stands next to a photo of a teenage couple- the girl in a red, checkered dress, hair in a messy updo; the boy in a suit about two sizes too big and two decades too old.

Billy’s heartbeat is a war drum, so loud he only catches a few words of the report. Hawkins is one; Nancy and Jonathan another. His heartbeat reaches a fever pitch at homicide.

The next segment is about an upcoming local election. Billy lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“You done?”

Billy starts so bad he drops his fork. It clatters against porcelain with a sharp clang that makes the hairs on the back of Billy’s neck stand up. “Fuck, man. Warn a guy, will you?”

“Sorry.” Steve doesn’t even try to make it sound sincere. “If you’re done, we can leave.”

Billy offers to pay, but Steve waves it off. He leaves enough money to cover both their tabs twice over.

As he slides the dollar bills across the table, Billy’s eyes catch on the red crusting Steve’s otherwise well-kept nails.

Huh.

. . .

Billy wakes up with a scream dying in his throat. He’d dreamed of blood and fists and Neil’s voice, over and over again, faggot faggot faggot-

He’s alone. It’s dark, and he’s alone, in the passenger seat of Steve’s swanky car.

Something thumps outside.

The key’s still in the ignition. Stupid, trusting, gorgeous Steve. Billy could be in California tomorrow.

He gets out of the car.

There’s nothing for miles- a stretch of forest on one side of the road, a lake on the other.

The trunk is popped open, and Billy can’t get there fast enough.

His bag’s still there, mouth sealed shut, just like he’d left it. He sucks in a deep breath, pressing a hand to his chest as he tries to regulate his breathing.

One of Steve’s suitcases is missing.

“Billy.”

Steve’s something else in the moonlight. Eldritch, his mom would say. All long, gangly limbs and wild hair. Eyes black holes in the dark.

His jeans are drenched to his knees.

“Help me with the other one,” he says.

Steve is stronger than he looks. He hoists one half of the suitcase, and Billy the other. When he wades out into the lake, Billy follows. To his ankles, to his calves, to his knees. He’d go further if that’s what Steve wants.

“Here,” says Steve, and Billy lets go.

It barely makes a splash.

Knees, calves, ankles. Steve shakes out the water from his shoes. Billy doesn’t bother.

“Give me a minute.” He crosses the distance to the car. Grabs the trash bag. “I need to get rid of this.”

Steve watches him go. Ankles, calves, knees. Thighs, waist.

Billy lets go.

“Where are we headed?” he asks Steve, once he’s back to shore.

Steve shrugs. “Away.”

Billy nods. Smiles. Slides into the passenger seat.

He doesn’t think of Steve’s suitcase, or the partly closed zipper, or the pale finger he’d seen poking through.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #fic #murder boyfriends

[monsterfloofs]

BirdMonster? (Quincey)  x Anonymous Reader (Sfw)

(I don’t have a species name yet for my lovely weirdo bird-ish shadow babies-- but I hope you enjoy the story!!)

You look down at your phone, chewing on your lip, reading and re-reading the text message that lay on its glassy screen.

“Hey! I heard you moved to the city, how have you been? =D I wanna hear all about it!”

You didn’t have the heart to respond this morning when you first saw the message. And you felt even less sure of yourself as you looked at it now. “It’s going okay,” You finally type out, you type a bit more, but then thinking better of it, you hastily start tapping your thumb on the 'x' to delete it.

You run head first into someone's back and you blink, backing away quickly, “Oh my gosh I’m so sorry,” The shadowy figure turns around and his wide multicolored glowing eyes peer at you. A cigarette wiggles in his beak like maw. “Ey Nicky, look who it is! It’s tha hooman!” You wince and put your hands up nervously, as they lean forward curiously, their four hands resting on his waist and hips. “I’m really, really sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you--” “What have I told you about that!” You blink looking to the one beside him, they were short and chubby with a shorter beak that was slightly hooked on the end. Their hand flying up to swat at the taller figure. “Whatta keep tellin’ ya about them manners! You don’t say that! It’s rude!” “Ey! Ey! I’m sorreh! Jeeze Nicky!” The taller one complained in their high voice, “Why ya gotta slap at me! They were the one that ran inta me first!!” He jerks his thumb back at you before blinking and scratching his head with a hand, “Eh. . . they were right here. . . where’d they go?”

You had made a quick escape around the corner, breathing heavily before you looked down at your shoes and bit your lip. There weren’t that many humans around here, and you have been stared at enough by the residents to beat a hasty retreat when you were afraid of causing a scene. You shouldered your bag and continued down the path, your eyes peering around as you stuffed your phone into your pocket. It was a small city and many of the residents here, were these shadowy bird creatures. They had four arms and 4-6 eyes depending on their mood, covered in a very dark fluff that you weren’t able to discern if it was fur or feathers. With their luminous eyes and slick shadow like silhouettes, you stuck out like a sore thumb around them. At first you had been excited to live here, learn about them, but when you realized you were the one being stared at, you began to lose your social resolve. You stop walking, pausing in front of a walk sign and waiting for the light to turn as you shove your hands in your pockets. You had come here to make a new start, get away from your old town and the memories you had there, but with a new town came new problems. You hurry across the road, walking down the strip to turn into a little bookstore. 

You can see faint wisps of lilac smoke in the air and you give a little smile, you were able to make one friend so far, and you rather liked him. He sat at the front desk reading a book, his legs propped onto the countertop. His luminous eyes looking up. “Hey angel, how’s the city life treatin’ ya today?” You sigh and slump your bag onto the floor, “Horrible,” you mumble, “I ran into someone today Quincey, like actually. . . RAN into them. Way to go me. . .” “Ey, don’t say that.” Their cool voice replies from behind their book, “You were probably lost in your thoughts, and that's one of your best qualities.” You look at him, before giving a little smile. “You think so?” “I know so sweetheart. You’re a really deep thinker,” You stepping around the counter to put on an apron with the book store's logo stamped on it. “Has it been busy today?” Quincey chuckles, “Nope. ’S been dead all day.” You peeked at the stack of books sitting beside his crossed feet on the counter before you gave a little laugh, “I can see that. . . it looks like you’ve been reading your books more than selling them.” “Mmhm, if you want to, you can go home if you want.” You think back to the two others you ran into on the street and you shake your head, “No. . . I think I need to get out of there for a while.” “Feel free to hang around as long as you want, then. I could use th’ company.” 

You watch him read, his face buried in his book. You give a soft smile and nod appreciatively, you take a deep breath. “ Ah. . . Hey Quince, I was wondering, what are those things you smoke all the time?” Quincey looks up, “It’s a cigarette sweetheart. Don’tcha have them things back home?” You give him a look and smile, “Yeah. . . but they have rat poison in them and they smell awful, and they don’t give off purple smoke either.” Quincey’s eyes shift in number, as he blinks, taking the cigarette out of his jagged mouth and looking it over appalled, “Rat poison?” You giggle and rest your elbows on the table, “Yu~p! And they cause lung cancer and--” “Quincey waves his hands, “Urk, yeh, I’ve heard enough. I don’t wanna hear no more.” You giggle again as he hastily stamps it out. “Well, the ones back home do anyway, I don’t know what they make those kind with. It smells different. . . almost floral” You say thoughtfully, “I dunna sweets but I’m gonna look that up, I don’t wanna be killing myself with no rat poison,” You smile, collecting the stack of pre-read books into your arms and wandering further back into the shop to put them away. You scan the shelves, carefully sliding them back into their homes. 

You breath in the dry air with a smile, you were so thankful to work here, and thankful to find a friend. Quincey was kind, and understanding. When you first moved here, you had a moment of feeling distraught and panicky about the stress that was piling up in your life. You had started crying while you were working up front at the register and Quincey had been quick to send you to the backroom and tack over while you could sit in peace and cry it out. He had popped his head around the corner with a mug of tea. Sitting down to speak with you, his legs crossed as the two of you talked. You told him everything, why you left home, how hard everything had been and how desperate you had been to start anew. You spilled everything that had been warring inside your heart, going a mile a minute as your nerves had skyrocketed. But he listened through everything, nodding solemnly as he watched you with concern. You had felt guilty about that, just exploding your life worries on someone you just met, but Quincey had been someone you felt treasured to have now. He didn’t judge, he didn’t even really question. He didn’t ask for anything in return, and he didn’t try to make you feel like you had to act a certain way. You could just be. . . you. Having such a sturdy positive force in your life wasn’t something you were used to. You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you smile softly to yourself. 

You finished putting the books away, grabbing a broom to start sweeping the floors. Your mind slowly turns towards work and what needs to be done. Since it was slow today, you could focus on cleaning all the things you had been neglecting. Moving around the shelves and pulling out chairs so you could sweep underneath them. As you head up towards the front desk, you hear Quincey get up from his chair. Stretching his four arms as he bows backwards. “I see ya already grabbed my books, thanks for that.” “Oh,” you respond offhandedly, “No problem, I was already up,” “I was thinking about closin’’ up th’ shop earlier, it doesn’t look like anyone will be coming through.” You perk up cheerfully and beam. “What time were you thinking about closing?” Quincey eyes the clock on the wall, and squints. “Eh. . . Soon, I’m thinking, about an hour or so, no use wastin’ electricity if no one comes in.” You hum in response, keeping your head down as you sweep a pile of dust onto the dust pan. “And. . .” He began hesitantly, “I was wonderin’ if you would like to have dinner with me.”

You freeze, your head jerking up to look up at him. “Me?” You hug the broom shyly, Quincey rubs the back of his neck, his eyes winking closed, “Hey, if it makes you uncomfortable you don’t hafta--” You blink and look down, “I--” You stammer, you voice dropping to a whisper, “I’d really like that, actually. . .” You shuffle your feet, in embarrassment, you peek up at him, Quincey mirrors your shy posture, shifting from foot to foot as he rubs the back of his neck. You let out a soft giggle and take a deep breath. “I would love to. . . did you have a place in mind?” Quincey’s bright eyes dart in your direction before he gives a small jagged smile. “I know a few little hole in th’ wall places. One I’ll think you’ll really like, s’ nice an quiet. You nod, returning his smile, feeling your heart flutter. “That sounds great. . .” You stand their for a moment dumbly before you fluster and grin in embarrassment, picking up the dust pan and carting it and the broom into the back. When you are out of his line of sight you can finally let your heart to it’s erratic somersaults. Putting a hand over your heart and swallowing hard. A date. . . a dinner date, tonight, and you don’t have enough time to thoroughly panic because it’s going to be after work, which in an hour! You take a couple of deep breaths, easy, steady there! You busy yourself with scrubbing the tiny break room, your mind feeling like it was composed of marbles. Every thought you had rolling around and bumping into each other. There was no doubt you liked Quincey but oh gosh! 

It was like, now you knew, he knew, how you felt? Or was it, he knew, you knew how HE felt? You squish your face with your hands. Okay, you’re panicking, again, stop panicking-- just breath!! You let your eyes close tightly and you shake your head. You grab the bucket of soapy water and throw your sponge into it, hobbling out of the breakroom to start washing down whatever else you could find. You still had an hour to occupy your mind-- and in the meantime you needed to keep pep-rallying yourself! It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go, it was just the things in life, made you feel like you had to be guarded. . . Or like you didn’t deserve it. You sigh, squeezing out the sponge and sitting on your knees to clean the dusty bottom of the book shelves. You keep yourself a buzzy bee, cleaning shelves and tables, until the very last minute. Your name is called and you lift your head, you can already feel your cheeks tingling with warmth. You wobble to your feet and give Quincey a shy smile. “Just let me dump the soapy water out! I’ll be right back.” You steal yourself into the break room, watching the water swirl down the drain, and turning to peer at yourself in the mirror. You give yourself an awkward but encouraging smile. Leaving the bucket and sponge on the counter as you join Quincey by the door. “I’m ready,” You say, feeling unsure, but when Quincey gives you his own crooked smile, your heart flutters. He holds the door open for you, and you step out together into the lamp light sidewalk.

It’s going to be okay, you tell yourself, hesitantly reaching for one of Quincey’s hands and holding it. He perks up and looks towards you, and you give an embarrassed smile and laugh in spite of yourself. 

#monster x human #monster x reader #exophilia #fluff #sfw

[sou-ver-2-0]

Writing Master List

I love writing analysis and fanfiction for Your Turn to Die. Here, you can find links to all my writing. Spoilers abound!

Meta I’m Proudest Of

Why Calling It “Logic Versus Emotion” Makes Sense

Sou Hiyori and Kanna’s Sister Parallels

I was wondering why Sou had a zero percent survival rate…

What is Sou proudest of?

What is Kanna proudest of?

What is Keiji proudest of?

Unpopular opinion about Keiji

What are your thoughts on Nao as a character?

Why pushing Fake Reko is logical and sparing her is emotional

Shin vs. Kanna choice: each “valid in its own way”

That was a real comedy of errors on your part, Shin

What “Things” did Shin learn at Sou’s House?

If I could kill Keiji to save both Kanna and Shin...

Thoughts on queer-coded villains and Shin

I make Shin say five nice things about Keiji (not meta, but important)

Some jumbled thoughts about Redemption, and Part 2

How different do you think the story would be if Shin were a girl?

Theories

“Midori is Meister’s son,” and other Sou theories <- my favorite theory!

The Hades Incident, the Present Death Game, and the Role of the Man from the Memorandum

Rambling about Meister Family Theory

A Quick Keiji Theory

I’m staking my pride on this one: Keiji won’t die in the coffin. Part 1 and Part 2

Implications of Kanna being Original Sou’s blood relative

The Mystery of Anzu’s High Survival Rate

Fanfiction

My username is Florencetheflowerfairy on Ao3! Any fanfiction I write will be tagged “my fanfiction” on here.

I haven’t yet posted this to Ao3.

My fanart

Soup Hiyori

Happy birthday Kanna!

All of my meta

How does Sou deal with pain?

When does Sou feel safest? What would others change about him?

What would the others change about Sara?

What do I wish to see happen with Sou?

Chapter 3 Prediction: Sara will lose Keiji

Sou & Keiji’s relationship thoughts; and Personal Headcanons

Opinion on Midori / Original Sou; and Opinion on YTTS

Thoughts on Kurumada’s Partnership with Sou and Kanna

What calms Sou when he’s upset?

What does Sou wish he could change about himself?

Who would be Sou’s favorite fictional character?

What would EVERYONE change about Sou?

How did both Sous do in school?

Who does Sou want to please the most?

How would Kanna spend her money?

What calms Kai when he’s upset? How does Kai deal with pain?

How does Kanna do in school? What’s something Original Sou lost that he would love to have back?

What’s something I wish had happened with Joe?

Unpopular opinion about Q-Taro

What’s something I wish had happened with the Yabusame siblings?

Unpopular opinion about Kai

Unpopular opinion about Original Sou

Who would I vote for in the Second Main Game?

Laughing at Q-Taro in Russian Roulette

Speaking of “I laugh at inappropriate moments in YTTD”

Math Saga (Collection of Theorizing Posts about the Percentage Papers)

Why Kanna can’t take the scarf

More Scarf Meta

I think Shin should fake amnesia in the zaniest way possible, please

Thoughts on Mr. Policeman is Joe’s Dad Theory, Parts 1 and 2 (Some of these thoughts are outdated because I don’t think Keiji knew Joe’s last name in the beginning.)

If I ever seem too harsh on Keiji, please keep in mind

We can hear Joe’s music theme in Midori’s music theme

Thoughts on the Floor Masters

Did Shin send the Sacrifice Card to Joe?

What if Joe had one month to live?

What is Original Sou proud of?

Reading Shin as Queer

Alice and Pain

What would other people change about Kai?

Could Shin and Keiji’s roles switch?

What was Keiji like before the shooting?

I encouraged Sister to vote for Kai in Practice Round

How does Original Sou/Midori sleep?

Who do you think Keiji would bond with the most?

Analysis of Sara’s vote in the Practice Vote

Massacre Ending Thoughts

Thoughts on Naosara?

Dummy Bullet Saga (How did Shin know about dummy bullets??)

Keiji is my Confront Character

What will the fallout with the dummies look like?

Keiji seeing the percentage papers is the simplest answer IMO

Thoughts on Keialice

Thoughts on Joesara

Shin Tsukimi could have DIED ON HIS BIRTHDAY?!

Shin is Poor! Part 1 and Part 2 and Part 3

One more funny story, on a walk with Sister...

How would Shin have fared in the Death Game without the Sou persona?

Is Shin too good for this world? (Reaction to above meta)

How would Joe, Kai, and Mishima approach the Second Main Game vote?

What do you think would be Shin’s partnership ability?

Thoughts on AI personalities

Reaction to ‘Sara gets the Sage Card’ Theory

Have you considered the implications of 0.0% vs. 0%?

Foolish Sara AU

When does the Death Game take place, and how long are they there?

Shin’s relationships with Reko and Gin

“When you drink, you gotta be careful not to get swallowed up yourself.”

Judge Keiji by the fact that he’s acting like a cop

I’ve switched to calling him Shin! 

What was Shin like in the years after Original Sou died, but before the Death Game?

Headcanons and Shin, Kanna, and trading tokens

Analyzing Shin and Sara’s doll placements in Safalin’s lab

Shin’s reaction to Sara’s “Haven’t we always been the bestest of friends?”

Scenario: Keymaster Kanna takes Shin’s key necklace instead of his scarf

Artists should draw Kanna grieving Shin however they like

Nao and Shin’s friendship

“I happen to like people with nice personalities”

I’m just putting these here so I can find them if necessary: 1, 2, 3

What if Shin thinks Sara is an adult?

Shrodinger’s Lock Saga (Many theories came from speculating about Asu-Naro’s weird locks in Sara’s first trial!)

Shin emulating Sou, oh no

Some thoughts on Shin and Alice, and the darker side to their relationship

A Serious Analysis of the Collarbone Sprites (& other Shin sprites)

Midori and Joe Sprite Parallels

Do you think Ranmaru is more or less reliable than Keiji?

Ranmaru and Keiji Parallels and Thoughts on Keiji flirting

Ranmaru and Keiji reacting to Joe

Out of the cast, who do you think is most likely to be the mastermind?

Miley vs. Gashu thoughts

Megumi Sasahara theories and headcanons

I love that this game’s heart is so earnest

AU where Shin has the Sacrifice, and he can’t pick Kanna

Theory/Headcanon: Sou-Shin-Sara-Kanna three year age gaps

Scenery Paintings in the Gallery

Kanna and Original Sou Parallel - “creepy smiles”

Undertale Parallels, and making Original Sou sympathetic

Kai and Original Sou Parallels

Fic ideas: Green-haired characters, and Shin + Sara Friendship

I love Fake Reko so much!

What if the decision to push Fake Reko affects what happens with the dummies?

Follow-up to above meta about Fake Reko

What if Joe died in his First Trial?

Reaction to Keiji Discourse about flirting, Part 2

Reactions to Fem!Shin:

Kanna’s perspective, Bath Scene Shin, More Bath Scene, Keiji flirting with Shin, I DON’T CARE HOW SEXY HE IS, Am I a lesbian

Will the dummies want to fill in for their counterparts’ lives?

Q-Taro Pacman Sister Theory

Poison Stinger analysis and Rio Ranger’s characterization

Megumi returns as a doll theory

More thoughts on “Back Up Candidates” Theory

Thoughts on AIs representing younger personalities

What if the current Death Game is another simulation?

Shin and Q-Taro ages musings

Shin and Sara ages musings

Honorifics Analysis: Part 1 and Part 2

Everyone’s music preferences headcanons

Shin’s thoughts on Gin in Logic Route

What if Shin died and Kai survived in the Second Main Game?

Imagine Trans Kanna

Thoughts on the names Sara “suspects” when learning that there is a human from Asu-Naro among us

Why doesn’t Shin challenge Keiji for lying that he’s a detective at the start?

Shipping

Which death hurt you the most?

Who do you think is overrated? Who do you think is suspicious?

Shin-Sou roleswap AU

Did you ever notice how Shin is crying during the First Main Game?

How do you think the characters sleep?

What if Shin became Sara’s ally instead of Keiji?

Seven Deadly Sins in YTTD

Song Analyses

“Rat” by Penelope Scott

“Villainous Thing” by Shayfer James

“Nearly Witches (Ever Since We Met)” by Panic! at the Disco

“Butterflies and Hurricanes” by Muse

"House of memories" by Panic! at the Disco

More fun posts

Sister tag (All submissions by my sister)

Sometimes I get self-conscious for loving Sou Hiyori so much

Thinking about how our Sou Hiyori is a queer-coded villainous type

Picrew of the Greenblings

Fannish ramblings and Speculation about Voting for Keiji in 2nd Main Game

Sou has a halo in the manga

Sprite Parallels between Kanna, Sara, and Sou

Confession: Character development is more important than plot twists

Star Wars KOTOR musings

My Favorite Thing about Sou and Sara meeting

Another Greenblings Picrew

How to roast my fave

Are the greenblings next to each other??

Me feeling soft about Sou x Alice and Sou x Kai in spite of myself

I’m too much of a nerd for tumblr

Picrew of Green-haired characters and Sara

Cute Kurumada and Kanna headcanons

Do it for Nao

Happy birthday Keiji, from Sou

Danganronpa Thoughts as of 10/22/20

Top 3 emotional moments

Comparing Eye Sizes

I’m all caught up with 3-1A as of 10/24/20

Link to my “Shin attacking Inbox” edit

I am my PFP

“Disclosure” apparently means “Coming Out”

What did you name your Midori?

Do you think Shin was a gamer?

PMMM Thoughts: Logic vs Emotion

Why would you make Shin a tank?!

Dracula is Sou and Shin is Renfield

Among Us Headcanon

I just think Kanna having the Keymaster first is good drama

So long you fucking fascist (posted on 11/7/20)

Please don’t send me leaks!

Also how are we going to tag spoilers...? (11/12/20)

oh no I’m getting sentimental

Shin and Sara’s confrontation over the smartphone remains my favorite thing ever

Reactions to “I make Shin say five nice things about Keiji”: 1, 2, 3

A Rewarding part of my blog

My undying love for Britney Spears

“Ahaha, I’m glad you remembered my name.”

I love this picrew for the Greenblings

“Saw” and “Cage” on Google Translate

What if there were two Gonbee Yamadas?

Put them in meme boxes

Keiji’s emo eyeliner

Shin can smash something! and part 2

Acrostic Poem for Sou Hiyori

Midori’s canon voice

“Sou” puns

Time sensitive questions!! 1 and 2

All the characters’ ages

Do you think Shin swears?

Let’s not pit bears and twinks against each other!

Here’s how Shindemption can still win

tfw you draw fanart in time for Kanna’s birthday

Keiji accuses Shin of breaking Mishima’s monitor even though he KNOWS Shin is innocent

Q-Taro and Shin college AU

Kugie’s ghost haunting Keiji

Christmas 2020: Part 1 and Part 2

Picrew of Shin and Sou, High School Days~

I struggle to write villains

I play Villains Bingo with Shin

…

This list will be updated sporadically as I write more! You can always use the “mine” tag to find any worthwhile original post I make.

Please feel free to talk to me about YTTD anytime! I love hearing from you all! It keeps me motivated and makes me happy to meet people!

#mine #masterlist #updated as of 12-31-20

[border-spam]

Leech Lord - The writing’s on the wall

Here we go, folks. Heavy time. Big one.

Tonight was just them, happy in the afterglow of laughter and far too much to drink. That calm quiet that falls with trusted company you can be at ease around. It was nice.

She'd assumed he felt the same way from the barely audible whistle of his breathing to her right. Figured that he was relaxing too, enjoying the dull heat of wine numbing his joints and their usual simmering pain. It was good, it felt right, until the peace was interrupted by the clink of his glass as he shifted, and the hoarse, strained whisper of -

" You're gonna leave one day, I know you will. I'll chase you away. You'll get sick of having to deal with me just l-like everyone does."

The groggy cloud behind her eyes dissipated instantly as his threat landed like ice-water, and she clumsily sat forward, wineglass dangling from her loose hand as she stared at him in confused disgust.

" What?... What are you talking about.”

“ Don't put that shit on me, Troy. Don't... don't even fucking dare try to drip feed that self hating poison into who I am. God, what is wrong with you? "

He didn't meet her eyes, still staring at the glass in his hands as he hunched in his seat, like he was about to crumble into himself. Looking somehow so much older and so much younger than she knew he was - like a child carrying the weight of the world. He mouthed something, then stopped. Started again, paused again. Reconsidering what he'd been about to say as his brows furrowed and lips tightened into a grimace.

Chasing what he wanted to express to her, grasping at it futilely, trying to find the right words and stumbling. Same self made snare as usual, tightening around his neck. The same trap he always set for himself, triggering as he stepped blindly towards it.

He sunk a little lower into himself as he wilted under her disgust, hair falling forward and blocking the shame burning across his face.

" I... I'm sorry, Sei. "

By @godkingsanointed​

???: She just drives me fuckin crazy man! She just- UGHH 

??: She's like fire. 

???: Yeah, a hot headed little- 

??: NO. Can keep you warm, safe, give light to see by. But if you don't treat it with respect, it you think that's all it's for, try to contain it, you'll be burned. 

???: I don't think that's all...  I-I respect her!!!! I can't believe you're taking her side in this!" 

??: No sides. Just something to think about. 

???: Ughhh, screw this! 

(Sounds of a door slamming shut)            

(A few moments of silence) 

??: I know...He's gunna burn her out. All of us.  

(Ding of a voice message being received) 

???: Thanks. For listening. 

??: Ha..we got him thinking. 

By @hieroglyphix​

S: Wh- Ven?! what the fuck are you- how the fuck did you get in here? 

V: Aw c'mon Sei, is that any way to treat a guest? I get that you're a bigshot s-saint and all but c'mon-- 

S: Last time I checked, people who break into other people's houses are considered burglars, not guests- and get your fuckin' feet off my desk!

V: Hey now, just cause I broke in doesn't mean I stole anything. Im more of a buddy, paying you an....impromptu visit! Yeah! 

S: ( sigh ) God, forget the semantics of it all, what the hell do you want? 

V: It ain't about what I want, I came here 'cause of what you want. 

S: ...Pardon? Oh God, tell me this isn't some kind of-

V: Waitwaitwait it ain't like that, S-Sei, you know i don't run that way anyhow. I came because you need a s-sign. 

S: ...A sign. 

V: Yeah, a sign. s-see, I know what you're planning on doing, I've seen it all laid out in the path ahead of us. But you're draggin' your feet too damn long, and it's only gonna get worse from here. so Sei, listen to me, I'm your sign. Get the fuck out of here, and don't look back for nothin'. 

( silence )

S: So, let me get this straight. You broke into my house, just to....tell me to leave?

V: Well when you put it like that it doesn't sound super great, but...yeah.

( silence ) 

S: Who else knows about this? 

V: Only me, and I ain't about to rat on you. I don't blame you for wanting out, things....well, between you me and the floorboards, things ain't gonna get any better around here. 

S: ( deep sigh ) Good God... 

V: Look doll, I ain't here to force you into a decision, and I won't judge you for not leaving. I'm just tellin' you which way the wind's blowing. One friend to another. 

S: Right. 

( uncomfortable silence )

V: Well, you think on what I said. I've gotta get home to my brother, it's spaghetti night. 

S: Try not to let anyone see you on your way out, the last thing i need is more brainless gossip out on my hangar. 

V: Heh. Not like they caught me on the way in, not exactly the sharpest tools out there. Anyway, nighty night Sei.

( the maglock doors hiss open )

S: And Ven? 

V: Yeah? 

S: ...Thanks. 

V: Don't mention it. 

[end echo log]

I’m just a bit shook up…” her voice cracks as she mutters. “He said some stupid shit tonight, bout how everyone leaves him and he knows it’s..” she sighs, letting her head drop to face the table with a weak shrug.

“Stupid as in.. it got to me. He ever say anything to you that’s just.. you know it’s off? I sometimes think it’s me..”

JK waited patiently, wanting to reach out and rest a hand on her shoulder but not quite knowing if that would overstep their tentative friendship as it formed.

“…that I’m going crazy and feeling things that aren’t real, overreacting…” she pauses, swiping her auburn hair back from her forehead, thumbing at her temple as she lets her eyes stare unfocused at the wall behind their shoulder.

JK grunts thoughtfully, then shakes their head a little, their mask tilting downwards as they rumble out a huff of air. “He’s… talking a lot more recently, yeah, bout things no one asked.”

They empty the bottle in a deep dreg, and lower it carefully to the table in front of them, spinning it slowly on its edge. “Like he’s replyin’ to a question that was never said, and he’s pissed about it. Gets snappy at nothin’. Gets angry at nothin’. I don’t say things, I just listen. He likes when you just listen, I think you know that too.”

She nods, watery eyes looking up at them through her thick eyelashes.

“It’s just, the thing’s he’s saying now, this last year?” JK glances to their side again, towards where Troy sleeps.

They turn back to Seifa and reach out then, touching a finger against her forearm as it rests against the table, happy to see she doesn’t flinch away even though she’s hurt too. Proud that though she’s struggling to hold back tears that swell along her lash-line, she’s still listening to them. Really listening, like what JK thinks matters.

“It’s the same kind of things axe-hands I knew in the clan would start to say before they’d go wrong. Harsh things to themselves, about themselves, about how others were seeing ‘em. I don’t like that kind of talk much either, I’ve seen where it goes. People start doing that and they aren’t themselves for much longer. Become the same thing they were worryin’ everyone already saw them as.”

They turn the bottle to its side, idly twirling it with their index finger, only the hollow grind of the glass on the table filling the silence.

“I’ve seen him goin’ the same way. Same way they did, and I don’t know how to stop it, I’m not good with..” they gesture at the bone-white mask still marked with that crumbling splash of old rust-red blood, pausing to collect their thoughts. “..Not good with talking the way it would help. Saw him hurt acolytes the last few months. He used to just grab, threaten…”.

Their leg bounces beneath the table, nerves firing haphazardly as they swallow down the frustration lodged between their teeth. “Now he grinds. Cracks their bones in that metal fist. Not enjoyin’ it, not laughin’, but doin’ it anyway. He smells like bitter antiseptic sometimes, and I think he’s takin’ things out on himself where he figures we won’t know, under the steel.”

“I don’t think he is well. Inside him. None of us are here, lady. We’re all broken a little, but we learn how to live with it. It’s that or die. He doesn’t know how to do it. We gotta…”

“… we gotta watch out for our brother”.

By @godkingsanointed

He'd dare let venom drip about Seifa around them, and Troy knew from the palpable atmosphere change that it wasn't going to be swept under the rug. He would have crumbled, he would have backtracked into sickening apologies, but after the grilling Tyreen had already given him? How helpless and powerless he already felt, child was the straw that broke him.

He span on his heels to face them, spinal implants flaring and eyes all cruel angles and rage. It only took one or two stalking steps for them to be at odds face to face, not that he was sure what he'd do when he got there.

"The fuck was that pal?" He seethed, letting jaw plates click and flicker. They didn't seem intimidated, too full of fury to even care.

"Ungrateful. Fucking. CHILD. She made you, made both of you. Without her, you'd be skag shit right now." They paused to look him up and down before continuing. "Instead of a shit eating skag."

His reaction was instant, flesh hand snapping forward to grab at the decorative chains around their neck he'd gifted them, pulling them close. "You fuckin-" he choked, mind clouded on what to do. He wanted to smash them to bits, he wanted to pull their fucking head off, but he had enough control yet to hesitate.

"If you wanna spar big man, let's go. You know the rules." They spat. They'd set out a few of them a couple of months back, not really thinking it would come to it, more so sharing a part of clan life so he felt included. Clan members could fight out frustrations, as long as it didn't go so far as to lose a body for raids or hunting. No using the prosthetic, no hitting Troys left side, no weapons. That was what they settled on, and now staring him down? They didn't like the idea of fighting him, of fighting any family. Never had. But if he refused to talk and instead was intent to act like this? They could find some satisfaction in landing a hit or two. 

Mention of that past conversation seemed to snap him out of it, hitting home just how far JK was willing to take this. They didn't care about title or siren status, as far as they where concerned this was a family matter. And as far gone as he was, Troy had no intention of full on brawling with family. He pushed them away as he let go, face burning in shame and frustration as he backed down. 

"Not worth my fucking time..." he mumbled, storming away and letting a metal fist impact a wall as he went,one final show of force.

They stayed put after he was gone, head tilted back and taking deep breaths as they steadied themself. Seifa...didn't need to know about this. She hardly needed defending and she'd scold them for almost coming to blows over a few nasty words but...They couldn't have just bitten their tongue either. 

Ven - "I mean boss, have you considered ever actually thinking about what you want?" 

Troy - "..." Troy - "...Everything. All the time. I want e-everything. Everything. Everything I see, all the time. The way you love Eli, and the way he smiles at you and it's real 'cause he knows how to love, I want that."

Troy - "...I want it, and how Sei puts her arms around all of you and never me but she looks at me and I feel s-something but I don’t know how to say it in words, I want that."

Troy - "...I want Jak-Knife and the way their mask a-and their face - both of them are beautiful and better than anything I can pretend I see in a mirror and I want everything all the time, Ven, and I don't even know if it's me that's actually wanting."

Ven - "Right..." Ven  - "...Ok bud, so first of all, I'm going to get us some drinks..."

By @godkingsanointed​

-- Uroboros log - M0noli7h / S0litar3 prsnl e-dev com msg log //Private Line - SAVED-  blame=GKT -- Machina: So Adalphus is where you’re saying is the best bet.  Aurum: Simple logic. Close enough to Pandora for you to still perform your role, far enough from.. well. What you need to be far from.  Machina: Feels apt somehow, ending up wasting away on some off-world base. Never did belong here, huh. Aurum: A feeling I understand better than I’d like. Regardless of our personal opinions you’ve been one of the few colleagues I’d describe as competent, A’Rosk. It’s a reassurance to know you aren’t abandoning your position.  Machina: Mutual on that, Sol. Staying on isn’t by choice though. I’m sure you know that too. You remember Fragor.  Aurum: I remember what was left of her absolutely ruining a pair of Ausler dress shoes, yes. You’re going to be hounded. You know that. Machina: I know that, I’m just praying it will be gently. The Crusaders are under Troy, and Troy..  Machina: I Machina: I trust Troy

Aurum: That’s your prerogative, regardless of how stupid. Machina: Thanks, you nasty shit. So you’ll manage the fund movements once I’m out, keep the flow going to the accounts I gave you? Aurum: Yes, yes. Not exactly work deserving of my touch, mind you. Junkers leave residue. I prefer to keep my hands clean, Seifa. I’m sure you appreciate that, considering this deal.  Machina: Ohhhh absolutely. You scratch my back, I’ll stab yours.  Aurum: Cute. I’ll manage your assets this side, and my little history with those slag shipments to Elpis will remain off your people’s raidar. Machina: That they will. Solomon, much as it pains me to say this, it has been a pleasure. Thank you. For.. for everything.  Aurum: Not needed, Seifa. It’s just good business. [end log]

#borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #troy calypso #tyreen calypso #calypso twins #leech lord #seifa #ven #jak-knife #my writing #my hcs

[popcornaddict500]

‘They won’t bite’

A little ficlet I wrote :) 

In which Olivia shows Sun Bai ( @asras3rdeye ‘s oc) her constrictors. and in which I discover I suck at ending ficlets

1669 words, cw: descriptions of live feeding reptiles, implications of poisoning, talk of biting/being bitten but nothing graphic

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

After a successful day at the market, Olivia was about to head home… But that’s when she ran into Sun Bai. 

--

“Are you getting even more pets?” 

Olivia blinked, looking up at Bai. “No.” 

“Then why do you have a rabbit and 2 rats in a box?” he cocked a brow.

Glancing at the animals in the box, she hummed. “They’re for feeding,” She stated simply, lifting the box and resting it on her hip. When he didn’t respond, she continued, “My snakes. They eat live prey.”

That seemed to pique his interest. “You have snakes?” 

“Mn, I do. Did I not tell you before?” she made a thoughtful noise, tilting her head a bit.

“I don’t think so, no.”

“Well, I’ve got three pythons at home. They’re relatively friendly.” A small sigh escaped her. “I’m going home, I’ll feed them later today. See you.” she turned around, walking off...

[Wait.] 

As always, she jumped a bit when she heard his voice in her head. She looked over her shoulder. “What is it?”

“Could I see them?”

She paused, considering it. “Hmm… Sure, I suppose.”

--

“Wash your hands,” She said, going over to the sink and taking her gloves off. When she’d washed her hands he did too, wordlessly. 

“You should always wash your hands before handling snakes. If they smell anything on you that they could consider food, they will bite. If they’re hungry, that is.” She held up her left hand. “I forgot to once. That wasn’t pleasant.” There was a faint bite mark on her palm. “Even so, they might still bite if they feel threatened or agitated.” she shrugged, exiting the kitchen and walking down the hall, taking the box with her. “This way.”

She walked into a room, it was relatively dimly lit, save for the warm lamps hanging above the enclosures. The walls seemed to be hand painted, with certain kinds of night-like scenery. The biggest enclosure was on the right, the two smaller ones were to the left, stacked atop each other. She flicked on a lantern on the ceiling and went to the biggest enclosure, it was about the length of a small couch. “Have you handled or seen snakes before?” 

“Yes. I caught them when I was younger.” Bai responded, glancing at the enclosure. “What’s in there?”

“Ah, then you probably won’t be scared. My biggest python, Sol, lives in here.” she put the box on a table nearby, moving to kneel in front of the glass. “He should be awake. But he might be hiding. He’s a albino burmese python.” 

The enclosure was nicely decorated, with a large hideout in the corner, plenty of fake plants, stones and a bit more of an open area. You couldn’t see the entire hideout though, most of it being hidden.

“How big?”

“Mmmm… I’d say around four metres when fully stretched out.” She turned her head to look at him, gesturing to him to come closer. “Pretty sure you can see him, over there.” She pointed to the hideout, and indeed, a yellow snout peeked out. She shifted away when Bai got closer so he could see, and to avoid touching him. Neither him nor her would like that, probably...

“Do you ever let him out of the enclosure?” he asked.

“Sometimes, yes. He’s well behaved, so I let him roam around the house a bit. Usually when I’ve gotta clean…”

She slid open one of the glass doors, and Sol came a bit closer. “Come on out.” she whispered, coaxing the python out of it’s hideout. Slowly, he came out of the enclosure… she scooped him up, into her arms. The snake slid across her shoulders and her left arm. “Told you he was big.” She gave a small smile, picking up Sol’s body in her hands. 

“You can touch him, if you want.” She offered, stretching out her arm towards Bai, Sol curiously moving over to him.

Although slightly hesitant, he nodded. “..Alright.” he held out his hand so the python could slide into it. Its tongue flicked out curiously.

“Beautiful, is he not? He shedded last week.” Sol slid across his hands, up his shoulder. Bai gave a small nod. She lightly ran her hand along the scales of it’s back.

A couple moments passed, and she flinched slightly when the doorbell rang, looking down the hall. “Damn. Could you hold him for a sec? I’ll be right back.” she deposited the rest of the snake in his lap, getting to her feet and darting off. 

“Uh. Ok..” 

Thankfully Sol was relaxed, just smelling the air and vibing. He did accidentally knock Bai’s glasses off… “Huh-”

Olivia came back a few moments later, looking annoyed. “Just a door-to-door salesman...  tsk.” she shook her head and sat down on the floor again. “Hope he behaved, hm?” 

“It was fine.”

She nodded, moving to scoop the snake off him again, as he was getting restless. She put him back in the enclosure, closing the door after he’d crawled in. “I think he liked you.” There was a small smile on her lips. Noticing his glasses had fallen, she gave them back to him.

“Thanks.” 

She got up after a couple moments. “Hm, there’s 2 more. They’re smaller though. There’s Agatha, and Dako,” She hummed, looking at the smaller enclosures, stacked on the cabinet. “Agatha’s… kind of mean, if I’m being honest. So we’re not going to handle her.” she chuckled softly, leaning down a bit to look at the brown ball python. The snake hissed at her from her hideout…

 “See? Always pissy. Remind you of someone?” she muttered the last part more to herself, a small grin on her lips, walking off to grab something.

Bai rolled his eyes. 

“I think I’ll feed her a rat. She hasn’t eaten in a while” she came back with a rat in her hand. “You don’t mind watching this?”

He nodded. “It’s fine. I want to see.” 

“Alright.” She slid open the glass door and dropped the rat in, near the open area. It took a bit before Agatha noticed the rat, but when she did she moved closer…

Olivia jumped when she suddenly struck the rat down, it squeaked and struggled as the snake curled around it.

Bai looked at her questioningly. 

“Ah… sometimes it takes me by surprise...” She shook her head, a bit embarrassed. “Regardless, that was a nice takedown.” The snake had the rat in a death grip, there’s no way it’d escape any time soon…

“Do you have snakes yourself, Bai?” She asked, quietly. 

“No, but I do want to own various reptiles in the future,” He responded, watching with keen interest.

“I must admit they’re fascinating pets.” She stretched for a second and went to put a couple supplies away. “Sometimes I’ve gotta help them shed. If they’re agitated in any way they can have trouble with getting the old skin off,” she commented, checking a couple drawers. “Some people think that hurts the snake but it doesn’t, in fact it’d be more harmful to leave the old skin on.” She turned around and leaned against the counter.

“Hm.” 

“I still have Sol’s shed from last week, mostly intact…”

She glanced at the lower enclosure. “I think we could say hi to Dako…” she walked over and slid open the door, letting the ball python slide closer. This one was a piebald morph… White and brown. “He’s friendly, so..” she held up the snake in her hands, before wordlessly handing it to him. 

Dako attempted to hide his little snout in Bai’s hand. She chuckled softly at that. “Shy as ever, though.”

She was silent for a bit, watching the snake explore. 

“Mn, nice pattern. He’s very docile,” He commented, she gave a slight nod.

“Yeah. He’s probably the sweetest.”

“Didn’t you say you had poison dart frogs as well?”

“I do.”

He studied her neutral face for a second. “Just as pets, or..?”

“Hmm. Yes, I suppose, I collect them. Although... they have been of use to me..” she met his eyes for a brief moment, expression unchanging. Her one peachy eye answered the unasked question, though… She swallowed thickly, averting her gaze.

“Well. Anyways.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll make some tea and then feed Sol his rabbit.” She knew he was probably looking at her a bit weirdly but walked out anyway, to the kitchen.

Bai put Dako back in his enclosure after a moment.

“Do you want a cup?” she called from the kitchen. 

“Sure.”

She set a kettle on the stove and waited, preparing two cups with a saucer. A couple minutes later, she walked out with the cups. “Do you take sugar?”

“No thanks.” 

She nodded at that and handed him the saucer, taking a seat on her couch. One of her cats was sleeping on the armrest. Bai took a seat in a different chair. “How long have you had your constrictors?” he asked.

“Hmmm… I’ve had Sol the longest, for 7 years. I’ve had Dako and Agatha for 4 years.” she sipped her cup, sighing softly.

“You have pet rabbits, don’t you? yet you still feed your snake rabbits?” He cocked a brow, slowly sipping the hot tea. The steam clouded his glasses a bit, and he ‘tsk’d. 

“I have to. It’s a little sad, yes, but Sol won’t accept frozen-thawed prey. He only eats living prey.” she averted her gaze. “Usually Aggie and Dako do eat frozen-thawed rats and mice. But sometimes it’s good to have them eat something alive.” she idly swirled the tea in her cup.

“I see,” he responded, looking pensive for a moment.

“Still, I find it interesting to watch them hunt.” she blew on her tea a bit. He nodded in agreement. A white cat sniffed Bai curiously, before running off.

She talked about her snakes for a bit more, he seemed fine with listening for the most part. Occasionally he’d ask something, though. She showed him how Sol ate, which was rather aggressive, but he seemed interested… She couldn’t help but jump a bit though.

#my writing #aAAAAAAAAA #this took 3 days #I'm tired #BUt PROUD #I love how this turned out #olivia #olivia x sun bai #sun bai #oc x oc #snakes #hehehehehe #excited #hope I wrote bai right tho #shdghsghsjhds

[screpdoodle]

Duality - Chapter One (The Diabolical Ways of the Deciduous Demon Outside my Window)

"KAOS!! Get down here! We're going to be late!!"

Early morning sunlight dappled through the smudged windowpane, the chirping of birds mingling with the songs of the warm autumn wind working its way through the cracks. All things given, it seemed like a perfect morning. That assumption, though, was a misplaced one. At least to the young boy in the bed. He opened one eye, took one look at his window, and pulled the blankets over his head with a groan. The light stung his eyes, making him crave for the sweet embrace of dreams once more. Maybe if he just closed his eyes, it would all just fade away-

Tap tap tap

He flinched, then peered out from beneath his covers, pulling them down just to the bridge of his nose. Tap tap tap. It was back. The warm autumn breeze brought with it that no good tree branch, the warm toned leaves swaying with every tap against the glass. The boy squinted, then laid back down, pulling the blankets tighter around his head. If he just ignored it, the tree wouldn't notice he was there. It would go away, realizing it was a futile attempt to gain his attention. Whatever the tree wanted, he wasn't curious enough to risk finding out.

Tap tap tap. Tick tick tick.

He covered his ears, he wasn't listening. He didn't have time to deal with the tree and the ticking. There wasn't enough time in the world to deal with both. And yet, here they both were. That itching at the back of his mind, and that incessant tapping against the glass.

Tap tick tick. Tap tick tick.

Every moment of silence he could have been relishing was filled with those Ancients awful noises. How long has passed? A minute? A moment? He couldn't tell. All he could focus on was that stupid tree.

Tick tap tick tap tick tap.

In one movement, the boy sat up, throwing his blankets to the ground as forcefully as he could muster, facing the source of his problems.

"For the Ancients' sake, would you shut the f-"

"Kaos!!" The boy screamed as the door was flung open, nearly causing him to fall from his loft, grabbing the pillow in self defense. "Ancients, what is taking you so long?! Mother took Mey to school already, and at this rate you're going to miss the bus! Get dressed and get downstairs!!"

The door was slammed shut just as quickly as it opened, leaving the boy alone in his room. A small room, with walls lined with papers, a soot stained carpet and a desk set beneath the window. The sun bathed everything in a warm light, leaving the still burning candle on its surface obsolete for the time being. Still in shock, clutching his pillow like a weapon, Kaos slowly gathered himself, then climbed down the ladder, still clutching the pillow in his off hand in case he needed to use it. Which he most likely wouldn't. But it never hurt to be prepared. With a huff, he eyed the tree branch one last time, its pesky attempts to grab his attention finally coming to an end. It sat there, perfectly still - aside from the dancing leaves that yearned to be carried away with the fall winds. Oh, how he wished he could join them. For good measure, Kaos threw his pillow at the window, making sure the tree knew who was boss, before venturing over to his closet. His closet was a box. Of course, he had a real closet, set into the wall across from his loft, but he had never bothered to store his clothes in there. No, that was for storing other things. The box did quite nicely for the minimal amount of outfits he owned. Most of which were piled under his loft, waiting to be washed. Kaos half the time forgot they were there, along with some of Mey's clothes that he had borrowed; and some of his brother's that he had… Liberated from languishing beneath his bed with old socks and unfinished homework from grades passed. It was a mystery how Dyskord had ever managed to graduate, Kaos thought as he fished through the unfolded clothes stored within his closet box. Finally, he settled on the same things he always wore, which were sitting to the side of the box. He stumbled back as he pulled on his black sweats, wriggled into his tunic, slipped on his canvas shoes and grabbed a miscellaneous hairbrush he was pretty sure didn't actually belong to him. Kaos pulled the comb through his hair as he scrambled down the stairs, mumbling to himself as he chucked it to the side (Mother or Dyskord would pick it up eventually), grabbed his long coat off its hook, then careened into the kitchen as he put it on. The coat was far too big for him, swallowing his wiry frame whole like some beast made of shadows. Kaos hoped he would someday grow into it, but he had owned it for years now and no such luck had befallen him. Kaos climbed up onto the kitchen counter, eyeing his prize. The cookie tin, his ceremonial breakfast whenever Mother was out of the house. He pulled the lid off, then peered inside - only a few left. Just as Kaos reached his little hand down into the metal tin, Dyskord walked through the back door, tracking mud onto the scuffed tile flooring.

"What do you think you're doing," he spoke, kicking his boots off, never once taking his eyes off Kaos.

"Oh, please. Like you'd tell Mother," Kaos rolled his eyes, sliding the cookie jar back into place, his bounty in hand.

"Maybe I will."

"Then maybe I'll have to tell her who really passed your final exams for you, brother."

The two locked death glares, the only noise being that of the leaky faucet and the occasion chirp of the birds outside. Kaos cracked a smile, Dyskord following.

"Just grab me one too, short stack. Then we've gotta go."

Kaos shoved the cookie into his mouth, then grabbed the tin once more. His face reflected back at him on the polished sides. Big eyes the color of copper, a piggish upturned nose, his cheeks puffed out like an chipsquirrel's, gathering food for the winter. Cookie crumbs mingled with the imperfections that littered his skin, freckles, blemishes, and his birthmarks - mirrored patches of darker skin that clustered around his eyes. They had gotten lighter with age, but they still bugged him sometimes. One little snaggletooth stuck out from the corner of his mouth - an issue that could have been fixed with braces. If he hasn't broken them nearly the day after he got them. He may not have been the 'peak of perfection', but Kaos didn't mind. It made him unique. It made him… special. Though, that paired with his lackluster height usually ended up with him being at the receiving end of a bullying entourage.

"You got everything you need, baby brother?"

Kaos nodded, then hopped down from the counter. "Yes, mother. I have everything."

Dyskord rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Backpack?"

"At the front door."

"Lunch?"

"Won't be there long enough to need one."

"Catalyst?"

"Harvested it last night."

"Well, aren't you prepared," Dyskord chuckled. "Specimen?"

"That’s your job, remember?" Kaos smirked. "I have it all thought out, Dyskord. Don't worry."

"Well then, what's your plan for when Mother finds out?"

"Who said she'll find out? The only way she would is if someone rats me out." Kaos took a bite from his second cookie, handing the extra to Dyskord as he pushed past into the main hall. The high ceilings and towering walls making him seem even smaller; like an ant in a dollhouse.

"If I'm this deep in, why would I rat you out and risk getting in trouble myself?"

Kaos shrugged, walking backwards so that he could watch Dyskord's movements. "I don't know, brother, but the only variable that could possibly go wrong is you. So as long as you play along, everything should be absolutely peachy~" He grinned, then shoved the rest of the cookie into his mouth. It tasted a little old, probably a month or two, but a stale cookie was better than no cookie. And at least Kaos knew that batch hadn't been poisoned.

Dyskord chuckled dryly, placing the cookie in the little leather satchel that hung at his hip. Kaos knew he'd probably eat it later. Dyskord could never resist a cookie. "Alright, alright, tiny genius. I'll trust you on this. But don't blame me when this plan fails too."

"It won't. Trust me."

Kaos grabbed his backpack off its hook, unzipping it just to triple check its contents. It never hurt to be certain.

"Communicator?"

"Yep."

"You got your diary~?"

Kaos whipped around, glaring. "It's not a diary! It's my journal of doom!!"

Dyskord patted Kaos on the head, ruffling his umber hair, a condescending smile on his lips. "Sure it is, baby brother."

Kaos grumbled under his breath, turning back to his backpack. He shrugged Dyskord off, trying to focus. Sure enough it was all there. Homework, lunchbox, communicator, his 'journal' - everything important was there and accounted for. As Kaos struggled to zip up his backpack once more, his gaze drifted to the portrait that hung above the door. His family, painted in exquisite detail, framed by an intricate wooden frame. Dyskord, with his old ashy blonde hair (Kaos had suggested he dye it neon green since it was a similar level of horrible against his skin tone, but Dyskord had insisted on vibrant silver.) Mey sat on Mother's lap, creasing the dress she had spent all of the previous day ironing to get it absolutely pristine, because she wouldn't sit still. Mother bore her usual scoul, contrasted by Mey's wide grin. If their expressions weren't so different, Mey might have been mistaken for a younger Mother. Father stood to the side of her, behind Dyskord, wearing a similar expression to his wife. Kaos had been surprised he hadn't been absent for that too. Looking down to where he was immortalized in paint, Kaos stood the front - where the painter had instructed him to stand; wearing a matching suit and tie like the rest of his siblings - though he at least still had his scarf. Black and grey striped knit that was as long as he was tall, coiled around his neck and draped over his shoulder. Kaos never went anywhere without his scarf, and even though he heard Hel from Father afterwards, it was worth it. As Kaos slung his backpack over his shoulder, he trailed his hand to his neck, reaching to feel the soft warmth of his scarf. Instead, his hand only met skin.

"C'mon Kaos, we gotta get going. We don't want you being late for-"

"My scarf!!" Kaos shouted. "Where's my scarf!?"

"Kaos, it's not even that cold out. You don't need your- oooor you can go get it. That's fine too, I guess." Dyskord watched as Kaos chucked his overstuffed backpack to the side, the contents spilling across the floorboards as he raced upstairs to his room. He swore, Kaos would be the death of him one of these days, but at least his life was interesting with him around. Dyskord just wished he wasn't so, well, chaotic. But he supposed that came with the name.

Kaos threw the door to his room open, his breath catching in his throat. He had been wearing it when he fell asleep, where could it have gotten off to!? Had he taken it off when he got dressed? No, it wasn't by his closet box. Was it in his loft? No, no. Maybe it was in the blanket pile he had created that morning. Or maybe it was- Kaos froze, slowly turning towards the window, the familiar tap tap tapping of the tree branch against the grimy glass greeting him.

"You," he glowered at the tree branch, carefully approaching the window. "What did you do with it!?"

The tree branch just continued its endless rapping against the window pane, mocking him, oblivious to the enemy it had made. Kaos stormed forward, climbing up onto his desk, kicking the papers that covered it onto the ground.

"Give it back now!!" He pressed his face against the glass. "Or so help me, you will meet your untimely demise!!"

He was given no response. Not that Kaos expected one. The trees were always conniving, this one especially. They seemed innocent, but beneath that bark was a dastardly deciduous demon, lulling him into a false sense of security, laying in wait. But Kaos knew. Kaos knew the truth about these creatures. And he wouldn't let them get the upper hand. Never once taking his eyes from the branch, Kaos slid open his window slowly, then peered out. There it was, as he had assumed, his scarf. In the patchy grass, between the gnarled roots of the beast. He shot the tree one last glare, muttering to himself, then stepped out onto the small ledge right outside his window. At least that was a perk of being small, he could fit into spaces others couldn't. Kaos stood up, balancing himself against the wall, holding onto one of the few bricks that jutted out from the flush surface. He had done this many a time, but every time he felt butterflies congregating within his stomach, a few fluttering into his throat. The wind in his hair, the view of the forest beyond- painted in autumnal colors of deep purples and dry oranges, the grounds below in desperate need of tending. All of it flooding his senses, paired with the impending damage he would receive at one wrong move. It was all… magnificent. But admiring the view wasn't what he was here to do, no. Kaos shook his head, reaching out to grab the closest branch, hoisting himself into it. The tree may have been a conniving, callous creature, but at least it served a purpose. That being a way for Kaos to get to the ground without completely shattering all of his fragile little bones.

"Kaos, come on!!" He heard Dyskord call from inside. "I have other stuff I need to do today, if you don't hurry up you'll have to take the school ship!!"

Kaos rolled his eyes, carefully stepping down onto the next branch. Dyskord was so impatient. He'd get down, grab his scarf, and they'd be on their way before his older brother could utter another idiotic sentence. Kaos slid onto another branch, this one bending slightly under his weight. He shot the tree a glare, as if daring it to try something, before stepping onto the next one. This one, unluckily, wasn't so forgiving. Before Kaos knew what was happening, the branch had buckled beneath him, sending him crashing to the ground - the branches he fell past slicing at his skin. At least the damp earth was there to soften his fall. Kaos propped himself up on his arms, spitting out a chunk of dirt as he silently cursed himself out for letting down his guard. At least he has his scarf. Kaos stood up, brushing the dirt from his clothes best he could before assessing the damage. A few cuts here and there, his coat would definitely need some stitches, but at least nothing was broken. Kaos scooped his scarf up, wrapped it loosely around his neck, then froze. He heard the sound of an engine revving up, the realization hitting him all too late.

"WAIT!!" Kaos shouted, making a mad dash for the front door. "Dyskord, I'M COMING!!"

As Kaos rounded the corner, three things crossed his mind. His backpack laying on the path that lead up to the door, the idiocracy of his older brother; and the boat that belonged to the very same, the one that was usually docked at the edge of the island, now whirring off into the horizon without him.

"YOU IDIOT!!" Kaos shouted, skidding to a stop. He swore he heard his brother laughing over the sound of the motor, which was quickly fading away. "I'M TELLING MOTHER!!"

Of course he wouldn't. Telling Mother had become an empty threat within the family, no longer holding any weight after countless empty promises of "Mother'll hear about this" and "I'm telling mom" (the latter usually used by Mey) had been thrown around for years. But it was the only comeback he could dream up in the moment. He had other problems than coming up with a witty response that Dyskord couldn't even hear. He'd get him back later. After he was done with his current plan. Then he'd have all the time in the world to get back at Dyskord for being a complete ignoramus and putting a petty act of defiance over the welfare of the plan. That's what Kaos got for letting him in on it, he supposed, kicking a loose pathing tile out of frustration. His kick barely dislodged it, but it was at least something. Kaos grabbed his bag up off of the ground, finally noticing the note taped to it. Have fun taking the school ship. Of course. Kaos crumpled the note up as he swung the backpack over his shoulder, muttering to himself all the while. He looked around, starting to head in the direction the school ship usually docked. It was quite a ways away, so the sooner he left, the better chances he had of catching it. Why it didn't dock closer to his home was beyond him, and despite the complaints he had lodged with the school board and his mother, no changes had been made. Rolling fields of splotchy, yellowing grass were laid out before Kaos, broken up by the occasional stone pathway. Cracking with age and broken up like a checkerboard. The wound through the dirt haphazardly, interrupted by the occasional tree (which Kaos did his best to keep his distance from) or the start of a rickety bridge that connected the nearby islands. On his usual walks, Kaos would have stopped on the bridges, kneeling down and seeing how far down he could reach into the abyss below, waiting for something to float by that he could possibly add to his collections. Today, he had no time for that. Today, he actually had somewhere to be. Kaos counted his steps, glancing over his shoulder occasionally to watch as his home got smaller and smaller. From here, it looked normal. Simple even. But the imposing aura it cast still lingered in the air. The tall spires piercing the wispy clouds themselves, high stone walls and arched windows covered in moss and ivy. An overbearing, ancient labyrinth of a castle Kaos called home. Sometimes Kaos was convinced the place was still standing because of the grime it was caked in, which was the excuse he gave himself whenever it came to cleaning. If he did a good job, he might not have a home to go back to. It was an excuse Mother was never fond of. Kaos remembered one year he had been put on ivy duty during their yearly cleaning. He had encountered a particularly dastardly tangle of vines on the west side, one that had kept him trapped for the majority of the day. Mother had found him deep asleep in their verdant web after the sun had set, and Kaos hadn't been allowed near that part of the castle for a good while afterwards. Kaos sighed, a smile creeping its way onto his face at the memory, his home now simply a silhouette against the backdrop of the endless sky. He looked ahead, finally making out his target. The old barge that served as the school ship. Badly, at that. It was only a few islands away, where the grass was more lush and the terrain less harsh. Kaos picked up his speed, going from a light jog to a sprint, barely feeling his feet touch the ground. He was gonna make it. He could still see students boarding, he still had time, he could still make it.

"WAIT! WAIT!!" He shouted, causing a few heads to turn, but only for a brief moment.

Kaos forced himself through the crowd, nearly doubling over as he struggled to catch his breath, one hand on the strap of his backpack and the other on his scarf, just making sure it was still there. He ignored the dirty looks he was getting as the line began moving again, following the students ahead of him up the ramp. Even from his low vantage point he could tell the state of the ship. Noisy and overcrowded, with just a sprinkle of staff trying desperately to keep order. The chatter of students loud enough to make the patchwork steel hull of the ship vibrate. Kaos found his mind wandering as he and the rest of the students were herded onto the ship like animals, personal space a thing of the past. Everyone around him was at least double Kaos' height, leaving him lost in a forest of legs and torsos shuffling him forward. It would have been humiliating if he wasn't used to it. Ever since he was little, (well, littler) he had been the runt of the litter. Mother had wanted to hold him back because of it, even though she admitted he was smart enough to be a grade ahead. But here he was, stuck in a sea of people all taller than him, even at a grade lower than he should have been. At least that meant he excelled compared to everyone else - when he actually applied himself, that is. It was so hard to apply himself when everything was so easy. Kaos wanted a challenge, he needed one, he-

BANG!

Kaos stumbled back, bumping into the person behind him. He clutched his hands over his ears, the world vibrating around him. He faintly heard the person behind him mutter something as they pushed past, pulling him back to reality. What in the Ancients' names was that?! Kaos looked around, stepping off of the ramp and onto the deck of the ship, feeling the engine start to whir to life. He frowned. It must've just been a misfire of the engine. The ship was old and broken, misfires were bound to happen. But even then, Kaos couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Kaos peered over the edge of the ship, watching as the island below them slowly began drifting away. The smell of engine fuel and strong perfume filling the air. Kaos gripped the rusting side rail, then looked back to the deck of the ship. The talking had only grown louder, everyone trying to be heard over the roar of the engine and of course one another. It was an idiotic sight, people huddled into groups. Elves and Ents playing a quick game of Skystones, a group of Mabu discussing the best way to prepare beetroots for their cooking class - even the Gillmen were chatting it away, all in their own little worlds. Everyone seemed to have a group. Everyone, but Kaos. It wasn't a bother to him, though, not at all. Why would it have been? He had himself, and that was all Kaos needed. Kaos began making his way through the crowds of kids, hands in his pockets and eyes trained on the floor. He slid his backpack off once he got to his usual corner, plopping himself down. He looked up at the sky, watching the clouds drift by, the chatter around him becoming nothing but white noise. He closed his eyes, letting himself drift off, running the plan through his head once more. It would be perfect. He just needed to make it through the day.

***

<- previous chapter | next chapter ->

#skylanders #skylanders academy #bring back the skylands #skylands historia #skylanders superchargers #skylanders trap team #skylanders giants #skylanders spyro's adventure #skylanders kaos #skylanders forever #second leaf #creative writing #fan fiction #fan continuation #pre canon #fan retelling #alternate timeline #alternate universe #canon divergent #ssa #looking for critique #please critique #writing #my witing

[aforrestofstuff]

Okay! I have a burning question for you, my dude. Music is my life, and I wanna know what kind of music the OPM casts listen to. Thanks, my guy!

I had a feeling this would be inevitable lol. I don’t really know a whole lot about music or genres or anything like that so I’m just gonna give you a rundown of each character individually and some song recs along with that just to smooth things out a little. Thanks for your ask, by the way! ❤️ Now my playlists will be put to good use.

A Brief Rundown of the Major OPM Characters’ Music Tastes:

Blast: hc that he doesn’t even have ears since he never fucking LISTENS

Terrible Tornado: Stuff that makes her feel powerful. Loud vocals and good instrumentals. Also, she’s a little angsty since she’s saltier than the gotdamn Pacific almost all of the time. (Recs: Florence and the Machine - How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful, Susanne Sundfør - Delirious, Florence and the Machine - What Kind of Man, Kali Uchis - Dead to Me, Let’s Eat Grandma - Falling Into Me)

Fubuki: some of that real classy shit. Slow songs that are nice to just have a cup of tea with. Nothing too meaty or fast-paced, she enjoys taking a moment to breathe every once and a while since life gets pretty hectic when you’re managing a gang of some 30 hooligans. (Recs: Wes - Midnight Low, any song from Lana Del Rey’s entire discography lol, Florence and the Machine - Grace, The Marìas - I Don’t Know You, Yellow House - Ain’t Gonna Call, Feng Suave - Toking, Dozing)

Silverfang: Stuff from his time. I hc that he was a bit of a party animal back in his prime so he’s gotta have those grooves. Disco to the extremo. Also, another hc: Garou absolutely hates his music. He would play it during training and Garou would contemplate homicide. (Recs: Frankie Valli - Grease, The Edgar Winter Group - Free Ride, KC and the Sunshine Band - I’m Your Boogie Man, Matthew Wilder - Break My Stride, The Main Ingredient - Everybody Plays the Fool, Andrea True Connection - More, More, More)

Bomb: save as Silverfang, although I hc that Bomb was a little more of a nerd growing up. Still, he never missed out on a good party. (Additional Recs: KC and the Sunshine Band - Get Down Tonight, The Trammps - Disco Inferno, Tierra - Together, Cornelius Bros and Sister Rose - Too Late to Turn Back Now)

Atomic Samurai: Old shit. Shit older than Silverfang. He’s really not that old, but his soul is fucking ancient and he’s got that classic “grrr music these days sucks” kind of shithead attitude. (Recs: Jim Croce - Time in a Bottle, Dion - Runaround Sue, The Carpenters - The End of the World, The Band - The Weight)

Child Emperor: Upbeat synth. Stuff to listen to while he’s working on his machines and whatnot. Probably has meaty beats to keep him in tune with what he’s doing, like working around a clock. Probably some groovy citypop in there too. (Recs: Taeko Ohnuki - 4:00 AM, Junko Ohashi - Telephone Number, Tatsuro Yamashita - Magic Ways, Hiroyuki Sawano - NEXUS, Superfly - Kakusei, Mariya Takeuchi - Plastic Love)

Metal Knight: Intrumentals that Disney villains listen to. Deep, dark shit that makes you feel sad. He probably feeds off of negative emotion. What a toolbag. (Recs: Lucas King - Sociopath, Abel Korzeniowski- Table for Two, Max Richter - Never Goodbye, Max Richter - She Remembers, Evelyn Stein - Quiet Resource, Mac Quayle - Adagio in G Minor)

King: video game soundtracks, obviously. Might be some electro funk in there too, as a treat. (Recs: Metal Gear Solid 3 OST - Snake Eater, Mick Gordon - Rip and Tear, Xenoblade Chronicles OST - Main Theme, Persona 5 OST - Last Surprise, Daft Punk - Verdis Quo, Toby Fox - Hopes and Dreams, Disasterpeace - Prologue, iamthekidyouknowwhatimean - Run, Darren Korb - Old Friends)

Zombieman: Dad Music. Old rock that makes you wanna rail some lines of white thunder and dance on top of a car. He’d be reluctant to try out new stuff but does so nevertheless. Just a little bit of weird alternative here and there. (Recs: Poison - Unskinny Bop, Mötley Crüe - Dr. Feelgood, Black Sabbath - War Pigs, Def Leppard - Animal, CRX - Walls, MGMT - Little Dark Age, Pink Floyd - Money, Queens of the Stone Age - Villains of Circumstance)

Drive Knight: Dark synth, obviously. Need I say more? (Recs: El Tigr3 - She Swallowed Burning Coals, Trevor Something - Enjoy the Silence, Greg Drombrowski - Devour, GUNSHIP - Woken Furies, GUNSHIP - Thrasher, Carpenter Brut - Invasion A.D., Kavinsky - Nightcall)

Pig God: this guy probably just listens to ASMR of people eating food lol.

Superalloy Darkshine: Upbeat stuff that’s good for exercise; loving those new jams along with some of the old. He’s got a pretty groovy style. (Diane Ross - Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, Saint Motel - Puzzle Pieces, CRUISR - All Over, Barry White - Never, Never Gonna Give Ya Up, Sade - Kiss of Life)

Watchdog Man: 10 hour loop of wolves howling on a summer night.

Flashy Flash: classical. Some nice instrumentals to listen to while training. Stuff that preferably doesn’t have any or very little lyrics so it’s not too busy on his ears while he’s fantasizing about killing someone. (Recs: Vaughn Williams - The Lark Ascending, Debussy - Rêverie, Grieg - Peace of the Woods, André Laplante - Une Barque sur L’Ocean)

Metal Bat: Modern alternative. A little bit harder than say, Mumen and Kama, but not as hard as Zombieman or Death Gatling. He’s that middle ground where he’s still got some real bangers, but Zenko can listen as well. He’ll play this stuff loudly as he’s doing chores and working out, no headphones ever. It gets pretty annoying. (Recs: Foals - Exits, The Blue Stones - Black Holes, Solid Ground, CRX - Broken Bones, Jungle - Happy Man, The Strokes - Reptilia, We Are Trees - Girlfriend)

Genos: synth. But not just any synth, some heavy, fast-paced synth that’s just like him: speedy, relentless, and powerful. He listens to shit that’ll make you wanna get up and start killing Terminators. Probably. There’s some other synths in the mix too because we love a three-dimensional king. (Recs: Carpenter Brut - Division Ruine, The Protomen - I Still Believe, Carpenter Brut - Leather Teeth, Gunship - Tech Noir, TWRP - Phantom Racer, Le Castle Vania - Red Circle)

Tanktop Master: Dad music but the type of dad music that makes you think your dad was a sappy nerd back in the day. Long tracks that are good for workouts. (Tears for Fears - Woman in Chains, Pink Floyd - Us and Them, Duran Duran - Ordinary World, Billy Idol - Eyes without a Face, A Flock of Seagulls - I Ran, The Alan Parsons Project - Eye in the Sky, Tears for Fears - Sowing the Seeds of Love)

Puri-Puri Prisoner: Pop. Dance music. He doesn’t really get to listen to a lot of music in prison, so he holds on to whatever he can and savors every second of it. (Coldplay - Talk, Bruno Mars - Runaway Baby, Lady Gaga - Bad Romance, Flo Milli - Beef Flomix, Doja Cat - Say So)

Mumen Rider: Hes a lighthearted, soft boy. Likes some fluffy indie tunes. It helps to motivate him when working out or doing hero stuff. He might need to cry every once in a while though, so there’s some sad songs in the mix too. (Recs: Varsity - The Dogs Only Listen to Him, The The - This is the Day, Amarante - Don’t Look Back, Alvvays - Saved by a Waif, The Monkees - As We Go Along, Acid Ghost - Hide my Face, Mogwai - Take Me Somewhere Nice)

Sonic: same as Flash. He’s a little more hip with the times however, so he’s got some more groovy, electronic instrumentals to listen to in addition to some elegant stuff and isn’t opposed to having a little bit of lyrics sprinkled in there as well. In fact, he’s not opposed to uppity pop either. He thinks dancing is frivolous but he secretly does it when he thinks nobody is looking. (Additional Recs: Odesza - Bloom, Pretty Lights - One Day They’ll Know [Odesza Remix], BØRNS - Electric Love, Hembree - Culture, The Cinematic Orchestra - Arrival of the Birds)

Garou: same as Metal Bat. Bang let him have a little MP3 player during his time at the dojo and has since collected a few songs on there. They’re very near and dear to his heart since it’s one of the few good things that came from his absolute disaster of a childhood. (Additional Recs: Foals - Inhaler, CRX - Slow Down, Deep Sea Arcade - Close to Me, Gorillaz - Empire Ants, The Fratellis - Chelsea Dagger, Glass Animals - Take A Slice)

Death Gatling: Shit your old Vietnam-vet grandpa would blast on the back of his F150. He gives me self-righteous asshole vibes, if I’m honest. Like, don’t get me wrong, I like Death Gatling, but he seems like the type of trailer park-dwelling sewer rat to carry a revolver into a Walmart for “self defense” and that’s probably the type of music he listens to, too. (Recs: Megadeth - Trust, Megadeth - Angry Again, Creedence Clearwater Revival - Fortunate Son, Glen Campbell - Southern Nights, Mötley Crüe - Kickstart My Heart, Quiet Riot - Cum on Feel the Noize)

One-Shotter: I hard hc that he had an emo phase he never quite grew out of. He doesn’t quite listen to emo anymore but he’s still into that alternative shit. Homeboy also likes some slow tunes every once and a while because he’s an emotional dude who’s not afraid of a good cry. (Recs: Anything from Blink-182, Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know?, MGMT - When You Die, Mazzy Star - Fade Into You, Cigarettes After Sex - Dreaming of You, Yon Ort - Other Matter)

Lightning Max: Same as Genos but without the terminator-killing. Fast-paced stuff because he’s a fast lightning dude. A little more upbeat because he’s not as much as an edgelord as Genos, however. (Additional Recs: Carpenter Brut - Hang’em All, The Flaming Lips - Do You Realize, Worn Tin - Sensitivity, B.E.R. - The Night Begins to Shine, Martin Hall - Different Kind of Love)

Stinger: he’s all about that FUNK! Stuff that gets him moving! Stuff that makes him wanna dance! (Recs: Daft Punk - Doin’ it Right, TWRP - Body Image, Wild Cherry - Play that Funky Music, Chemise - She Can’t Love You, Saga - Wind Him Up, Saga - On the Loose, TWRP - All Night Forever)

Okamaitachi: they give me electro vibes! New, modern shit that’s good to dance to or to just sit down and have a listen! Also, some shit that’ll probably play in a coming-of-age teen movie or something. They don’t really vibe with heavy music and that’s alright, babey! Keeping it light and bouncy. (Recs: Tei Shi - Bassically, Varsity - Must Be Nice, Class Actress - Weekend, CHVRCHES - Richard Pryor, Alvvays - Marry Me, Archie, Sobs - Telltale Signs, Goth Babe - Sometimes, ALASKALASKA - Meateater)

Iaian: Nice, low tunes that are good for meditation and to be used for background noise during training sessions. He never really sits down to listen to music, it’s always in the background of something else he’s doing so he prefers to have some soft beats that don’t really interfere with his senses. Tunes so quiet, he sometimes uses them as lullabies; especially since the trauma of losing his arm has since made it hard to sleep. (Recs: Boy Scouts - Saddest Boy, Susanne Sundfør - Mantra, Vashiti Bunyan - If I Were the Same but Different, Starman Jr. - Blue Fairy, Patrick Watson - Je te Laisserai des Mots, Sibylle Baier - I Lost Something in the Hills)

Bushidrill: same as Atomic Samurai just without the shitty attitude. He’s happy to listen to some newer stuff, he just doesn’t like it and that’s okay, baby! Probably some classy shit your wise old grandpa would listen to. (Recs: Dean Martin - Volare, Dion - The Wanderer, Peppino Gagliardi - Che Vuole Questra Musica Stasera, anything from Luis Miguel lol, Franco Micalizzi - Sadness Theme)

Amai Mask: probably just listens to his own music like a putz. If not, he’s listening to the sound equivalent of glittering diamonds. He’s probably got this shit playing at the end of a long day while he’s chilling in a hot bath or something. (Recs: Fergie - Glamorous, Rita Ora - Hot Right Now, Lana Del Rey - Freak, Lana Del Rey - Art Deco, Tame Impala - Feels Like We Only Go Backwards)

Saitama: He doesn’t listen to music much anymore, sadly. He did, however, have a killer motivational mix to get him through his vigorous training prior to becoming a hero. (Recs: Paul Engemann - Push it to the Limit, Journey - Don’t Stop Believin’, College & Electric Youth - A Real Hero, Joe Esposito - You’re the Best Around, Survivor - Eye of the Tiger, The Bee Gees - Nights on Broadway)

Here’s the playlist with all of these songs in order (mostly):

It’s on YouTube because I’m allergic to Spotify. I’ve got a doctor’s note. Also, all of my other playlists are on my little profile thingy so if you want to listen to my pile then go right ahead.

Thanks for your ask, my dude! ❤️ this took up ALL of my energy lol but it was fun.

#one punch man #opm #tatsumaki #silverfang #atomic samurai #iaian #bushidrill #okamaitachi #child emperor #metal knight #saitama #fubuki #zombieman #drive knight #superalloy darkshine #flashy flash #metal bat #genos #tanktop master #puri puri prisoner #mumen rider #speed of sound sonic #garou #death gatling #one shotter #amai mask #lightning max #stinger #watchdog man #asks

[intrepidmare]

This is my submission for Olicity Clue, an event organized by @olicitytropes. Besides the clues given, I got inspired by an old pop song in Spanish, Mi Chica De Humo (my smoke girl), quoted below. 

Can you guys guess which my 3 clues are, a person, a place, and a thing?

PS: This is the dress Felicity wears 😉

Teen | one-shot | 2156 words | AU

Also available on Ao3

MY SMOAK GIRL

Although I don't know who she is 

My feet should know

They follow her like the rats 

to the flute of Hamelin

 To lose her later.

—"Mi chica de humo", Emmanuel (1988)

Striding in the nightclub as if he owns it, the first thing Oliver notices is the crowd, contorting rhythmically on the dance floor. As he expects, the place is full to the rafters. He plows through the drunk throng, dodging bodies, alert to any threat around him. The loud beat of the music makes it almost impossible to have a conversation at a normal volume. Neither it allows hearing the little talk that anyone could establish.

The latter is the exact reason why he chose this club as the meeting place with his tech girl. As an undercover ARGUS agent, he needs to outsource where he gets information to accomplish his job. An encounter in a shifty, secluded place always draws more attention than one in plain sight.

Amanda Waller was very clear the day she assigned this mission to him. She ordered him to cut each and all types of communication with the agency until the target was neutralized. That left him at a disadvantage. 

His target, Deadshot, is an elusive international assassin with a large death toll under his belt. The killer's true identity is a mystery, leaving his particular modus operandi as the only way to recognize his work. He kills with bullets laced with curare. As a fast-acting poison, the curare ensures that even if the victim survives the shot, the person is paralyzed in 3 minutes and dead in the next. 

Oliver knows the basics around a computer but he's not the tech-savviest person in the world. If he wanted to catch this guy, he needed the help of someone who was. If he couldn't access the legal resources, he turned to the illegal ones. The first thing Oliver did before leaving ARGUS HQ was to look for the file of the most skillful hacker in their watchlist. One stood out more than any other. 

The irony of Oliver using that list wasn't lost to him. That's how Amanda had found him. Oliver had been on the same list once until she recruited him a few years ago. Waller is adept to keep tabs on people who have a specific or extraordinary skillset who could be either a threat or a possible asset. 

When Oliver found Felicity Smoak, she was not what he expected. He had taken one look at the quirky, babbling blonde and his world tilted. Five minutes later, he was totally smitten with her. A dangerous thing in his line of work. 

Despite wishing not to, Oliver longs for these encounters with her. They've started as tense and awkward moments. Through time, however, they became a source of solace and reassurance in his violent life. 

There's one thing that bothers Oliver about Felicity: she has the uncanny ability to disappear on him. He prides himself to be a good hunter. Nothing passes his notice, except when she goes away. He's tried to follow her to no avail. She just vanishes like smoke, making honors to her surname. 

He shouldn't take it personally. It's understandable that after he barged into her life and "recruited" her, informing her that a governmental agency was aware of her hacktivism, as she likes to call it, Felicity took serious measures to remain in the dark.

He promised her that if she helped him, he would erase her file and he'd personally guarantee that no charge would be pressed against her. A poor reassurance for her, apparently. To her credit, Oliver stretched the truth about how much power he has to make that happen and she saw through him. Amanda Waller is a woman who gets what she wants and if Felicity is at the top of the list that means Weller has her eyes on the blonde hacker. 

The upbeat dance song, playing loudly on the speakers, fades out before a slower one starts and the crowd on the dance floor disperses, creating an aisle in their midst. A woman walks through it as recognition hits Oliver. He can do nothing but admire Felicity approaching the bar where he waits. Sweeping an appreciative glance over her, he enjoys the view of her mile-long legs, her feet encased in a pair of strappy black sandals, then his eyes come back up. 

The red mini dress she wears clings snuggly to her curves and makes Oliver inwardly drool. 

Get a grip.

The mental chastisement does little to prevent his body's reaction; his heart beats faster, heat travel through his veins directly to his groin, and his hands itch with a yearning for touching Felicity's tantalizing body. 

A thing that he never has allowed himself to do. Only in his dreams.

"Have something for me?" he says lamely when she reaches him. I sound like a jackass. Why couldn't he say something nice, to ask how she is?

A sad smile is set on her red lips and his guilt skyrockets.

"Yes I do," she dismisses the small talk and goes straight to business as he did. "I've got what you're looking for."

"You found him." Oliver's tone doesn't convey entirely the awe he feels. Nobody at ARGUS has been able to find this guy, and here's Felicity with the done deed as if it's nothing. 

"His name is Floyd Lawton, ex-military, history of domestic violence and… and he's here."

"Here?" Oliver hissed through his gritted teeth as goes into a higher alert, sweeping his gaze around, and looking for the threat. Without even thinking about it, he gets closer to Felicity in a protective move. The last thing he wants is for her to be in the crosshairs of an assassin.

"Well, not here, here," Felicity clarifies, firing her words out in rapid succession as Oliver's noticed she often does when nerves get the better of her. She certainly looks jittery and her tone is a little breathless. "Not in the club. In Star City here. He's staying at the Papp Motel, Room 52. I think… I think he has a contract. For what I could dig up from the dark web, there's someone in the city paying serious money for a job."

"You found out who?"

"I backtraced the money through what felt like a gazillion of shell companies. It wasn't easy but, at last, I found a connection to a restaurant here in the city… the Jade Dragon."

Oliver groans.

"What?"

"It's better that you don't know."

That restaurant is a known front for the Chinese Triad. If the Triad hired Deadshot, the safest thing to do for Felicity is keeping that knowledge from her.

The sound of glass shattering starlets both Oliver and Felicity.  A few feet from them, a partying group laughs drunkenly as one of them tries to clean off him the drink that obviously fell from his grasp. 

When Oliver returns his gaze to Felicity, she's more rattled than he expects. "You okay?"

"Uh-huh." 

She nods but the way she swallows hard tells a different story.

"Felicity," Oliver drawls her name, in a way that is both a warning and a persuading plea. She looks at him and, for the first time, he glimpses a trace of fear in her eyes. "What is it? Did something happen?"

"No, no. I'm sure I'm being paranoid."

"What. Happened?"

This time his steadfast tone that leaves no room to avoid answering the question goes through Felicity. She sighs and bits her lower lip. "It's silly," she insists, "But I thought someone was following me this morning. Like I said, paranoid."

"That happened before or after you found out what you told me about Lawton?"

Her forehead crinkles as she thinks. "After," she said cautiously.

"Shit!"

"What? Oliver, what?! I'm not paranoid, am I?" 

Oliver ignores her questions and the rising panic in her voice. Instead, he turns to the bartender and asks her for a notepad and a pen. When she gives what he needs, Oliver scribbles an address on a piece of paper and hands it to Felicity. "Go there," he instructs. "Take a cab and go there now. Ask for John Diggle. He'll help you. He knows what to do."

"Help me? Why? What's going on, Oliver? Who's following me?"

"I'm sorry, Felicity. I never meant to put you in danger. I'm sorry."

He never meant to do that but he knew it was a possibility, so that's why he talked with his best friend, who incidentally is a former ARGUS agent, to set up a safe house for her in case of need. He had thought about it more for if Amada Weller wasn't going to play along with taking Felicity off the list. He wanted to keep Felicity the promise he made her… one way or another.

Oliver is unable to stop himself. He needs to have a little moment to remember later before sending her away, so he gives in the need to touch her. Putting his hands on her shoulders and gliding them up and down over her arms, he leans his forehead on hers. She looks at him, confused. 

Selfishly, Oliver is glad that she's so unsettled to reject his caresses or pull away. In fact, she surprises by placing her hands on his chest and closing her eyes. If he trusts her facial expression, then she's relishing the contact as much as he is.

"He's after me so I gotta hide, is that it?" she asks softly.

Oliver nods. Lawton, the Triad, or even Waller could be tailing Felicity, therefore, yes, she needs to go to safety.

"Am I ever going to see you again?"

The question breaks his heart. 

"Maybe," he replies, but both know that it's a lie.

Oliver pulls away from her and steps back. It's almost impossible for him to do. It takes all his willpower to let her go.

She follows him and surprises him yet again. She mutters something that sounds like "oh, what the frak" and then she's kissing him. A soft kiss that put to shame all the wildest dreams about kissing her that he had before. The tenderness of it, the simplicity does its best to break him. Almost succeeded.

When she pulls away, he asks her, "What was that for?"

"Just in case," she says simply. "If I never see you again, I didn't want to regret not kissing you at least once since it seems you don't have the courage to do it."

He chuckles with sadness, realizing that his attraction for her isn't unrequited. "You're a remarkable woman, Felicity Smoak. Far braver than I am. I'll always regret not having done something or said something to you before now. We just could've…."

A million of what could've been but they'll never be.

"Come find me later and I'll let you make up for it."

Paying no heed to his instinct or logic, Oliver dares to dream with that possibility. Yes, he decides. He'll deal with Deadshot and the Triad, will tie the loose ends with Amanda and demand her to keep the promise she made him a long time ago, according to which she would release him from duty after time served under her command. That time has gone and passed. 

Before, he didn't have anything to live a normal life. Now, he does.

Felicity steals another kiss from him before walking away. Oliver resists the temptation to call her back as she sashays away. As if in a dream the crowd parts and regroups as Felicity crosses the dance floor. In a moment, she's there and, in the next, she's gone like smoke.

*

Oliver walks closer to the cozy cabin ahead. He strides onward with confidence, even if his stomach feels full of butterflies. He takes the front steps and watches the little porch with a couple of chairs. It's an ideal place to sit at night and stargaze or simply to enjoy a hot cup of tea in good company.

He raps two knuckles on the front door and waits. It seems that the butterflies in his stomach suddenly became lead as he stands there and no one answers the door.

John said she'd be there. Why isn't she answering? Before his panic blows up fully and he knocks the door down, it opens.

She's there with a smile brighter than the sun.

"Felicity," he breathes, his voice thick with emotion.

"There you are, handsome. I've been waiting for you for months. Did you have to drag your feet?"

Unfazed by the teasing, Oliver wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close to him. His lips trap hers, kissing her as he dreamed all those months since he saw her last. 

"I think," he says between kisses, "that I have some making up to do. Do you still want to collect the debt?"

Felicity laughs and then moans when he finds a particular tender spot on her neck. 

"Oh, yes. I plan to collect every penny and with interest," she teases as she hauls him inside the house. 

#olicity clue #my smoak girl #olicity fanfic #fanfic written by me #au

[theletterunread]

May Day, May Day, May Day

Last May, the world continued to fall apart, as it's been doing for many years – though at a noticeably accelerated pace. The coronavirus dictated everyone's life and kept me mostly in my apartment in Franklin Village, living a life that was just like my normal life, only moreso. I played video games (but for more hours at a time), watched movies (but more than usual), and read books (but longer books, like Ulysses and the last Karl Ove Knausgaard novel, that were too heavy to have carried around and read while commuting). I did a lot of new writing and got a few rejections for some old writing. Just as I had seven years earlier, I began to wish I had a piano – as my apartment’s previous tenant, singer-songwriter Rebecca Black, did – so I could pass my downtime creating something nice.

The May before that, my writing partner and I submitted writing samples through the WGA Staffing System in the hopes of being hired to write for a sitcom. This job board had been set up by the Writer’s Guild to help writers find work without the assistance of their agents, whom the WGA had instructed its members to fire following a dispute with the Association of Talent Agents. My writing partner and I were skeptical that anybody (least of all us) would be hired through this system – we figured staffing decisions would still be determined by Hollywood’s impenetrable cliquishness – but we knew there was nothing to be lost by giving it a try.

On a Thursday, we submitted applications to three shows. Two of them were cancelled by Saturday – almost as if our applications reminded the producers that they still had dead shows to clear out – and we never heard back from the third.

The May before that, a paralegal left the law firm I work at in Downtown LA because he’d found a job closer to his home in Long Beach. My boss took him out to lunch, after which he returned to the office to say his goodbyes. He thanked me for teaching him some filing skills, but I had trouble accepting the gratitude. Even after six years, I still felt like a pretender in the legal world, skeptical that I knew anything teachable.

Later that afternoon, my boss informed the rest of us that, at lunch, the paralegal had asked him, “Do you wanna smoke some weed?” My boss had declined, noting that it was noon on a Wednesday. Our receptionist said that he had recently made the same offer to her. But an associate attorney and I had never been offered the same opportunity even once in the six months we worked with him.

The May before that, my pianist friend passed through LA and we met for lunch in Westwood. He was the first peer whose hair I noticed was going grey. Mine had been turning for a few years already. Good for both of us.

When I returned home, I played The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, an acclaimed game which shares a lot of its DNA with one predecessor in particular: The Wind Waker. I was happy to see that game’s achievements respected by this new installment in the series because I still felt the exact same protectiveness of and identification with The Wind Waker that I had 14 years earlier, no matter that I was getting old and grey.

The May before that, I received a rejection letter from a literary magazine for a short story that I had submitted for publication 14 months earlier. I also received a rejection from a literary agent for a novel I’d written. Neither one upset me too much: the short story because I’d completely forgotten it was out in the world; the novel because the agent sent me back thoughtful notes, and I was touched that anyone would even take the time to read 75,000 words I’d written. Plus, it was easy to brush off literary set-backs. I had just had made my first business trip to Hollywood, and I was confident I’d soon be working as a sitcom writer.

The May before that, I got a sharp pain in my back anytime I breathed in deeply. The internet said it was probably a strain in one of my intercostal muscles, but couldn’t rule out pneumonia or something scarier. Not wanting a repeat of seven years earlier, when I’d ignored ankle pain and wound up in surgery, I visited a doctor. She diagnosed it as a strained intercostal muscle and wrote me a prescription for anti-inflammatories, which I never picked up.

Three days later, my friends and I were sharing interesting quotations over email (Tuesdays we shared poetry, Wednesdays paintings, and Thursdays quotations). The last contribution was from H.P. Lovecraft: “The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.”

The May before that, my roommates and I threw a party in our apartment. We invited 47 people and just about 47 people showed up. We had a great time until my landlord called me downstairs to show me that our front gate had been broken by one of our guests while departing. I esteemed my landlord so highly that there was little in life I hated more than disappointing him.

By the next morning, my roommates and I had determined who the culprit was, but we weren’t sure whether to ask him to pay up. While we weighed our options, I went to McCarren Park to attend a picnic hosted by a friend of mine from high school. I didn’t know any of the other guests, but I asked them whether, in my situation, they would reach out to the vandal and ask him to pay. They all said it was a tough call.

Ultimately, my roommates and I paid for the gate ourselves, swallowing the repair charge as the cost of hosting guests. As one of my roommates used to say when shrugging off his post-party hangovers, “You gotta pay the piper.”

The May before that, I wanted to resume playing the piano, so I made arrangements to buy an electric keyboard from a man who lived on the Upper East Side. I reached out to my only friend with a car – the same woman to whom I’d lost my virginity four years before – and asked if she would help me haul the equipment back to Bed-Stuy. She agreed on the condition that I would go with her to Rockaway Beach afterwards. Though the beach is my least favorite of all leisure destinations, I said sure and told her where to meet me.

She showed up to the Upper East Side without a car and without any understanding that I had expected her to bring a car. I had forgotten to ask for that, but it wouldn’t have made a difference: she hadn’t been vehicled for two years. I asked why she thought I would request her help with this chore, if not for her ability to bring a car. She asked why I hadn’t mentioned the car in my request, why I assumed she had one even though I had only seen her drive once, two years earlier, and where my gratitude was for her being willing to come out in 90-degree weather to help with such a tedious chore. Her rhetorical questions were better. We lugged the keyboard, its stand, its pedal, and a bunch of cords back to Brooklyn over two subway transfers and then went to the beach, where the temperature was about 40 degrees lower.

Even though the keyboard’s quality was affirmed by my (imminently greying) pianist friend when he came over for one of our parties, it didn’t scratch my itch the way a real piano would have. I kept it for three years until the speakers stopped working.

The May before that, I began working at a law firm in Midtown. I didn’t know how I landed the position, a phenomenon that’s repeated in every job I’ve got – or not got. Despite my supposed knowledge of film and TV, I’ve been turned down for writing jobs and even to work for Blockbuster. But I was hired to work at a venerable firm while knowing absolutely nothing about the law.

Between that respectable job and the largesse of my landlord, letting me live in Shangri-La for $600 per month, I spent my early-to-mid-twenties building unusual financial stability. I didn’t recognize it, though, and those were the years I was most worried about money. In the years before and since, financial anxiety was nothing; my worries were (are) about writing. And tidily, in that middle period, the creative side of life caused no concern.

The May before that, I graduated from NYU. More than any catastrophe I’ve lived through, that event created an atmosphere of the End of Days. Feelings of wistfulness and anxiety about casting off into the unknown were underscored by Collapse Into Now, the new R.E.M. album I was listening to repeatedly. It is a poignant record (though it wouldn’t be identified as such for another four months, it was secretly R.E.M.’s farewell album) but I was in an emotional state to be moved by any music. I couldn’t even join in the culture-wide mocking of Rebecca Black’s “Friday” that was going on; I found her earnestness unbearably touching.

At the end of the month, I moved into my new place in Bed-Stuy. My roommates and I had flipped for the apartment as soon as we saw it, not just because its competition wasn’t fierce – other prospective apartments had rat poison on the floor or 18-inch-high ceilings – but because it was spacious and cheap and distinctive, and because we liked the landlord. (And it went both ways: he told us that he had declined other possible tenants while waiting for our decision because, “I took a shine to you guys.”) And even though it was still a little strange to be sleeping and eating and showering in a new place, and even though a couple of teenagers had shouted at me while I was moving in – using what federal judges now call “racially charged language” – and even though I still had no idea how to shape a life outside of school, I felt better, because I was in My Home.

The May before that, I was finishing up a semester abroad in Ireland. At times during that spring, I compared myself to the freshman I’d been two and a half years earlier. I had been so naïve, so unworldly when I came to New York in 2007. Now, it was 2010 – a modern year, the dawn of a new decade – and I was 20 years old, living across the Atlantic. I had lived long enough to have a past, to have life behind me. I was a real person.

But if I ever had any specific examples of what made “Junior Year Me” more sophisticated than (or even different from) “Freshman Year Me,” I have completely forgotten them now. The two iterations are collapsed into one character in my mind. And when I see the numbers now, 20 as an age is much closer to the two decades before it than to the years that have come since, and 2010 looks like an absurdly miniscule year.

The May before that, I lost my virginity in a college dorm on 14th Street in Manhattan. It happened in the afternoon, after two failed attempts in prior evenings. The school year was winding down – when my girlfriend called to invite me over, I was packing up my dorm room, and when I arrived, her suitemate was in their common room, packing up her things – so there was no more room for error.

I recall looking at a digital clock, but I don’t recall what time it showed. Nor do I remember the weather, though I remember either being pleased that it was raining, or wishing that it were raining. For a redefining moment, it’s awfully hazy. The fog of war. I had to be reminded many, many years later that, after we finished, I offered a dirty joke that was extremely in and out of character: “I was packing boxes in my dorm, and then I came over here to pack boxes.”

Afterwards, I walked back to my dorm in the West Village. My friends and I had plans to watch a marathon of all of the videos we had filmed that year, and we did. It was several years before I told them where I had been earlier that day.

The May before that, I had an MRI on my ankle, which had been hurting for a year. After I left the hospital, I went to Blockbuster to interview for a summer job and absolutely bombed. I may have admitted that I only planned to keep the job until college resumed in September; I certainly volunteered that I knew nothing about high-traffic film genres like action or horror. When asked what movies I might recommend to customers, I offered artsy snoozers like Ed Wood.

Just as well that I was never offered a job, as the MRI showed that I had, “the ankle of a 70-year-old,” and arthroscopic surgery was scheduled. I spent the next two months first in a cast, then in a boot. I passed the summer making videos and uploading them to YouTube, thinking maybe I’d go viral, as I’d been hoping for two years. The most attention I got was from foot fetishists who liked when I showed my casted leg.

The May before that, my high school was shut down on what was supposed to have been my last real day of senior year. An AP Spanish Literature test and a band concert were scheduled for the day, after which I had no more obligations. But cafeteria workers coming in early in the morning spotted two masked men creeping through a hallway. The workers called the cops, the masked men fled, and the bomb squad was called in. School was closed for the day.

Had there been a bomb, this might be a disaster story known to lots of people of my generation. But there was no bomb, and it’s a story that even I forget most of the time. The general consensus was that the masked men were just students coming in early to set up some departing-senior stunt. They were never identified, though I was confident I knew who they were.

My test and my concert were rescheduled, so I had to keep going to school. The morning of the makeup AP exam, I told one of my classmates that I couldn’t help but wish we had been able to wrap up high school the week before, as anticipated. She cut me off and said, “You can’t even think about that.”

The May before that, YouTube penetrated mass consciousness. The notion of “going viral” was not known to us then, but it was still obvious how well the site could facilitate the spread of good work. I was certain that the videos my friends and I were making could be successful on there. We had so many funny ideas, it was inconceivable that not a single one of them would catch fire. Maybe not immediately, but it couldn’t take forever.

The May before that, Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith premiered. I disliked the previous movie, had forgotten the one before that, and was totally agnostic about the original trilogy, yet I convinced myself to be excited for this one: This is how a person interested in film should feel. My mom and I made plans to go as a treat after an afternoon laboring in the garden, and I invited a friend to come along.

My friend called back later in the day to ask if he could bring another kid from school to the movie. This other kid and I wound up growing closer in the last years of high school, but at the time, I still found him mean and unpredictable. I worried that he might laugh at me for still going to the movies with my mom, or worse, that he would act up in some distasteful way in front of her. My parents weren’t overly sensitive, but I was still haunted by a memory from a birthday party three years before: this kid seriously tasking my dad by telling an awful dirty joke. ("How do you circumcise a redneck?")

I lied to my friend and told him that the trip to the movies had been cancelled. Then I lied to my mom and told her that my friend had decided not to come. At the movie theater, I kept looking over my shoulder, worried that my friend might decide to come anyway (maybe even with the other kid), and I’d be caught. He didn’t, and the next day he asked if I still wanted to see the movie with him, so I watched Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith twice in two days.

The May before that, in Downtown LA (only a mile from the law firm where I’d be working 13 years later), Nintendo had a very successful presentation at the annual Electronic Entertainment Expo. At a time when its public reputation was shaky, Nintendo blew the roof off the Los Angeles Convention Center with a showcase of a new handheld, a new spokesman, and a new Legend of Zelda game. The previous entry, The Wind Waker, had drawn a lot of attention (mostly condemnation gradually giving way to praise) for its colorful, cel-shaded art style. This new game looked more subdued, realistic, and – in the parlance of the times – mature.

While I was excited by the new entry, I felt sad that it appeared to be such a blatant rejection of The Wind Waker, a game I had been defending against adolescent smears since before its release, a game I thought had proven itself to be a masterpiece. Yet here was Nintendo itself surrendering to the backlash and giving the haters exactly what they demanded. That wasn’t how the world was supposed to work, and I felt that I had been hung out to dry. These feelings were still with me more than a decade later when Breath of the Wild came along to close the circle.

The May before that, a blizzard hit Colorado. It was a spring snow, very wet and heavy, and it destroyed the plants that my mom had been adding to the yard since we moved in. She was in the house with my newborn brother, so my dad and I shoveled the walk. It was hard, slushy work, but I greatly preferred it to the lawn jobs and gardening I’d been doing over the preceding year. A private yard was supposedly one of the pleasures of living in a house rather than the apartments and condos we’d previously had, but it wasn’t worth the work that went into it. Visiting a public park or walking around the neighborhood was much more fun than sitting on your own boring lawn.

It wasn’t anything that would be relevant for eight years, and it wasn’t anything I was conscious of for longer than that, but I was developing a sense of what I dreamed would be My Home.

The May before that, my family was newly installed in our first house. Our old condo had been bought by a guy who ran an outdoor cinema over the summers, and he had given us three free passes. I went with two friends to see the second screening of the season, Airplane!

Before the show, one of my friends mentioned that he was going to be working that summer at his dad’s restaurant, and the other said he had been given a spot at his uncle’s factory (it made insulated water bottles). I felt left out, and wished that I could get work too. I wondered if there was a way I could leverage my knowing the man who ran the outdoor cinema into a job.

I remember that longing, yet I don’t remember how, two years later, I came to be working at the outdoor cinema. I have no record of who talked to whom and said what to get me that gig, the first of many positions I would get without knowing how. The job stayed on my resume until I went to work for the law firm in Midtown, but I’m not sure how useful it was. It wasn’t enough to get me in the fucking door at Blockbuster.

The May before that, R.E.M. released its 12th studio album, Reveal. I heard its lead single, “Imitation of Life,” while leaving the Albuquerque airport in a rented car, and was entranced. When we got back to Boulder, I asked my parents to buy a copy of the CD, beginning a fandom that hadn’t abated ten years later when I was listening to Collapse Into Now.

Four months after Reveal was released, the U.S was hit by the September 11th attacks, the first calamity of my life. I’ve never since looked at a copy of Reveal without thinking, “That was from the world before 9/11.” Directionless. And my ability to draw meaning from the eternal return has advanced no further.

#memoir #R.E.M. #zelda #coronavirus #tv writing #law firm #brooklyn #party #loss of virginity #piano #bomb threat #graduation #star wars #injuries #rebecca black

[furymint]

FFXIV Write: Prompt #26

wc: 830 | feat @kukurubean | header

Rotherham--

I've attached your grams to remind you of how you missed out on a delightful lunch:

it's 4am.

yeah im awake at this time but i gotta bake bread

fuck you rat

But I am a magnanimus and forgiving man. Lets make bagels at my house so I can grind your coupon-hating face into the sand

Cheers, L'selle Ran

Rothe folded the letter, threw it into the furnace, resolved never to humor that maniac ever again, and threw his apron into his pack so he could travel easier to the Mist.

When he stood before L'selle's door, the rising sun behind him flashing in the tinsel hearts plastered to the wood, he almost calmed. L'selle was an asshole, yes, but at least he cared for his home, and unafraid to show affection to his wife as she returned--

Then he remembered it was seven moons since Valentione's and Y'lantaa was away for weeks in the Shroud with her sisters.

So the hearts were for him. Rothe pounded on the door to wake L'selle, tried the door handle, and--it opened? The door opened. A curse in Ala Mhigan growled in his throat as he stepped to the coarse welcoming mat. He knew this was a trap the moment he saw naught out of place in the foyer. In the fish tank, anchovies darted away from his approach.

Although quiet, water splashed from the kitchen. Good. The bastard's home and up at least. Rhalgr knew half the scoundrels here could pick a lock as swift as L'selle could, but it showed self-respect to bar your door. L'selle didn't have much respect or belongings, so losing some of either would be a ruin.

Rothe turned into the hall and tugged his apron free of his satchel.

Outdated whale oil lamps illuminated the counter of the kitchen. Bowls and jars of flour, grains, sea salt, and yeast cluttered the table island. The sink was filled to the brim. And Al paddled through the water, slapping droplets to the walls and floor with his tail, and squeaked his delight as he circled through the miniature waves.

That's one rat located. Then--

The front door opened with laughter. Sandals clapped, and L'selle's voice answered anothers' question: "Everyone knows bagels are boiled. I ain’t japing you. And even if they weren’t--and I wasn’t ain’t--you’ve got the poison tolerance a Dunesfolk’d be jealous of.”

Rothe started towards the entrance. He refused to be discovered. He’d rather show himself out.

L’selle’s sandal went skidding across the floor and barreled into Rothe’s ankle. “Oh good! You made it, you danger-fist. First light. Gorgeous.”

Beside him, Allen removed his immaculate dress coat and draped it atop the fish tank. Though he prodded at his hair, a scented gel secured his bangs firmly against his head, and not a strand fell from place. He smiled at the slob ambling into the kitchen, and stopped to shake hands with Rothe.

“Ul’dah is well but too usual lately,” he began. “A visit to Mr. Zhawn would not go amiss.”

Rothe grinned less easily. He never spoke of Keit’a to Allen during any of his few meetings with the Carteneau regular. “Allen, yeah? How’re the--uh--heliodrones treating you?”

“Very well. Last campaign I uncovered a roguish sort taking cover in magitek armor. Sent him straight over the edge.” Nodding to himself, he walked with Rothe into the kitchen.Rothe did not want to ask what the edge was of. He swallowed, turned to take the sea salt jar in his hands, and attempted to pry it open. The lid stuck.

Allen watched, apparently unwilling to help or comment.

From behind the counter, L’selle snagged Al from the sink and carried the wriggling rat through the kitchen and to the table. Al squirmed free to leap atop an awaiting towel. His fur curved from his body in wet spikes, off-white against the blue cloth. Most everything seemed to be blue here, except for certain red things--the Maelstrom flag, the Thavnairian rug, Rothe’s face.

The jar did not pop or squeak or budge, and when Rothe finally gave up, it made a respectable clap upon being returned to the counter.

“Don’t go breakin’ my glasses, now. Surely that’s a type of disqualification,” L’selle whined, leaving his sapping pet to drain the sink.

“Didn’t know this was a competition,” Rothe scoffed.

Allen retreated to the table and poked Al as he took a seat. “It’s breakfast, that’s all.”

“For you it is, aye.” L’selle fit a massive pot beneath the spout and wrenched the water on. “Revenge, it is for me--and a laugh.”

Rothe pulled the next jar from the counter and tore it open. Flour puffed into the air, powdered his shirt, and settled just as soon. He couldn’t manage to keep the malice in his words when he added, “It’s just ridiculous, I think, to me.”

#ffxivwrite2019 #i think i cheated the prompt but #al was gonna have a bigger part #but then i added allen #bri writes #allen ravenwind #l'selle ran

[henkinsjenkins]

A professor’s Journal

This is a Fallout fanfic, Deacon X male Reader (OC)

Chapter 1: Lets make a deal!

Prologue | We don’t mention him

Story: Sole wasn’t the only one to come from vault 101, there was another. But he had escaped years ago and joined the railroad. Sole, following his fellow vault mate, learns what really happened at the switchboard, and why they don’t mention the Professor.

“-2274, March.13 I met the strangest man trying to break into my room today. His excuse? A man was dying, it was Charley so I knew the shades was lying. Ain’t nothing gonna kill that man. In the end it turns out the burglar was actually an agent from that Railroad. The one Charley kept yapping about. Was gonna decline their offer of course, I’m anything but noble . . . But living as a hack doctor for the rest of my life didn’t feel like it would be fun. Let's hope I’m not wrong.” . . . . . . . . . . . . 

“I heard the railroad is real.” One of the drunks had leaned over to the dark haired man that sat to his right. “I’m thinking about joining. It be like my new poor-pose. Besides drinking my life away.” He chuckled waving his glass. 

Deacon raised his glass at the male, sure the guy was a drunk but despite that he was assured by the boss to take this sort of thing legit for potential recruits or information. After being temporarily expelled from the Railroad, he had no choice but to do recon and spy work. 

‘See what those wastelands have. We can't run the Railroad with only 13 members.’ 

“Oh really? Why would you do that?”

The man babbled on talking about synths, being brave, and about how cruel the world was. Deacon knew it was nothing more than drunken blabber. 

What else was he to do? Boss told him to listen out for any potential, it wasn’t like Deacon had much of a choice. He only could investigate the small trading post until something else came up.

His eyes rolled behind his sunglasses ready to move on. At least until the man said something that caught his attention. 

“There’s a man. He’s sorta the only doctor around that isn’t wandering in a caravan. Nobody knows his real name or where he's originally from. Though I think he knows about this Railroad.”

Deacon edged the drunk to speak more about the man he was speaking about. A possible lead he could check out even if it was just a rumor, Deacon was curious if the doctor knew of their location. To prevent another attack like the last one, he had to check this doctor out no matter what.

“He wears that funky gas mask all of the time so you can't miss him. Nobody really talks to him and he doesn't-” 

Before the drunk man's words could escape his lips the man was vomiting all over the bar. Luckily for Deacon he aim on the other side of the stool. The bartender heard the sound of puking before cursing loudly at the mess his patron made.

“What the hell Charley?!” he walked over throwing his hands up in frustration. 

“Who gave ya another beer?”

‘Oops.’ Deacon thought, remembering he offered the man a beer when they first started talking. 

The said man, Charley only moaned in response before slumping against the bar in a drunken slumber. 

“I'll pay 50 caps to anyone who takes his sorry ass to the Doctor.” A few people got up but being closer Deacon was the first to grab the opportunity. 

“Up on the second floor, to the left past the second room. He's used to taking care of Charley. Alongside others.” 

Deacon nodded lifting the poor man's arm over his shoulder. Deacon did his best lunging the overweight man up the stairs but found it difficult balancing him.

Following the bartender's directions Deacon found, what he hoped was the Doctor's office. The door was locked and still solid enough to the point where he couldn't tell if someone was home. Sighing Deacon set the drunken man off to the side. 

He knocked twice before knocking again.

He waited but there was no answer.

Charley slumped against the hallway wall moaning in discomfort as he shifted. Deacon was glad he didn't hurl while they were coming up the stairs. 

Pulling out a bobby pin Deacon looked around him. Making sure there was nobody else is the shady hallway. Crouching he started to pick the door's lock. Thankfully he was good at this, so it wouldn't be long before he can break in.

Though before the agent could continue a cough from behind stopped his movements. 

“You know from where I come from. This sort of thing would land you in jail.” 

Deacon turned seeing a tall man with a mask. A gas mask nonetheless. 'Ah this must be the doctor' Deacon thought. The man stood there with a bag in hand and the other a small handgun pointed at Deacon's head.

 Slowly he could feel the panic creep on him, Deacon tried focusing on an excuse that would get him out of whatever sticky situation he had gotten into. Otherwise he was gonna have to visit the doc himself. Preferably a different doctor than the one in front of him.

“Well you see this man right here is sick! He needs medical attention asap. Otherwise he might die. So I thought I could narrow some supplies."

The tall man looked down at the snoring drunk. It was obvious the man was just in a drunken slumber, drool leaking from his mouth while he snored like a log.

“He looks like all the other drunks that pass out on the street."

Deacon swallowed before giving a quick save. “Not only that! I think I soaked up a bit too many Rads and could use some Rad-x myself. Of course I was going to-"

“What does that have to do with breaking and entering? Besides you're not even glowing." The masked man interrupted. 

Deacon gave a nervous chuckle. He wondered if it was too late to run at this point.

“It's not like you're the first one to try and break into my room. So I don't have anything worth stealing.” The masked man sighed, putting his gun away he took out a pair of keys.

Deacon moved aside as the man reached the door. He thought about making a quick dash for it and just coming back another day and trying again but with a new identity. Deacon watched as the man turned the doorknob to his room and walked in. 

This was his chance to escape but the masked man turned. 

“Are you coming in or just gonna stand there with your mouth open?”

Deacon thought about it and decided there was no time to waste.

If he was going to find information he had to do it fast. There was no point in staying around when there were other people he needed to talk with. The fact he needed to continue on with his mission and find more members was pressuring. Why bother leaving now? It didn't seem like the man was hostile.

“What about the guy outside?” 

The Doctor waved him off not giving a second look. Deacon wondered what kind of doctor this man was as he stepped into his office. Looking around it was a pretty empty room. A desk, bed and a few chairs. The bag he was carrying was sat down next to a few others, from what Deacon could notice to be duffel bags. 

“I seen that guy drink rat poison and he was good the next morning. This much booze won't do anything. No matter how irradiated it is.”

Deacon only took a seat after the masked man did, sitting across from him he couldn't tell exactly what the doctor was thinking. Should he say something? He thought realizing that they both were just sitting there in silence. 

The doctor had finally spoke, his voice was deep but muffled by the gaskets on his mask. It made Deacon wonder why he was hiding his face in the first place. Considering the drunk from before had said. Maybe he was hiding something. 

 “So, what's your real reason being here? Trying to assassinate me? Or maybe you're one of those Gunner boys trying to kidnap me again. If that's the case I'm gonna have to do something about that.”

Thinking fast Deacon recalled the drunks rambles from earlier. If the doctor knew anything. If the mask man didn't he might throw him an offer. As much as he didn't want to cause any more risk for the organization. They needed agents and having a doctor on board would help with the injured back in HQ.

“Okay...I'll just come out and say it. I heard you might have information on the Railroad that could help me join.”

“You want to join the Railroad?” 

Deacon could swore the man's tone sounded confused. Genuinely or fake he couldn't tell with the sight muffle.

It was obvious the man talking to him had gave in to Charley's bullshit and probably Arden's as well. He wasn’t sure how to exactly confront the sun glass wearing man's idiocy. He was nothing more than a shady doctor, working his best for caps. He sighed realizing his lack of social skills only fueled the craze maniacs of the trading post. All of which, had theories on who he was.

“Look, buddy. All I can tell you is that, a bunch of people started talking about this 'Railroad' awhile back."

 Their whole idea to protect these synths and free them from whatever machine slavery sounded noble but it isn't worth it. Synths were just machines that mimicked human life, why else would they exist? He never cared about whether or not they were human or if they shouldn't be treated differently. He was an ex mercenary doing his best to get by.

“I really don't know what old Charley here has been filling your ears with but I don't know anything about a Railroad. I don't even know what a synth is so you're barking down the wrong tree."

The Doc said re-positioning himself, leaning closer to the man in shades. “I would lay off interrogating drunks for the time being, and focusing on actually finding whatever evidence you're looking for.”

Deacon hummed, he knew well enough that he couldn't tell if the man before him was being honest. But that was the game and he had to only assume.

“Well, that's disappointing. Though I gotta ask, what do you know about them?” he poked further. "If they're the talk around town then there's gotta be something."  

The Doctor sat back rubbing his chin in thought. He didn't know per say if anyone really knew about them or had any valuable information. 

“I hear as much as Charley rambles about. Otherwise I haven't really heard about them.” He didn't have much thought on them or an option for that matter. “I can only guess that they're a voluntary group. I can't see it having a huge caps flow.”

‘So he’s also a Mercenary.’ Deacon hummed rubbing the back of his neck. It made Deacon feel a sense of relief. Not only was this man a doctor but he also had fighting experience. A two in one he thought.

Having a guy like him would definitely help. He got around, he could help with transporting synths, maybe even pick up information about the Institute’s whereabouts. The idea of convincing him to join was the interesting part. How would he convince an ex mercenary to join a practically broken down, no money organization?

“So you work in a caravan?” Deacon asked. He wanted to know a bit more before making his move.

“No, well...Maybe...At least I did at some point.” 

Stopping mid sentence, the doctor had to think about it. It had been some time since he worked his last mercenary job.

“I was a Mercenary and did all sorts of jobs. I'm pretty sure I did at some point. As of now I’m working as a doctor. So if you don't have anything wrong with you, you should leave.”

“But there is! I do need help, but its not...Medical.”

"Then why are you here?"

The doctor sat quietly waiting for Deacon to continue. 

“I have a second lead but I can't go traveling alone. I need a gun. Hearing that you're a mercenary I figured I could hire you.”

He wasn't sure how to respond to Deacon. The thought of getting back into mercenary work did cross his mind. He just wasn't sure he could fight like he used too. Getting older was obviously a set back, despite being only in his thirties. 

Playing doctor had its perks, but there was no real money like he did back in his mercenary days.

“So if I pay you, lets say, 50 caps just to get me there and another 50 to stick around. Would you be interested?” Deacon laid his offer.

“No.”

That was quick...

“Okay...What about...” Deacon pulled out his cap stash, it was noticeable that it was light and the Doc could see it. Much to his displeasure. He chuckled watching as the man struggled to come up with a better offer.

“My price is 200 and a well lit dinner. But for you honey, cause I'm feeling nice. I’ll do it for 100 with dinner in an alley.”

“Deal.” Deacon said throwing his hand out to shake. The Doc took Deacon’s hand and shook it. 

“A deal it is.” 

#fallout 4 #deacon x reader #Deacon #Deacon x mreader #deacon fo4 #professor #fanfic #videogame fanfic #fo4 x reader #fo4 reactions #fo4 #Thank you for reading #reblogs > likes #oc #Non Canon #male romance #best friend #friends to lovers #railroad #bos #brotherhood of steel #synths #fallout nv #fallout 3 #video games #long reads #x reader #male reader #next chapter

[blancheludis]

A/N: @iron-man-bingo​, square: Panic Attacks

Fandom: Marvel, Iron Man Characters: Tony Stark, James Rhodes, Howard Stark Chapters: 1/3, Words: 2.113 Tags. Friendship, Panic Attacks, Angst, Howard’s A+ Parenting

Summary: MIT is Tony's safe haven, at least until Howard visits and threatens all the good things Tony has built there, mostly his friendship with Rhodey. Giving into the panic building inside him is only the first step down a slippery road he is not sure how to recover from. 

---

The door opens loud enough to make Tony’s fingers itch with the need to throw something at it. There is exactly one reason that stops him – which, coincidentally, is the same reason why he is currently feeling like he is losing his mind.

Jarvis has called, barely half an hour ago, and warned Tony that Howard is coming. He climbed into his car already livid, barking for the plane to be ready. It is unlikely to assume that his temper will have cooled down by the time he arrives on Tony’s doorstep, ready to deal with all of Tony’s failings since their last meeting. Which are numerous, of course. Tony has never quite managed to art of not being a constant disappointment.

He is overreacting, he is aware of that. There is no escaping Howard, so he should man up and make the best of it. MIT is his safe place, though, or as close as it can be. Professors still compare him to his father or remind him of his father’s accomplishments, and he is sure some of them report back to Howard too. But. He has Rhodey here, he does not get smacked around for being too loud or too lazy or too stupid, he has room to think of the future.

Tony really does not want Howard to come here and destroy this little piece of freedom he has claimed for himself. He just knows things will take a turn for the worse after this. They always do.

“Tony,” someone asks behind him. The voice is familiar, safe, and still he takes a long moment to realize it is Rhodey. He is not relieved. In fact, he needs Rhodey to leave, immediately. “We’re going to be late for –”

“I’m not going,” Tony cuts him off, voice sharper than is fair between them. “Take notes.”

The short silence that falls between them presses like a physical thing against Tony’s skin. With effort, he keeps his eyes on the papers in front of him. It is last minute work he is trying to get done before Howard comes here, an attempt to appease him before they delve right into their usual destructive dance.

Rhodey clears his throat, obviously thrown. “Why are you not coming?” He should be used by now to Tony’s moods and shortcomings.

“Gotta work,” Tony explains shortly. “I’m behind on some stuff.”

He is not just behind, he has done the bare necessities for months now, feeding Obie and R&D just enough to keep them off his back. Usually, Howard does not like to involve himself with what Tony is doing, other than when complaints get back to him. Tony wonders who ratted him out. There are a number of people down in the labs who do not like the fact that Tony has been better at their job than they are since before he has started college, and at an unbelievably young age at that.

“Yes,” Rhodey draws out the word, voice full of disbelief, “because you can’t do all of this in your sleep – if you ever slept.”

Looking up briefly, Tony frowns. When he realizes that Rhodey is talking about their classwork, he swallows a laugh. How much he would give to worry just about whatever simple work the professors expect them to do for class. He would manage that four times over by the time Howard got here. His father is not interested in how Tony is doing in his classes as long as he does not do permanent damage to the Stark name. No, he is interested in usefulness, and Tony has always been lacking in that regard.

“It’s not for school,” Tony says and keeps his tone carefully even. “My father’s coming. I’ve been slacking off.”

It warms something in his chest to see Rhodey shake his head. “You’ve never slacked off in your life,” Rhodey dismisses easily. “Come one. Professor Elton will be mad at us.”

There is worry creeping into the corners of Rhodey’s eyes. It is still a miracle that anyone would care enough to worry about Tony – other than Jarvis who, in his defence, is paid for it. For the first time, though, Tony does not want Rhodey to care.

He looks up, focuses his eyes directly on Rhodey, and says, “I need you to sleep somewhere else tonight.”

Distantly, Tony is aware that he is doing more damage than good, merrily burning all his bridges. He needs Rhodey gone, though, needs to protect the only friend he has ever managed to make from Howard’s poison. Selfishly, he admits, he also wants to protect himself. He does not think that Rhodey would believe what Howard is saying about Tony, but there is some truth to it, and he does not want Rhodey to look at him differently, to see what a mess he really is.

“You – what?” A scowl is now etched deep on Rhodey’s face. It has Tony desperately wanting to take back his words – if he did not think they were important.

“It’s just that my father, well, he’s –” Tony is feverishly thinking of a viable excuse. Something that will get Rhodey to leave but not destroy their friendship.

“He has something against black people,” Rhodey fills the silence with a dry and unimpressed tone, staring at Tony as if he has never seen him before.

“Yes,” Tony exclaims, almost relieved, despite the shadow crossing over Rhodey’s face. That is such a simple explanation, he should have thought of it himself.

though, for all his failings, Howard does not think black people are worth less than others. He is generally only prejudiced when it comes to politicians, stupid people, and his own son.

“So,” Rhodey’s expression darkens further when he sees that Tony continues nodding, “I’m an embarrassment to you?”

Time crashes to a standstill as Tony is left to gape at his best friend. “What? No,” he protests, turning around to better look at Rhodey. He can see that, no matter what he is going to say, it is only going to make things worse. “It’s just that it’s better not to poke him when he’s already going to be mad.”

“Because you didn’t do some work you were apparently supposed to be doing,” Rhodey sneers, clearly not believing a word Tony says, “and are rooming with a black guy you never told him about?”

Tony has told Jarvis and even his mother once when she deigned to listen to him. He has spent long evenings holed up in the kitchen with hot chocolate and cake telling stories about their adventures. He has pleaded Jarvis to make sense of this for him, of this friendship he does not want to lose for anything.

Still, Tony shrugs, both grateful and miserable that he has such good control over his expression. “That’s kinda it.”

How can he explain the raging storm that is Howard Stark to someone who has never had the misfortune of being in his way? How is Tony supposed to tell Rhodey that it will only make things worse if Rhodey tries to defend him in the face of Howard being, well, himself?

Before him, Rhodey takes a step back, looking for the first time in over a year like he had when they first met, annoyed and full of disdain at the kid daring to infiltrate MIT and being a complete human disaster while doing so.

“That’s low,” Rhodey says with that quiet kind of anger Tony fears because it is so different from Howard’s, “even for you.”

The words hit like a punch. Worse, because Tony knows how to brace against physical anger.

“Rhodey?” he pleads. “What –”

“No, thanks, Stark.” Rhodey says his name with as much disgust as Tony sometimes feels, but it is different like this, harder to swallow. “I’m done. Have fun with daddy while I’m looking for somewhere else to sleep.”

Not waiting for an answer, Rhodey turns around and storms out of their room, his steps long and heavy with angry purpose. Tony thinks about calling after him, but then Rhodey is already gone, never looking back.

As soon as the door swings shut, the floodgates open. Tony jumps to his feet as if it is possible to run from the sensation creeping up on him, and almost falls over again right away, his knees are so weak. He catches himself on the corner of his desk, clenches his trembling hands around the flimsy wood.

He knows this feeling, this helplessness in face of the world spinning out of control. He knows it like he does DUM-E’s code. Yet, he has no idea how to fight it, how to resume control over his body and his thoughts.

Tony is vaguely aware that he is breathing too fast, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Over the rushing in his ears, it is impossible to hear anything, however, and when his vision darkens, black spots appearing in front of him, he almost gives in, just like that, without a fight.

Rhodey’s face swims before him, even more contorted in his memory, sneering down at him. That hurts more than Howard’s disdain ever did. He is not sure whether he can withstand both their judgement in one day.

It always ends like this, with Tony messing up and turning all he thought was good into a ruin. He got the Stark legacy to uphold but mangles it further with every clumsy attempt he does at living up to it. He found a friend but pushes him away the first time things threaten to get ugly. His hands are supposed to build and yet he only ever manages to tear things down.

Minutes or hours pass while Tony is caught in the unforgiving spiral of his thoughts, every now and then gasping for air that burns inside him.

Once he has calmed down enough to register again what is real, Tony finds himself sitting on the ground in front of the desk, back pressed against the hard wood. When he dares to look around, the room is empty. He has half expected Rhodey to be there again, to kneel in front of him and coax him back to reality by talking about mindless things. Instead, Tony is left with the ungrateful task of putting himself back together all on his own. Perhaps he has bitten Rhodey’s helping hand one too many times now, finally leaving him free from Tony’s horrid influence.

He sits for long minutes and stares at the door. Every minute that passes is more time wasted, he is painfully aware of that, but he cannot move, can barely breathe. His whole body feels incredibly heavy and hollow at the same time. The thought of Howard coming closer makes it only worse.

Why does Howard always have to ruin everything? A laugh falls from Tony’s lips, sharp-edged and entirely without humour. Howard can be blamed for a lot of things, but Tony is an expert at leaving only ruins in his wake himself. That might just be the only family tradition he keeps up without any effort.

Finally, Tony manages to push himself back up, using the desk to keep himself stable. It is ridiculous how weak he is feeling. He can only imagine how bad it will be once Howard is gone again. He always takes so long to feel even remotely human again after hearing all of his failings recited to him.

His thoughts are running away from him as he feverishly tries to get at least some of the work done he neglected over the past weeks. He could not help himself, too caught up in the experience of feeling at home somewhere, of not being alone. He guesses he will not have any problems with that in the future.

 Time both drags on and flees as it often does when something inevitable is up ahead. Tony recognizes the steps long before the door is pushed open without knocking. His insides are already knotted up with dread.

“Anthony,” Howard bellows. There it is, the eternal disappointment already written all over his face.

The air rushes out of Tony’s lungs even as he gets promptly to his feet, spine straight, ready to be judged.

The well-known panic he has just managed to push down, back to where it is always simmering inside his bones, wells up again. This time, he does not let any of it show on the outside. He allowed himself one moment of weakness and even that was too much.

Starks are made of iron. Panic has no room here.

He is sure he will give into it again later. He always does.

#iron man bingo 3000 #marvel #tony stark #rhodey #mit era #panic attacks #friendship #howard's a+ parenting #my writing #ao3

[skulldxddy]

"Was it worth it? Was it really fuckin' worth it!?" His face is sharply yanked upwards, maybe a little too roughly given his current state. The fingers that hold him tremble, then smear a bit of the blood running from his nose across his cheek because she just can't hold herself still. "What's up with your edge, Guzma?" Max knows she sounds strained, because unlike other times, she's worried out of her mind. "Something's not right lately! 'S like you're leaving yourself behind."

  Stubborn as fuck is what he should’ve expected of Max. When he stumbles on in looking like a hurricane’s torn through him, he can’t expect her to obey every time he shrugs her off, tells her it’s nothing, go away. It ain’t always been this tense ‘n noxious between him ‘n her, just the past month. For as long as he’s been getting his head poisoned by Aether’s devil research. It’s a long way down, and the further along he treads it the deeper he threatens to take Max with him. To take everyone with him. Is it really so bad to ask for some fucking distance?

   Guzma can’t keep up the act when he escapes to his room, a place that’s as trashed as his state of mind. Max must’ve heard him collapse ‘cause it ain’t a second later that she bursts open his door, clearly sick of the cold shoulder. Guzma doesn’t have to explain, or even look at her. Bruises streak his busted features, blood still fresh in skin, in clothes, in hair; mixture of his own ‘n someone else’s. The defeated way he carries himself must be what she’s really here for. The toxins are beginning to wear off, and the comedown strikes harder than ever. 

   As the President’s loyal attack dog, he was to tail a suspected whistle-blower home, dispose of ‘em. He couldn’t fail her because failure endangers her entire life’s work, or at least that’s what Lusamine said. It would’ve been easy, but the rat was already one step ahead of her sneaking suspicions, and Guzma can’t remember anything beyond being surrounded. He wishes he could say he felt good of the outcome, but it don’t matter. He already accomplished what he set out to do, and that’s get fucked up in a way that don’t involve the other habits.

   Guzma sniffs and gags, swallowing blood with a retch before Max yanks his face to her level, forcing him to finally see her through one empty eye. She’s trembling, he feels it. It’s conditioned in her—when Boss gets all messed up, it’ll always be her mess to clean. She’s sick of fixing up his disaster, he gets that, ‘cause it always ends the same way between ‘em time ‘n time ‘n fucking time again, but the more she asserts her voice—shit, keep it together Guzma. Why’s it now that he’s gotta start sobbing like a bitch? Fuck, not with her here.

                                             What’s up with your edge, Guzma?                     WAS IT WORTH IT? WAS IT REALLY FUCKIN’ WORTH IT!?                                           WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU, GUZMA? WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?

   “D-Don’t .  .  . fuckin’ yell at me like that, Max.” He knows those aren’t words Max wants to tell him, it’s clear in her voice, but this is it. Lectured by her, it’s the moment he breaks.

   Blood, tears, fucking everything’s pouring outta his sorry face and he hates nothing more that he can’t make it stop. Ain’t a time he’s felt so beaten down since those words, but Max doesn’t know. She ain’t at fault for some old shit that plays in his head like a broken record. 

               It’s not her fault. It’s not her fault. It’s not her fucking—IT’S HER FAULT. 

   “Just—enough already. Enough, SHUT UP!” he snatches one of the countless of empty bottles scattered across his filthy carpet, smashing it against the door to force her to silence. 

   “I had a job to do, and I—f-fucked it up .  .  . a’ight? That what you wanna hear? The one and only big bad Guzma FUCKED IT UP!!!” His voice cracks where he aims to make sure the entire mansion hears when he spits those words in her face. Guzma tries to pick himself up, but his knees come crumbling back down again, and his fists catch tightly to the front of Max’s shirt because all he wants ‘n all he needs is just fucking something to hold onto.

             “I ain’t even report it to the Prez yet, and I—” It’s so damn hard to say it. 

                                                “I’m fucking scared, Max.” 

#why do you DO THIS TO ME MARY #maxskulline #✖ [ GUZMAX ] ash is our purest form. #✖ [ ARC 3 ] come over when you're sober.