#have mercy on me PLEASE let the editing process save this PLEASE

[smoreal]

I.. I think I butchered the fic that I’m writing ;^; like I wanted so badly for it to go in a specific direction, but it didn’t and I kinda forced it and now the characterizations are… everywhere oh brother

#:) pain #this is fine #haha it’s not it’s not #I wanted it to be good so bad #anyways I think I’m gonna post it after I edit it a couple more times #bc it… #it has a deez nuts joke. #and I think it’s funny and needs to be shared. #shitposts #have mercy on me PLEASE let the editing process save this PLEASE #bc the actual premise was so promising #I’ll have to start over completely bc many things changed while I was writing it and now it’s just UGH #okay that’s it I’m done talking about it #ramblings #clenched jaw tag

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

This or That Gothic Edition Snippet 19- Imprisoned Monster

Inspired by my answers for this post by @blackrosesandwhump!  

Whumpee crept through the castle halls, holding their lantern in front of them. The storm raged outside, sending sheets of rain down onto the washed-out roads. Whumpee didn’t feel like being drenched, so they thought they would ask the castle’s owner for shelter. The more they explored, however, it became evident that the castle had been abandoned for years. The windows had a hazy film covering them, and the thick layer of dust laying in the carpet absorbed any sound that Whumpee’s footsteps would have made. Unused cobwebs adorned the corners of furniture and light fixtures; even the spiders had forsaken the place.

“Hello?” Whumpee called for a third time.

No answer greeted Whumpee, save for their own echo. They shivered as a draft blew through the castle halls. Eventually, they reached a large, oak door. Pushing it open, Whumpee was greeted by something that surely belonged in a mausoleum. A coffin of marble, sitting in the center of an otherwise empty room. Heavy chains of silver held the lid down. The floor was made of cold stone, and it made a clicking noise as Whumpee walked across it. Oh mercy, had they stumbled on a dead person’s home?

Whumpee was just about to back away when they heard it: a weak yet distinct pounding. It was coming from the coffin. Everything in them told them to run, but Whumpee found themselves stepping closer all the same. Whumpee blinked, and the next thing they knew they had removed the chains.

The lid slid off of the coffin with a deafening sound of stone scraping against stone. Whumpee jumped back with a yelp. Slowly, a figure sat up inside the coffin. Their head turned, and red eyes stared into Whumpee’s.

“Do I have you to thank for my freedom?” the figure asked, their voice sounding like it hadn’t been used in years.

Whumpee nodded, rooted to the spot.

The figure climbed out of the coffin soundlessly; they seemed to glide as they strode over to Whumpee.

“What should I call you?” the figure asked.

“Wh-” Whumpee swallowed, “Whumpee.”

“Hm,” the figure mused, “it’s fitting. My name is Whumper. Welcome to my castle. I would have greeted you upon entry, but as you can see I was otherwise detained. Thank you, Whumpee, for releasing me.”

“Um, s-sure. Anytime.”

“It’s unfortunate that after you’ve given me my freedom, you must lose yours, but I haven’t had anyone to talk to for many years, and I daresay I am in need of a companion.”

Whumpee blinked, it took them a minute to process what Whumper was saying. Before they could turn to run, Whumper had sank their fangs- they had fangs!?- into their neck. Whumpee wanted to struggle, but Whumper held them tight. They began to lose the ability to stand as Whumper drained them of their blood.

“S-stop,” Whumpee breathed, “please.”

Whumper continued to drink for a few moments more, then detached their fangs from their victim’s neck.

“There there,” Whumper soothed, “forgive me, but I haven’t had a meal in so long. Come now, let’s get you to your room.”

The world tilted on its axis as Whumper lifted Whumpee into a bridal carry. The storm continued to rage outside as Whumper carried them down the halls to a large bedroom. Whumpee was limp in their hold. Whumper laid them down ever so gently on a bed. Even though they were lying still, Whumpee’s world spun. Soon enough, dark spots clouded their vision and their eyes fluttered shut. They couldn’t see Whumper smile down at them, nor feel them run a slender hand through their hair.

Whumper smiled at their little human. They looked so peaceful like this. What a wonderful companion they would make.

ko-fi

tags:  @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm

#vampire #vampire whumper #vampire x human #carewhumper #yandere whumper #yandere vampire #whump #hurt/comfort #this or that gothic edition snippets #human whumpee #nonhuman whumper #imprisoned monster #writing #writeblr #creative writing #gothic #gothic whump

[spicysoftsweet]

summary: gojo’s tired of you resisting him

warnings: home invasion, noncon, degradation, fem!reader

a/n: this was supposed to be a crumb for @mahitopegger i have no idea wtf happened. i didn’t edit this || reposted from sideblog (now deactivated) on 4/17/2021.

It was only after the soft click of your door, and the eerie silence thereafter that seemed to threaten to close you in, that you realized that something wasn’t quite right. Your eyes darted left, then right, and you kicked off your shoes slower than usual, setting them semi-haphazardly to the side of your entryway.

Even if you weren’t paranoid, you were still the type of person to double check, sometimes triple-check your locks on occasion before you left your home, and you did remember your key turning the right way just seconds ago.

Maybe you were overreacting - after all you lived in a relatively safe area, alone save for your cat with a propensity to mewl for food at all hours of the day. Ah, that was possibly the issue, the fact that your little furry friend hadn’t made his presence immediately. But he knew how to be quiet sometimes, and was fond of an early afternoon nap.

The sound of your keys clattering on your coffee table now seemed unceremoniously loud, like you were disturbing a religious service. In your own house.

Your heart started to race for just a moment, and you turned around quickly.

Nothing. No person, no ghost, no cat. Just you, a sudden sense of unease, and your rapidly beating heart.

Why were you so anxious?

You couldn’t recall the last time you’d felt so unsettled for the moments in which you paced down your hallway, ears tuned to the soft footfalls of your presumably sleeping companion. You would have whispered its name but you didn’t want to wake up the needy little bastard unnecessarily.

It was only three paces in that you stilled suddenly, and the memory of the last time you’d felt this way suddenly struck vividly in your mind.

Clear blue eyes, bordered by long, pale white eyelashes. A smile, once easy and bright, with corners turned up far too high into malice.

You froze.

Was it him? Was Gojo in your house? He wouldn’t... would he?

Your last encounter had been... suboptimal, to say the least. You’d all but told him to get lost, that you weren’t and would never be interested, not after knowing who he was, what he was.

You needed a quiet, calm existence. Your imprint on the world would be measured. You had to stay away from bad omens like his.

But his reaction had been unnatural. He hadn’t given you a real response, just a smile, and you had felt just as unnerved then as you did now before you parted.

You were clearly still spooked.

But these nerves were just vestiges of your anxiety. Gojo knew how to take no for an answer. Of course he did.

He didn’t - you opened your bedroom to find the young sorcerer waiting for you, your cat comfortable in his arms.

“Ah! You’re back~”

Gojo didn’t move; rather, he continued to sit in his relaxed position, legs outstretched onto the bed, palm stroking softly at the soft orange fur. The soft purr of the docile animal filled the air with sharp contrast to your wordless mouth, opening and closing once in shock, and the frenzied beat of your heart.

He smiled before his eyes did, and shifted on top of your covers, getting to his feet. Dressed casually in a white t-shirt and a loose pair of sweatpants, as though he’d been lounging around your house the entire day... as though he lived here.

“W-what are you doing here?”  You choked out.

His eyebrows furrowed, and his hold on the little creature relaxed, who remained for just a moment, mewing once before jumping off his lap, brushing by your legs that felt as though they would start shaking any moment, and then promptly sauntered out of the room.

“You didn’t tell me you had a cat,” Satoru remarked, now sitting with legs criss-crossed on the bed, hair mussed and relaxed, and with affect as bright as a child on his first sleepover. He patted the space on the bed next to him, beckoning you to come sit. “Did you have a good day?”

“Gojo, please get out of my house.”

His expression darkened for just a moment before it returned to its natural cheeriness. He patted the space next to him again.

“You must be tired. I can make you something. Tea?”

Your feet were glued to the ground, neither advancing nor retreating.

“P-please leave,” you repeated, more wary this time. Your hands were starting to shake and you watched his eyes flicker to them, then back to your eyes.

“Why would I do that?” He said, tilting his head ever so slightly.

His eyes bore into yours and you felt your stomach turn.

“Don’t you like my attention?”

“Satoru, please,” you continued, your lower lip wobbling inadvertently. “Please, just leave... I won’t tell anyone you came here, just... I can’t return whatever feelings you have, so just go.”

Your fists clenched and unclenched, but you still were so tense, planted onto the floor as though you were a sharp dagger thrust into vulnerable flesh. Why weren’t your feet moving? You should be running. Running as far as you can from this man who could just as easily become a monster if he so pleased.

As though he knew you’d already become powerless - not that it made a difference, the power differential was already so vast - he rose, walking towards you in an open, unguarded stance. He wasn’t afraid of you in the least. The very thought made your blood boil.

Once he stood before you, towering over your shorter, smaller frame, his lips pursed.

“Stop shaking.”

It was a command, given in an annoyed but direct fashion.

You don’t know why you eked out, powerlessly, “I can’t.”

“You weren’t this afraid when you were telling me to fuck off a couple days ago,” he noted. His hand rose to grip your chin, tilting your face to him. You don’t know when you’d started crying, but tears were now streaming down your face, warm and wetting his fingers.

“You’re crying? Where’s the sass you had then?”

“Please...”

Against your better wishes, his lips pressed to yours, and somehow then, your body remembered that adrenaline could also make you fight, and you did fight, thumping your hands balled into fists against his chest and his shoulders, as his hand gripped your chin tighter and his tongue forced its way down your throat. Once he’d gotten tired of your struggle, his other arm hooked around your waist, and he pulled you closer, pressing you against his body.

Your screams were muffled by his kiss as it grew deeper, and at some point, he’d decided on biting your lip painfully, drawing blood once he’d threatened you to shut the fuck up before he gave you something to cry about for real.

You remembered that the first time Gojo had kissed you, it had been soft and tender, nothing like this kiss that was violent and demanded submission; once his hand moved from its grip on your chin, it grasped your hair, fingers twisting and tugging to tilt your head back.

His lips left yours, now red and soon purple and blue, and made their way down your neck to mark them the same.

Every scream was futile, every plea for mercy fell on deaf ears.

At some point, you may have heard your cat meow for something... food? Out of sympathy? You weren’t sure, all you could think about were the painful hickeys on your collarbones and traveling down your bosom.

“I don’t know why you’re so resistant. You yourself called me selfish,” he murmured, ripping the top part of your clothing with the nonchalance with which one would peel a banana. At the sight of your exposed breasts, he was like a man rabid, slamming you backwards into the wall without much regard for head injury. His left arm caged you in, while his right pressed painfully onto your breast.

He paused for a moment, and grinned salaciously.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that~! You look so docile... it’s weird coming from you.”

To that, a fire renewed in your eyes, and you spat directly in his face. His lips curled again in satisfaction, barely reacting to the spittle dripping down his pretty features.

“Fuck you.”

“I will.”

With a small chuckle, he jerked your face painfully to the left such that you couldn’t look at him directly as he took your breast into his mouth.

The idea of this bastard suckling on you, loudly, lewdly as though you’d belonged to him only made the churn in your stomach worse, but the desperate attempts to a knee to his chest were met with barely a resistance. Like he knew you couldn’t hurt him and it was only a matter of time until you stopped and succumbed to him.

The process was already happening - you could feel your nipples hardening and a new flow of heat in your panties. Your tears became more prolific - no longer fear, but rage, but the hand that kept you steady against the wall was impossibly strong.

Your head swam as a confused pleasure started to replace the pain and fear you were feeling. More clothing was torn off of you, more of your skin was marked and licked and sucked. Once your panties were ripped to shreds, he lay your now languid and fight-drained body against him, cooing appreciatively at the new helplessness, pumping two slender fingers up and down your wet inner core as he moved you from the hard wall to the soft bed.

You almost thanked him.

His fingers remained within you as he laid you down, but once he withdrew his touch as your pounding hazy head hit the pillow, he replaced them with the roughness of his tongue, penetrating you without the least bit of shame.

You let slip the moan you had been holding in in defiance.

“That’s it, baby, let me hear you.”

He continued to lick and you continued to mewl.

Once he’d tired of the taste of your cunt, he invaded your privacy in the most all-encompassing way possible, pushing every inch of a greedy, throbbing cock inside of you. As you cried from the stretch, he shushed you with a hand clasped over your mouth to muffle your screams.

As if someone was going to help you. Maybe your cat would come and watch, but he’d found something else to do.

“I know it hurts but you’ll get used to it, I promise, babe,” he murmured, groaning slightly as he seated himself to the hilt. “There.”

He stilled and in the silence of the moment only punctuated by both of your soft pants, you remembered how to sob.

His nose crinkled, and he let out of a soft sigh, cock jerking impatiently inside you.

“Why are you so stubborn?” He mused, leaning against you so that his head rested in the softness of your breasts. He could hear your heartbeat that doesn’t beat for him... but rather it did, because he is the one making it quicken in some odd rhythm of terror and pleasure.

You didn’t speak because there was far, far too much to yell.

As though a timer had rung to mark the end of his empathy, he rose onto his hands again, sighing as he adjusted into the plushness of your walls that didn’t reject him as fervently as you did. He moved, shoving two fingers down your throat to gag your renewed protests as he thrust into you repeatedly.

The short gasps with every stroke only encouraged him, and the immense pleasure he found in the light of your eyes starting to fade into a placid dullness.

“You love me,” he informed you with every rut.

You didn’t answer.  

You weren’t sure what this disgusting repetitive sensation bringing your body to climax was. You were no longer sure what he was even talking about, just that there was a warm thing pumping inside of you and fingers down your throat and pain everywhere else in your body, particularly your neck and shoulders and arms and breasts, and you were staring into precious sapphires littering the base of twin lakes.

“You love me,” he repeated. “I know you do.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #yandere gojo #yandere gojo x reader #tw noncon #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo sm #not sfw #gojo smut #mae.drabble #mae.writing

[lailannajacobs]

Heart of the Night

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Summary: Bucky finds you after a mission that didn’t quite go as planned. 

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: lil bit angsty 

A/N: This is my submission for @wkemeup​​ 9k challenge, it’s not quite as edited as I would have liked but the end of the school year is always super busy so here it is! Congrats Kas, you are such an incredible writer, your talent absolutely blows my mind, it’s just unbelievable and I hope one day to have a tenth of your skill! You deserve everything great and more! <3

The needle trembled, metal glinting off the fluorescent light in your bathroom as it hovered just above the skin of your abdomen. The air reeked of copper. The pristine sink was marred with the dark red streaks of failure. You tried to swallow, but it felt like you were choking on your own throat. 

The needle approached the bloody canyon made by a knife you’d been too careless to avoid, and hovered there, trying to find its mark. The world swayed. You’d lost too much blood already. The needle clattered into the sink, black thread trialing behind it like a broken tether. You were somehow conscious — delirious? — enough to think you were lucky it hadn’t gone down the drain because you didn’t have time to call a plumber. Wait no. You’d just have to get a new one from the cabinet. You tried to reach for the needle. Your body didn’t react. Instead, it swayed dangerously, only your fighting instincts keeping you from tumbling to the floor by gripping onto the edge of the sink. At least there were some things blood could wash off from.

“YN!” that familiar voice burst into your apartment, “pool table. Five minutes. I swore to Sam that this was the day we finically beat Vision and his perfect calculations.”

You swore at the joyful ness in his voice. You couldn’t match that tone right now if you tried. But you had to. The mission had gone well. You’d done what you’d set out to do. Only you, the ever-present failure, had gotten yourself stabbed along the way. The only mercy was that no one else had noticed and you’d disappeared to your apartment without drawing suspicion. That was, until now if you couldn’t pull yourself together. You willed your body to close the bathroom door, but it wouldn’t move. If anything, everything only spun even more.

“Where the hell are...”

You felt his presence in your doorway. Felt his gaze like a physical thing. You were always aware of him. Even now was no exception. Maybe if you pretended he wasn’t there, he’d go away. Right. And the three-inch gash in your stomach would stitch itself up. You turned your head, not realizing how many abdominal muscles it took to look over your shoulder. Your pride and the death grip your slick fingers held on the porcelain were the only reasons the spinning didn't send you tumbling to the ground.

When your bathroom came into focus again, the only thing you really saw was Bucky taking up most of the doorway. And he was seething. His normally cool eyes were raging hurricanes, framed between hard lines of frustration on his face. They scanned you from top to bottom with deathly calm, from the sports bar you had on that exposed all your skin and the bruises you garnered during the mission to the sweatpants you’d changed into. An X-ray would have been less intrusive. You shivered. It was probably the blood loss.

You wanted to make up some excuse for your failure, but his anger was justified. You were a liability on the field. They were bound to have figured it out eventually.

He said nothing as he stalked over in a few brisk strides, fury emanating from him in waves. He stopped beside you, the pleasant smell of his freshly showered body chasing away the tang in the air. You closed your eyes. It was a coward’s move, but you’d take any peace you could get before everything you’d worked so hard to keep got taken away from you.

“Sit,” he ordered in a low, almost growly voice, “now.”

You went to sit on the toilet but tipped backward before you could make it. His arms gathered around you, easing you onto the closed seat. Your head lolled back and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“No.” He decided, “I need an explanation. Talk to me.”

It seemed like too much work. All you wanted to do was go to sleep.

“No,” he ordered as if you’d spoken the words aloud. Maybe you had.

You opened your eyes, caught in the crossfire of his icy stare, “Hydra agent during the extraction.”

“Shit,” he muttered.

The extraction of the French Prime Minister had been more than an hour ago. You should have been stitched up a long time ago. You should not have been dripping on the pale bathroom tiles.

“Surface wound,” you continued as professionally as your body would allow, knowing that even though you’d live, your failure was the reason for his fury, “came here. Was in the process of fixing it.”

“We have medics,” he growled, “what were you thinking?”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t about to tell him how your presence was a poison that would likely get them all killed eventually. Or that your constant mistakes were your own consequences to deal with — to fix. He probably knew that all ready. His question had to be rhetorical.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if he were trying to steady his anger. You stared at him, the winter soldier kneeling before you, his calloused hands still resting on your hips. He let out a sigh, his breath warm on your stomach.

“I should call for a medic,” he still hadn’t opened his eyes.

“Please don’t,” you whispered, “I can take care of my own mistakes.”

His lids snapped open, piercing blue eyes pinning you to the spot with their ice cold intensity. He was obviously still pissed. But he didn’t call for a medic. Instead, he got up, warm hands leaving behind nothing more than goosebumps and shivers — from the blood loss, of course— and picked up the needle.

“This is going to hurt,” he murmured once he was kneeling in front of you again.

You tried to nod, but the motion sent your vision spinning again and you gripped onto his shoulder for support, the metal sturdy beneath your grip.

He looked up into your eyes, “are you sure you want me to do this? It’ll leave a scar and it won’t be pretty.”

“It’s only fitting,” you coughed a laugh, “at least the outside will start looking like the inside.”

His brows furrowed but he didn’t say anything. He knew what you were. You were a mutant who somehow got the ‘gift’ of being able to make anything stop functioning. You could make plans fall apart. Kill a software program. Stop a body’s functioning. Even ruin a functioning team like the Avengers. With skill, you should have been one of their greatest assets, ruining everything that threatened the world. But your ‘gift’ extended to yourself as well. You ruined everything you touched. Even the good. Especially, it always seemed, the good.

He pierced your skin without warning, but you were glad for the pain. It gave you something else to focus on than the echoing thoughts of your failure. But Bucky was gentle. Despite the anger you knew must still be there, his movements were delicate and focused, hesitating whenever you winced or sucked in a breath.

By the time he tied the knot, you were surprised you were still upright. He might have been efficient, but you couldn’t tell if it had taken seconds, minutes or even hours. His hands cupped your face and eyes you hadn’t realized you’d closed fluttered open. He was so close now, his expression pinched with worry. You couldn’t help but wonder how it could be for you.

“I’m almost done,” he said softly, “but you’ll probably need a transfusion.”

Adrenaline kicked in. You couldn’t. He couldn’t. Not when you could barely keep your eyes open.

“Please don’t take me there,” you begged, “I can’t hurt anyone else.”

Your abilities rarely activated while you were asleep, but you wouldn’t risk the lives of the other patients or the doctors by going down to the medical wing. Years ago, when you’d realized what your abilities were, you’d stopped sleeping anywhere near anyone else. Now, hurt, there was an even greater chance you might lose control.

If you hadn’t been working so hard for consciousness, you would have also told Bucky to leave. But it wouldn’t have mattered. For some reason, he always stayed. Even when he was within the radius of your power. Even when you told him to go. Especially then. He always stayed.

“I won’t hurt anyone else,” you choked out, “I always hurt someone else.”

His thumb brushed across your cheek, “and yet you saved me today.”

You looked away from his burning gaze, your tears threatening to spill.

He continued, mercifully ignoring your watery eyes, “even though you were hurt you dropped that Hydra agent before he could shoot me in the back. We didn’t lose a single agent today, YN. That’s because you were there.”

“No,” you tried to shake your head, but his hands held on tightly, “they — you — saved yourselves. I got stabbed.”

“You got stabbed because you were busy watching everyone else’s back,” he growled, that earlier anger returning.

“I ruin things,” you repeated for what felt like the millionth time.

But it didn’t matter. He never seemed to believe you. But he needed to. You desperately needed him to before you ruined him too.

“Please leave,” you whimpered.

His answer was simple, “No.”

He took his hands back, but it was only to find some gauze to place over your cut. Once he was done, he scooped you up so gently the movement only hurt a lot instead of blinding pain and brought you to bed.

You gripped his shirt, fist balling up at the hem with all the strength you had left, “you need to leave, Bucky. Now.”

For some reason, the bastard smirked, “Someone has to make sure you don’t die in your sleep.”

“I’ll be fine,” you snapped, though it lacked any kind of force.

He didn’t look impressed, “If you were fine you wouldn’t be begging me to leave. You’d be downstairs with me and we’d be getting our asses handed to us by Vision and Sam like every other Thursday night.”

You wanted to protest. You wanted to protect him, but you had no fight left in you. And with the plush mattress calling you to sleep, the world went dark before you could figure out a way to get him to leave.

“All right Destructo, show me what you’ve got.”

You weren’t a fan of the nickname, but you weren’t about to tell the Tony Stark to shut up and use your real name. And anyways, as much as you hated using your abilities, and how you were always overcome by the tidal wave of fear that sent fear rolling like waves throughout your body, you always felt better — healthier even — after using them. And he was giving you free range now.

Eight suits surrounded you in a perfect octagon, hands out like they were ready to strike. Tony had somehow altered his suits so that they’d shoot bubbles — of all things — instead of small blasts and said you’d only be alive if you managed to take them all down before a single bubble came out.

A small grin unwittingly made its way onto your face.

“Glad to see you’re having fun,” Tony remarked, “it’ll come in handy for future testing. Ready?”

You nodded and ignored the bit about future testing. They might have thought they wanted you now but after they saw how much of a curse you really were, they weren’t going to keep you around long enough for future testing. You prayed that day wasn’t any time soon.

But you were ready now. That was until Tony’s voice crackled through the intercoms once more, “just make sure you don’t kill anyone of us in the process. I’d hate to miss Taco Tuesday.

You lifted your chin, “Give me thirty seconds with the enemies and you’ll have your taco.”

“Such confidence,” he remarked with a chuckle.

It was false bravado but you wanted this. You wanted out of your hell hole. So you weren’t about to let him see any of the very real fear that you actually might kill him. in the process.

You let out your power in a giant blast.

You bolted upright, gasping for breath. Black spots clouded your vision but you forced through the waves of dizziness, looking for the one person you couldn’t bear to hurt. He was supposed to have left. Your next breath never came. Bucky’s long limbs spilled over the edges of the chair in the opposite corner of the room, his phone resting on his chest. His eyes were closed, a peaceful look on his face but that didn’t mean anything. The dead often looked at peace.

Then his phone rose and fell with his chest. You held back a sob. Your relief would have sent you tumbling if you hadn’t been sitting. He was alive.

Without your blinding panic, the rest of your room came into focus. He’d left all the clothes you’d strewn over the chair in a neat, folded pile on your dresser. You glanced over at your alarm clock for the time, which was…off. Your dread clenched it’s fist around your stomach. It had been on. So had your air conditioning unit. And where was the constant hum of your ancient refrigerator?

“They’re all fried,” Bucky’s gruff voice came through the silence as if he’d actually been sleeping, “the phone gave a nice little shock when it died. Snapped me out of my sleep that’s for sure.”

Your heart was still trying to hammer its way out of your chest when you said, “You could have gotten hurt. I don’t know how you’re not.”

“I do,” he replied simply, eyes finding yours.

“No, you don’t,.” you shook your head more than you had to, “No, you can’t.”

“I can because I’ve trained with you almost every day since you got here. I know that your gift,” you scoffed at the word but he kept going, “your gift works differently depending on who and what you’re targeting. And I know you don’t target people. Not unless you have to and even then I see that it kills you to do it.”

You looked down at your sheets, hating the way his words resonated through your body, refusing to go away. But you could still ignore it.

“That might be true, but Tony has been making his suits to withstand me. In case I can’t control my powers and they hurt anyone on our side. He might say it’s in case we meet another mutant with powers like mine, but we all know that’s not true.”

“Why can’t it be both?” he huffed then took in a slow breath. It did nothing to hide the growl in his voice when he asked, “None of us are perfect, why do you have to be?”

Because, even as a full grown adult, you were afraid you’d somehow end up back in that orphanage, unloved and unwanted because all you did was ruin things. And you didn’t know what you’d do if you ruined the closest thing you’d ever had to family. Perfect kept you here. Perfect kept you safe.

He stood from the chair, and came to kneel beside your bed. He brushed aside the hair that had stuck to your forehead with sweat, calloused fingers resting gently on your cheek when he was done.

“You’re one of us now” he whispered as if he could read your mind, “and I — we — won’t let you go that easily not matter what you think of your abilities. Even if that means I have to inspect you for cuts and bruises myself after every mission. You are good, YN.”

You could only nod, taken aback by the ferocity in his voice. Still, it didn’t stop you from looking him over head to toe once more just to make sure he was okay. Then you noticed something off with him.

“Where’s your arm?”

He ran his hand through his hair, a sheepish look on his face, “it might have fallen off a few seconds before you woke up.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach, “I hurt you.”

He shook his head fiercely, “you didn’t. I’m fine.”

“But I could have,” you protested.

“But you didn’t,” he said, “you never do. Because despite what you might think, you control this thing inside you and we all trust you with it.”

You were about to object but he stopped you by pressing a light kiss to your forehead, and when he pulled back there was that lopsided little grin on his face that made you realize how light headed you were feeling, “one day we’ll get to a place where you’ll find this funny. I promise.”

And somehow, you believed him.

#bucky #Bucky Barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #Bucky angst #fanfic #fanfiction

[blownbybakugou]

I Am The Game

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐(𝚜): 𝚃𝚘𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚊 𝚂𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚔𝚒 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕣𝕖: Slight angst, Fluff

𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: Shigaraki poisoned Toga, but you made a cure and saved her life. Toga snapped and praised you as her god, then lead you to the league of villains, where Tomura took an interest to your quirk...

Word Count: 2.7k

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Blood, attempted murder, mention of actual murder, cussing, mind break (non-sexual), Yandere properties, tooth rotting fluff, aged up/down reader (22), slightly Ooc Toga.

The sound of a steaming kettle is what woke Himiko, her body jerking up from its placement and her eyes flashing across the room. She was startled from her surroundings, to say the least. She was not able to recognize anything around her, then her eyes land on you, a young woman in her early 20s pouring a cup of herbal tea into a mug and treading towards the bed Toga was seated on.

“W-Who are you?” Toga asks, scooting back until she was against the wall behind her. “My name is Y/n. You were betrayed by your leader, and I saved you from your demise.” You spoke strongly. “But why?” Toga softens, her muscles relaxing the slightest bit. “I have a proposal. You being loyal, agile and brave, makes you a worthy companion. And therefore, I would like to ask you if you would join me, be my partner in crime, or whatever you wish to call it”

Your voice was silky and pristine while your expression contradicted what she heard. Your eyes were dull, but she couldn’t exactly tell what they looked like exactly, since they were settled on your lap, and had no emotion in them whatsoever and the rest of your face was soft and glowing with beauty. “You barely know me, how do you know if I am as loyal as you think I am?” Himiko questions, giving a quick grin to show off her sharp canines.

“I have watched you for quite awhile. I knew what was going to come of you, and I felt that I should recruit you as my own, since they didn’t see the potential in you.” You hand her the mug of tea you had poured and look her in the eyes for the first time. Toga was instantly entranced, the color of your eyes flourishing and dancing in her own. “Drink this. It’ll get rid of the headache you have.”

She hadn’t even noticed the pounding in her head until when you mentioned it, but she takes the herbal mix quickly, eager to please you. She gulps it down as fast as she can and sets down the mug with a bright smile. “That was good tea Y/n-Chan! Thank you.” You are taken aback by the sudden change of mood, but make no mistake to question it. Instead, you get up to put the mug in the sink of your apartment.

“So, do you accept my offer?” You query, glancing back at a very giddy Himiko. “Yes! You saved my life, how could I say no?” Her enthusiasm was confusing to you. She is a villain whom found out her own boss backstabbed her, yet she is being so trusting of you. As if you were her mother, or sister.

“Wonderful. We will be moving a lot, and before we start the murderous sprees, I believe a talk with your former boss, is in order.” You state, walking over to her with a smug smile. “Oh my god yes! This is going to be so fun!” Toga beams.

You kicked down the door with a small smirk, looking at all of the people inside and giving them a mock wave. Himiko giggles and leaps over the now broken door sending a deadly glare at Shigaraki, whom was leaned back in a chair nearby. “Hello everyone. This, is a warning. Dishonor has plagued you all, and we’ve come to rip it down. If you do not change your ways of betrayal, I shall send you all to a nightmarish hell, where you all will perish in ways unimaginable. But anyway, this is my partner, Himiko Toga. You may know her?” You send a teasing laugh in the way of Tomura.

“You are weak, especially without someone of her abilities, and you were a fool to try and kill her.” You say, moving up to his face, his scarred, oddly attractive face. He growls, and places his hand firmly on your cheek, waiting for the cries of mercy to begin. Only for you to punch him right in the nose. “What do you think you’re doing, you handsy bastard!” You yell, shaking your hand out.

Shigaraki takes a second to process the event that just played out. You didn’t decay. He touched you, with all 5 fingers, and you didn’t decay. “Who are you? And what the hell is your quirk?” His raspy voice sought out. “None of your damn business”

“Join us. You’re clearly very powerful, and we could use someone like you.” You snap you head to meet his daring orbs and glare him down. “You have nothing for me, therefore, I will not stay.” You try and shake free of his grasp, but his grip only tighten in determination to have you stay. You were the one he was meant to be with. The only one who he couldn’t kill with his deathly touch. He couldn’t lose you like this.

“Let go.” Himiko demands, clasping a knife closely behind her back. “What if I make you a deal? If the girl stays with you, you can both stay in the league. Sounds fair, right?” Shigaraki grins, pulling you into him. “That’s the boss’ choice, not mine. I follow her now.” Himiko snarls. “I shall not stay unless I hear an apology for Himiko.” You sneer, pushing yourself away from him and pulling your hand out of his.

His body jerked at the thought of admitting he was wrong. But you were worth it. You had to be worth it. “I’m sorry, Toga. I thought it would be better for the league, but I was wrong.” He grumbles begrudgingly. Your breath hitched, much like everyone else’s. You hadn’t expected him to actually apologize. You thought he would refuse you, and you and Toga could move on. But no, apparently this guy really didn’t want you to leave.

“Okay then, I suppose we can stay. Are you okay with that Himiko?” You question, looking back at your shocked friend. “Of course boss!” She cheers, giving you a loose hug around the waist. “I’m going to work on something. Toga, I need you with me.” You motion over to a booth with a table that was a bit dusty, but cleared off nonetheless.

The blonde female skipped over to the sitting area as you walked behind her, trying to ignore the scarlet eyes that followed your every movement.

You both sat on the red cushions of the booth seats, and you activate your quirk to begin the creating process. A cyber holographic screen projects out of your eyes and you let it float in the awaiting air as you reach into your backpack for your keyboard and controller.

You set them on the dust covered surface and watch as transparent green strings go to attach into each of the devices you had placed there. “Wow! Your quirk is so cool Y/n-Chan!” Himiko gushes, smiling widely and bouncing in her place.

“Thanks, I suppose. Stand and pose with your knives. Look frightening if you would.” You claim, fingers pressing against the hologram to move the surroundings inside.

Happily, Toga obliges. She puts on a face much like a yandere’s and hovers her knives with one behind her and one in front, seemingly about to strike. “Wonderful.” Your hand mindlessly reaches out to the side, scanning her body all while your other hand typed in code to enter her into your program.

Shigaraki’s vision trained intensely on your abilities, his gaze landing strictly on the translucent green display even when his eyes tried to wander further. What the fuck was your quirk? The question haunted him, he needed to know what power you held that stopped him from disintegrating your body, that let him touch you.

You could easily feel the many observations of the others around you, but you pay it no mind as you program Himiko into your game. Well, many have called it a game, but it is no game. It’s a nightmare no one would ever want to live in, let alone see. You were the one who made it into that, and you were also the one who trapped people inside of it.

You snap out of your thoughts of misery, and continue typing code while letting your scan sweep over every inch of Himiko’s form. She had done many poses for you, and you had implemented twice as many into your data base with only doing some slight editing and Himiko was evidently cheerful about it.

“You can sit back down. I have what I need now.” You say nonchalantly, your gaze not leaving your work. “Okay, got it boss!” She says, seating herself almost immediately. “Would you like to give it a try?” You ask, typing one last line of key into the system before starting and holding the controller out to Toga. “This is gonna be so fun!” She excites, throwing her arms in the air and squealing. If everyone wasn’t looking at you before, they definitely were now.

“Okay, there are 31 enemies in the area, all of which are horrendously terrifying. They plan to kill you in the most awful ways, and if you get trapped I’ll pull you out right away.” You speed through the explanation, trying to be vague about the outcomes and twists so that she could not easily defeat the monsters inside of your game. “Got it boss!” She beams, grabbing the controller and getting sucked into your algorithm.

Shiggy couldn’t believe his eyes. Did Toga just get sucked into a video game? This was his every dream, and he feels the itch to want to talk to you and claim you grow with every passing minute. “Stop being a pussy and go talk to her, Scarface.” He hears a deep voice scoff. “Whatever patchwork” Tomura retorts.

You watched Himiko pass each fictional horror character with flying colors, each one of her tactics more impressive than the last. You were implementing her fighting style into the game while also observing her movements to know when to pull her out of the fake environment.

You were snapped out of focus when you heard Shigaraki seat himself beside you and you lift your head lifting up to give him a daring glare, silently lettting him know to screw off. “I saw your quirk.” He says, pointing to the green panel before you.

“Yeah, And?” You snort, going back to typing away at your keyboard. “I want to play.” He deadpans. “Fuck no. Go away.” You retort, shooing him off. “Why the hell not?” He growls, clenching his fists tightly. “Because you’re a dick, and I don’t like you.” You exclaim.

“You sound like a fucking 5 year old! Just let me play damnit!” He demands, looking at your unaffected expression. “No.” You respond. With Tomura’s distractions, you had completely forgotten about Toga, who was finished with the main course of the levels, and was waiting to be let in.

You use your quirk to let the luscious blonde back into reality, and listen as she gushes over the details of your powerful quirk. Well, that didn’t last long due to her noticing her former boss’ presence. “What are you doing here Shigaraki?” She asks, suspicion lacing her voice.

“I want to play her game.” He states, voice raising ever so slightly. You laugh at his confidence in the matter. “Oh, honey,” You start. “I am the game. And you have to be really special if you want to play me.” You giggle, packing up your stuff and leaving him there with a heavy blush.

ᴀʟʟ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ ʙʟᴏᴡɴʙʏʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏᴜ ©

#bnha x reader #bnha #mha #mha x reader #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki tomura #my hero academia shigaraki #shiggy #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki headcanons #shigaraki tenko #boku no hero academia shigaraki #shigaraki fluff #shigaraki x you

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ JUST ONE NIGHT ❜

Part III

with Johnny ‘Coco’ Cruz.

Warnings: angst af, not sorry.

Word count: 2k

Chapter Index.

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: @fromthesixteenthfloor

Masterlist.

Maybe you should have accepted the invitation from Mardi, your best friend, staying at Santo Padre instead of occupying your parent's house in San Diego. But the pain was too strong to stay there, with the risk of finding Coco walking through the streets or driving his motorbike. You haven't known anything about him for the past five days, and if you've been about to call him hundreds of times, fortunately you haven't. The one who has tried to put in contact with you has been Bishop. He has called for the last two days. But, what would have solved answering the call? Probably nothing. So you just let your phone ring, having a sip from the last bottle of tequila left.

Alcohol isn't the solution, but it's enough to hush your demons, alleviate the pain and make you sleep. So you have been drowned in a bucle of drinking the mexican drink for excellence the whole day, until your body asks you to stop and the hangover hits your head with painful lashes. Since you met him, you have been dreaming about a life together, about trips, about days at home doing nothing, about helping him every time he feels down. About whatever. But he was right. You knew about club shit when you started dating. What you weren't expecting was the kind of things he told you last time you were together. You don't need Coco to be on you the whole time, but if you read your text messages, every twenty yours there's one from him just sayin ‘yeah’ and ‘no’. That's all.

He wasn't busy with his own business to see what he was doing, and you were living it. You were sleeping alone, not knowing anything about his situation. You were passing the days alone, waiting for anything, with the anxiety and the sadness oppressing anatomy, squeezing your heart without mercy. But you loved him. You kept trying to hold him, to save him somehow, until you understood that there's no salvation for someone who doesn't want to be saved.

Cleaning a wild tear, you step out from the sofa, grabbing your house keys and your credit card to get out from it. You truly look like a mess, wearing a pair of long grey sweatpant, a white long shirt and some sneakers. Your hair is tied in an undone bump, no makeup in your face, but two black marks under your eyes. Almost dragging your feet on the ground, you lead your steps to the nearest shop to buy more tequila and maybe something to eat, because you have forgotten when was the last time you had a decent meal.

“Do you know what you're gonna tell her?” Angel drives by his side and behind Bishop, Tranq and Taza, highing his voice over the engine's buzz.

“No!” He just utters under the black bandana.

It only took Miguel five minutes to find you, after checking that you didn't cross the border to Tijuana and that your parent's house in San Diego was having in use the electric and water suministers. Packer sent someone to assure that you were really there, before giving Bishop the green light. Coco has never been more nervous than today, about to reach the place, trying to not think in a speech. He wants to tell you what he really feels from heart, without planning absolutely nothing. He wants to be sincere with you and finally break down the walls around him to let you come in. The last days have been an odyssey for him, being controlled every single second by the crew to not do any crazy shit, after hearing him asking to let him die. And, of course, it's going to be worse in case you declined the idea of coming back to Santo Padre with him, giving Coco a second chance. That's what it hurts the most, the fact that he believes you're not going to open him the door or, if you do, it's going to ask him to go to hell.

Reaching the white house with a blue rooftop, the Mayans park their bikes next to the sidewalk, under the attentive, confused and scared gazes from your neighbors. Getting up from them and taking off the helmets, to leave them over the seats, Angel palms his back trying to cheer him up and give him the strength and the motivation he needs to begin walking through the paved road breaking the garden in two sides. Brushing his hair back, followed by his brothers, he takes a long breath before calling the doorbell. One time, two times… Eight times. Coco understands that you don't want to see him, huffing resigned, but when he's about to turn around and leave the porch, Angel forces him to keep trying.

“Mami… It's me, Coco”. He says biting his bottom lip and licking his incisors. No answer. “Listen, I just… 'am sorre' 'bout all the shit I made. 'Bout pushing you away, 'bout talking you with those… fuckin' manners and 'bout forgetting the most special day of my life. 'Am so fuckin' sorry”.

Nothing. Not a single sound by the other side of the door.

“Keep trying, Coco”. Gilly whispers narrowing his left shoulder.

“Yo, ah… 'am fuckin' sorre'... I know you deserve better. I know you deserve someone who lives for you, for makin' you happy, for takin' care of you, and I know I didn'. And maybe it's too late to regret but… I will keep the promise of changin', of being a better man for you. The one you deserve. Just… fuck, please… Give me a second chance”. His voice breaks as he talks, feeling the tears piling up in his eyes because he doesn't have any answer from you. “Lis—Listen. Prez gave me some time out an—”.

“Yes, I did, kid”. Bishop interrupts him for a second, trying to be helpful.

“And you know… You have told me a lot of times that… you wou—would like to go to Disney and… I was thinken' about… goin'. Together. Onle' you and me, (Y/N). We can go on my bike, or… or in your car, or… use mine… I don' care, I don' give a shit, I will carry you from Cali to Orlando walking if you ask me for”.

Coco is about to cry from one time to another, feeling Angel gently caressing his back. He, better than anyone, knows how much he loves you and how much he cares about you. And maybe his friends didn't do the correct thing with you, but he's badly trying to fix up things between you two.

“Do you… Do you know that if yo—you shout ‘Andy is comen'’ all those… idiots from Toy Story have to fall down? Jus—Just imagine us sitting on a bench… screaming it the whole time, or… following them around the park…”

The guys can't help but chuckle, because they know you two are really capable of spending a day like that. Like two children.

“And you can… put me one of these... fuckin' Mickey's ears. I promise I won't complain”. He sighs bowing his head down, with a disgusting pain getting installed inside his throat. “And… there are a lot… of things about Marvel too… and shows and… a lot of things”.

Coco is breaking into pieces being ignored by you, starting to cry like a hurt kid. He's aware he has lost the best person he could find on earth. His soulmate. His best friend. He knows that it's only his fault. He can't blame his family, nor the club. Because it was enough to sleep with you at home, instead of staying at the scrapping. It was enough texting you one time a day.

“Fu—Fuck, mami, 'am realle' sorre'... You don' have to say something now… but, I don' know… maybe in some days. Now 'am feelin' what you felt and… it's a damn shit… 'am fuckin' sorre', I swear. I never meant to… you through this”. Hardly sniffing and barely breathing, he cleans the tears running down his face. “I will… stay around, in a hotel… if you wanna call me, or… maybe see me to talk alone… I don' know… whatever you want… Or, if you want me to go… ju—just tell me and I will… leave you in peace”.

“Let's go, Coco…”Taza says, placing a hand on his nape.

“No, no… What if I ju—just wait here, till she opens me the door?”

“It's better if you give her some time to think about it”. Bishop shakes his head for a second.

“Yeah, but… what if I ju—I just stay here? Maybe she… doesn't want to talk 'bout us because you're here”. He insists, but Angel is not going to let him do that, surrounding his shoulders with an arm.

“She will call you, hermano. You will see, ah? Seein' you on Mickey's ears worth it.” The oldest Reyes says then, turning around to come back to their bikes.

You are there. Standing up in silence at the beginning of the garden. You have been there the whole time, listening every word Coco said. His wide eyes are fixed on yours, holding a box of Don Julio between your arms, and a big cardboard bag full of doughnuts of different flavors hanging from your closed teeth. Angel pushes him with both palms on his back, forcing his brother to walk towards you. Spitting the bag over the box of tequila, EZ comes closer to grab them and free your hands, before throwing your keys to his old brother.

“The kitchen is at the end of the hallway”. You just say, waiting for them to come in.

“(Y/N), 'am so—”.

“I heard everything you said”. Interrupting him, you close both arms over your chest, wrinkling your nose. Trying to process everything. “The night of our anniversary, I was about to ask you to marry me. One day I went to the clubhouse and heard you talking with Angel, because you were scared of me thinking you were crazy for proposing. So, I was about to do it”.

“I wan'et. I wanna marry you and… being together all my life”.

“You fucked me up badly, Johnny. Really fucking bad”.

“I know, I know… But, please. Gimme a last chance, ain't fuck it up again. And I know you don' believe me, I get it, I earned that shit, but I will show you every day, mami. No more nights out of our home. No more days without calling or texting you, I will do it every hour. And I will not… talk to you again like a fuckin' shit”. He looks and sounds sincere, with his reddened eyes begging you. And you're conscious that Coco is as destroyed inside as you are. “Please…”

Heavily sighing and rubbing your forehead, you lean forward to kiss his cheek, before surrounding him with both arms to hug him tightly.

“I fuckin' love you, (Y/N)”. He cries now, collapsing under your grip without can't avoid it.

“I know, Coquito”. You whisper caressing his messy hair, pushing him closer.

Feeling him again is like coming back to life, kissing once and once his face and trying to clean his tears, breaking you a little watching him like that. Clinging his hands in your thighs, he urges you to wrap his waist with both legs.

“And of course I want to marry you, shithead”. You say, making him chuckle between tears, sinking his face into your neck.

“I love you more than anythen', I swear to God. And I will… make you happy as you deserve”.

✨ Tag list:

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#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #johnny coco cruz x reader #johnny coco cruz imagine #coco cruz imagine #coco cruz x reader #coco cruz

[fancyfearful]

Terms of Service (Celia Lede x Gender Neutral! Reader)

(Happy International Women’s Day/Women’s History Month, y’all! Please enjoy some quality fun time with a true girlboss.)

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

WARNING/DISCLAIMER: Mature/Explicit themes, and ‘potential simp behavior’ are in this fic. Celia is a queen, idc.

Word Count: 2,042

(Edit: I forgot to tag @gatobob​ , who owns this character, whoops!)

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            You were scared at first.

            After all, you had gone from being naked and terrified in a dimly lit showroom, to waking up several hours later in a rundown, abandoned office building located far away from your home. A pair of handcuffs kept your wrists bound behind your back, but whomever kidnapped you had been 'generous' enough to dress you in semi-casual office clothes, though they were a bit too loose on your body.

               The only thing you knew was that the person responsible for bringing you here had the voice of a matured woman. However, the sound of sharp heels clicking against the ground warned you of their arrival, seconds before she entered the small breakroom where you were being kept.

               Upon meeting the well-dressed, businesswoman for the first time, you learned a few things. Her name was Celia and she was noticeably taller than the average woman, even with her heels on. But if looks could kill, then the mocha-colored eyes that looked over your body would've ended your life in seconds. You weren't sure if she was tired, irritated or both but regardless, Celia staring at your body made you feel uncomfortable.

               During her 'introduction', Celia informed you that your new purpose in life was to be her personal stress reliever, and that resistance of any kind was unacceptable, including trying to escape. She also pointed out something you had somehow missed earlier; an ankle bracelet attached to your leg. With a knowing smirk, Celia informed you that it came with a built in GPS to make sure that you wouldn't be able to leave without her knowledge. The brunette before you also mentioned something about several other 'secrets' that you'd find out about later, which did nothing to calm your nerves as she casually reached into the hidden pocket on her overshirt.

            Celia pulled out a thin, bright red dog collar, dangling it between her fingers before making her way over to fasten it around your neck. She had made it a little too tight on purpose, and when she stepped back to see how it looked, the brunette couldn’t help but scoff.

             “There, now you look like the dog you are. I hope for your sake you’ll be easier to train than the last one. It’d be a shame if I had to put down another pet…” Celia warned, dropping her voice to emphasize her point.

                 “Now, how about we teach you some new tricks?”

*****  

               The next few days had gone by faster than you expected, thanks to Celia’s rigorous training.

            Most of your time was spent acting as living footrest or chair, while she took her sweet time reading through and answering important, work-related emails. If Celia had a good workday, you’d play games like fetch, where she’d reward you with cookies shaped like dog biscuits if you did well. But if you didn’t retrieve an item fast enough, your cruel captor would deliver punishment by whipping your back and torso with her chain flogger. And on bad workdays, you’d be subjected to a game of ‘cat and mouse’, where Celia gave you a few seconds to hide before hunting you down; if you were found in six minutes or less, she would beat you to the point of bruising with the nearest blunt object in the room. The stapler was quickly becoming one of her favourites items to carry around, and even a good workday couldn’t save you from whenever Celia felt the urge to watch you squirm. Her eyes practically lit up whenever she subjected you to several new piercings on your arms or legs, a high only the most forbidden of drugs could provide.

            But today—or night, you couldn’t exactly tell what time of day it was down here—was different.

           The familiar, yet haunting, sound of heels clacking along the ground was replaced by something that sounded firmer, and heavier in comparison. And for the first time since your arrival, you were worried that someone or something even worse than Celia would find you here.

             However, seeing the familiar face of Celia suddenly appear in the doorway of the shabby office that had become your bedroom was bittersweet. But instead of her usual business attire, she donned a skin-tight, black body suit with thigh-high stockings, and her trademark red heels were replaced with thick, black wedges. Sure, you had noticed her figure from time to time, but the sudden style change made it even harder to look away. Instead, you tried to focus on the medium sized bag she was holding in her left hand.

                 “Ah, there’s my favourite dog. You look surprised to see me.” Celia says, making her way into the room before plopping herself down onto the desk nearby.

            Her tone sounded lower than usual, and the end of her words were a bit slurred. If you had to guess, she had probably had a few drinks before coming here, something that wasn’t uncommon. Whenever it happened, Celia was a bit of a wildcard. She motioned for you to come closer, making you gulp nervously as she reached into her bag to retrieve a long chain with a clasp at the end. Sheepishly, you avoid eye contact while Celia attaches it to the collar around your neck, grinning proudly before she roughly tugs on your new leash.

            “Now you’re really starting to look like a proper pet!” she comments, only to pat your head in a condescending manner. “And so well behaved too, isn’t that right?”

            You nod slowly, feeling your cheeks burn in shame. This wasn’t right. Her backhanded compliments shouldn’t have affected you like this, but these moments with Celia were the only times you could interact with another living being. It was better than trying to keep a stray pill bug for company again, only for it to end up escaping.

               “You should be grateful, you know. I turned you into something useful, something with value…” Celia adds, keeping one hand on your chain while the other tightly cupped your chin. “I saved you from being someone’s pathetic plaything. And yet I still have to tell you when to say ‘thank you’. How is that fair to me? Shouldn’t you know better by now?”

          You nodded again, only to be struck across the face with a harsh slap.           “Answer me!” Celia snarled, her face scrunched up in annoyance. She was losing her patience, and that was the last thing you wanted her to do.

                “Y-Yes, miss Celia. I’m sorry for not knowing better.” You replied. “Thank you for giving me value.”

       “Good! See, that’s what I like about you. You’re a quick learner, but there’s still something I’ve got to put to the test.” The brunette murmured, letting go of your chin before she pointed to the floor. “On your knees, pet. Let’s see if that face is as comfortable as it looks.”

               You were visibly confused as you tried to process her request. Did she mean what you thought she meant, or--?

“Are you deaf? Because I’m pretty sure I just gave you a task to complete. And if you can’t do it, then I’ll replace you with someone who can...” Celia commanded, her voice booming and steady. It was the kind of tone that could melt you within seconds or break you without warning.

               As quickly as you could, you dropped to your knees, trying to the ignore the dull ache that came with having them hit the floor too hard. Celia wound the excess length of your chain around her hand a few times, before yanking you towards the space between her parted legs. A muffled grunt escaped you as Celia’s legs wrapped around your neck and shoulders, keeping your face pinned against the smooth leather of her body suit while she kept an iron grip around your chain. The sweet scent of a strong smelling body spray invaded your nose, and although you wouldn’t admit it out loud, the fragrance was alluring.

“Well, pet? I’m waiting. Show me how grateful you are to be here.”

 It was at that moment that you started to think she was right. Not because you didn’t miss your old life, or your freedom but because in a weird, twisted way, serving Celia gave you a purpose. And all things considered, your kidnapper could’ve been much worse; she kept you fed, clothed, and even though the building was falling apart, it still provided shelter from the elements.

               And with this in mind, you started to kiss along her inner thighs, turning your face and neck as much as Celia’s grip would allow. She wiggled a little, smirking as she watched her current pet creep closer and closer towards one of her most sensitive areas, making the brunette smirk deviously.

With a shaky sigh, Celia pressed her hips forward, testing the waters of her new toy by lightly grinding her crotch against your face. The combination of your tightened collar, Celia’s thighs, and the added pressure of that damned leash was making it difficult to breathe, but Celia didn’t care about your declining oxygen supply. If anything, your struggling only made her legs clench even tighter, and you could barely make out the twisted pleasure on her face as she slowly tried to suffocate you, her eyes twinkling in delight while she leaned back a little.

          Your tongue pressed itself up against the thin fabric covering over her body suit, earning an unexpected moan from your mistress before you closing any distance that remained between you two. Any other time, Celia would have punished you for touching her without permission, but in the heat of the moment, your hands wrapped themselves around her thighs, digging your nails into her stocking as your mouth worked to pleasure her as best as you could. 

         Paying attention to the sounds she made was paying off, making it a little easier to find her sweet spots, but you didn’t dare to move the dampened leather covering over her opening. Not without her say, at least.

         But the loud moans and high pitched whines coming from your captor were enough to awaken something in you as well; a small part of Celia was at your mercy, and this was a chance you couldn’t pass up. And so, you doubled down on your efforts, licking, kissing, suckling, and nibbling on every ounce of flesh and fabric between Celia’s warm, plush thighs, using your tongue to express the gratitude that she craved.

           Eventually, your efforts paid off in the form of a loud, breathy moan from Celia as she shuddered, clenching her legs around you so tight that your vision went black for a second or two. The bottom of her body suit was absolutely soaked with a mixture of her own juices, your saliva, and a bit of sweat between you both, yet the pleased chuckle Celia let out calmed your nerves. She only made that sound when something good happened.

            “…Ooh…Haven’t done something like in ages…” she sighed as she relaxed her grip.

            You were able to catch a glimpse of her face, her cheeks tinted bright red as she moved lose strands of hair away from her eyes. The firm, hardened expression typically worn by Celia had been temporarily replaced with a softer, more inviting expression. If it didn’t put you at risk to get kicked, you might even have kissed her. Nothing serious, as it just would have a quick peck on those plump, dark colored lips.

               “Don’t look so lovestruck, dog. Just because I had a few drinks before showing up and felt like trying something new doesn’t mean that you’re walking out of here anytime soon. You’re mine for as long as I want you to be.” Celia huffed, yanking on the chain to remind you of your place. And with a sheepish smile, you nodded.

            “Yes, miss Celia. Of course. Thank you.”

                        How you ended up in her possession was irrelevant. It didn't matter.

           What did matter, was your value. Your worth. It was about what you could do for Celia, not the other way around. It was about acknowledging your rightful place under the command of a superior entity, and that entity was her.

#tpof #the price of flesh #gatobob #Celia Lede #celia tpof #Celia #Celia being a girlboss? We LOVE to see it!

[spacesnail3000]

The C Line

Pairing: Dark!Steve x Reader

Summary: Every night, Steve gets on the C Line with her at 34th Street-Penn Station and follows her down the line to her stop in Brooklyn. Tonight, he takes part in a bit of in-transit entertainment. 

Word Count: 2,041

Warnings: Non-con smut, public smut, fingering, masturbation, Steve is pretty filthy in this what can I say; THIS IS A DARK STORY, 18+ ONLY

A/N: So I am self isolating but I have also been sick! Which has been fun haha and by fun I mean the worst time of my life 🙃

I really haven’t been up to writing, so here’s this thing I wrote last month and haven’t edited. Sorry for the mistakes, I have barely read this over since writing it. ALSO I’m sorry I couldn’t give you guys much else during this trying time! We’ll see what happens once I start to feel better <3

Main Masterlist

X

Steve met her for the first time before she met him. Touched her before she had even seen his face. It wasn’t how he had planned for them to meet, but the opportunity presented itself and it was so, so beautiful.

It was just after a Knicks game, played at home, and the Knicks had won against the Lakers 119 to 112. Steve had watched it from the bar she worked at, tucked away in a table at the back while she cleaned dishes in the kitchen. He couldn’t see her but he knew she was there.

Her shift ended just as the game finished, the rest of the bar celebrating Tim Hardaway Jr. and Kevin Knox as she put away her apron and slipped out the door. After throwing down some cash for his tab, he followed her out. Soon the streets were flooded with excited patrons of the game and hundreds of people flooded into Penn Station, dozens hopping onto the C Line.

Somehow, in the packed train car, he managed to get close to her, standing almost right behind her as she held onto the bar in front of her. He had a good hold of the handle strap above him, but as a few more people got onto the train, packing it a little tighter, he took the opportunity to press himself up against her and hold onto the pole above her head.

She stiffened at the feel of his hard body pressed into her back and looked resolutely forward, even as he mumbled an insincere, “Sorry,” close to her ear. He was thankful she didn’t look back at him—not that she would’ve recognized him, anyways. The beard had grown out again, and his hat covered his face well, and he was always careful not to get too close to her when he watched her.

Still, he had plans for her. This was just a little taste for him, a free sample, an appetizer. 

She felt so soft against him, and although her thick coat provided a hefty barrier, her thin leggings had her ass pressed right up against him. He had her trapped, wedged between his body and the bar in front of her. Surely she could feel his erection growing against her from the way she squirmed away from him, only to have the pole and other oblivious pedestrians block her path to freedom. 

Nobody was watching them—all wrapped up in their own conversations, the train packed too tight for any movement. No one would be able to see him if he put his hands on her.

Her discomfort was palpable already, but Steve brushed past it, placing one hand on her hip, not wavering even as she jumped. It was only when he slid his hand back to grope her ass did she start to turn around, but he stopped her as he shoved her harder into the metal pole with his body. 

“Face forward,” he growled in her ear, gripping her ass tighter now. She flinched from the pain of his fingertips digging into her soft flesh, but she obeyed his request. He grinned, lust pulling deep in his lower belly from her submission. “Good girl.”

“Please stop,” she whispered, voice tight like she was trying not to cry.

“You’ll enjoy this, sweetheart,” he muttered before bringing his hand to the front of her leggings. For a moment, he palmed her cunt through the fabric, rolling his fingers against her until she wiggled her hips forward to try and escape. “Stay still, baby girl. Otherwise, you won’t like what happens.” 

She stayed quiet, lips pressed together until they turned pale, drained of blood, just like her knuckles clutching the subway pole so hard he thought her joints might pop.

It was only when he could smell the faintest scent of her cunt moistening, almost overshadowed by the smell of her sweat building under her coat, did he slip his hand up past her coat and sweater and then shove down past the waistband of her leggings and between her legs. 

She gasped when he pressed his fingertips against her pussy through her panties, and she was shaking in his arms as he adjusted her coat with his other hand to hide his movements. His hand made small circles against her clit, playing with the pressure until she squirmed away with a whimper, thighs clenching automatically on his hand.

“There we go, baby. Just relax and let it happen.” As his fingers slipped past the gusset of her underwear to feel her skin directly, he chuckled deep in her ear, tickled by her whining, her weak resistance, even as he got her cunt wet. 

Steve regretted not doing this sooner. His cock was so hard in his trousers, and every part of her was soft—her ass as he pressed himself against it, her hair as he ran his nose across the top of her head, the lips of her cunt, already soaked in her juices. And she was so fucking warm against his fingers, bitten by the cold. He could feel wiry hair around her opening, and that would have to go, but otherwise, she was perfect. 

It was then that she grabbed his wrist, trying to yank him away. He was too strong for her, of course, so his hand didn’t budge, but she kept trying until he pinched her clit between two fingers, harsh, unforgiving. The choked little cry that gurgled up from the back of her throat was drowned out by the noise of the train, and he didn’t let up on her.

“Stop resisting,” he growled, “And don’t make a sound. I know you want this. You’ll learn to enjoy it if you relax.”

With a resigned whimper, she held onto the metal bar with both hands, leaning her forehead against them as he worked her up.

Everything about her was wonderful. His senses, usually in overdrive, focused in on her, drowning out the rowdy crowd around them, the talk of the basketball game, the announcements overhead on the subway speakers. Soon he couldn’t even smell the vague stink of the train and its inhabitants, was absorbed in her, the tickle of her hair against his face, the way it smelled mint and jojoba oil, a distinct scent that he recognized from the brand of hair products she used. 

It wasn’t long before he slid his fingers down to her opening and felt the wetness that had collected there, slippery wet that he spread with broad strokes of his fingers all around her inner and outer labia, her clit, and even back around her perineum and asshole, which made her clench up and tremble in fear. He didn’t linger there, going back to rub her clit again, then continuing the process once she was dripping again, proceeding to spread more of her juices around her skin on the apex of her thighs, some getting soaked up by her leggings.

He wanted her messy for him, sloppy wet and so drenched everywhere that she would feel him as she walked home, sticky and cold between her thighs.

Once he was satisfied, he brought his fingers back to her entrance, dipping just the tip of his index finger inside of her, feeling the resistance from her tight walls. She whimpered in discomfort; his fingers were bigger than her own, he knew, and he had never seen her with a boy since he’d started watching her.

He had speculated that she might be a virgin before this, but his internal probing of her confirmed it. His finger eased in gradually, pumping in and out, palm pressed firmly against her clit and pulsing with every dip of his finger. 

Steve groaned and rutted his hips against her, tucking his face into her neck, smelling her—everything about her, fresh and sweet. “Saving this cunt just for me, hmm?”

She shook her head, breaths coming faster now, knuckles turning pale on the metal bar. “No!” Her voice was so soft compared to the rattling of the train and the droning conversation of the people around them. “No, please, stop—”

Her words were cut off with a gasp as he sunk his entire finger inside of her, almost immediately finding that spot in her pussy and pulsing his fingertip against it until she was trembling and leaning back against his body.

“Good girl,” he grunted again, lips pressed to her neck. “Getting soaking wet for me, aren’t you? Hmm? That’s right, baby, feel how your little pussy loves the way I touch you. Getting off to a stranger touching you on this filthy fucking train. You’re a little slut for it, aren’t ya?”

She shook her head, squeaking out a barely-audible, “No! No—I’m—"

His second finger sunk into her opening and her words cut off, her eyes pinching shut in pain until he manipulated her clit with his thumb, drawing that sweet, sweet pleasure out of her again.

Her reactions were addicting, the conflict in her expressions, the way she was both uncomfortable and turned on, afraid yet helpless to his handling of her, trapped against him, completely at his mercy.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

While he kept her pinned with his body, he reached into his own pants and pulled out his cock. It was already so hard, had been for so long, and intensely sensitive. Gripping his shaft in his hand, he took care not to draw any attention as he stroked himself in time with his fingers pumping into her pussy. He managed to cover his front with the back of her coat, and she stiffened again once she felt his cock against her lower back.

“Please stop,” she mumbled into her hands. “Please, please, please stop…”

“Begging for the wrong thing, sweet girl,” he growled into her hair. He hiked up the back of her shirt along with her coat, and then it was the bare skin of her back against his shaft, and he couldn’t help but open his mouth in silent pleasure, let out a deep breath against her scalp, grind his cock hard against her soft skin until it was wet with precum. “So perfect,” he grunted, “So soft, baby. You’re perfect—new you would be.”

“Please,” she whimpered again.

He began to move his fingers inside her again, shoving them in deep with a quick apology. “So sorry, baby, didn’t mean to neglect you.”

“—Oh—” Her mouth opened wide, eyes clenched shut, sweat giving her skin a shine, and he could feel the way her cunt fluttered around his fingers, soaking his skin down to his knuckles. A tiny noise escaped her, a bit of a squeak, and he couldn’t help but laugh at it. 

“Oh yeah, sweetie, you’re the perfect little whore for me, aren’t you? C’mon, baby, you’re already drenching my fingers. Come for me, come on, come for me right here—”

And she did, and she was so, so beautiful, even in the flickering lights of the train, even amongst every single degenerate New Yorker in the city. 

The feeling of her tensing up in his arms, every muscle tightening and releasing along with the walls of her cunt, her juices dripping down his fingers and into his palm—it made his come, shooting off onto the bare skin of her back, hips grinding against her and making a mess on his cock and on her skin.

“Good girl,” he groaned, “So good, sweetheart. So good for me.” He pulled away slowly, tucking himself back in and then replacing her shirt over the stripes of come on her back. He gave it a little pat, making sure it would stick, and he smirked against her neck. “Just a little something to remember me by.” 

Before he slipped away from her unseen, he placed a wet kiss on her neck and then took one last glance at her.

In the aftermath of her orgasm, soaked in his come, even as she trembled with fear, she glowed for him. She glowed just for him, and he knew then that he would devote himself to making her his own.

His little doll, his sweet girl, all for him.

X

Let me know what you think! Any feedback is welcome 💕

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #Steve Rogers smut #Steve Rogers x Reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #dark!steve #dark!steve x reader #captain america #captain america fanfiction #captain america fic #mcu #mcu fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic

[oldmanatom]

wrote a whole long post about how i “did” “NaNo,” thought i saved it to my drafts, came to post it tonight and it’s not there. that’s genuinely a bummer since i had other Thoughts™ baked into it, but i’ll take it as an opportunity to write a second draft version instead, now that i have my thoughts more together:

my version of NaNo, much like my version last year, was just to hit a word count goal with whatever writing i could scrape together. this year i set the goal lower than last year, and actually more or less hit it, which was cool and tbh surprising.

i’ve been resistant to writing to hit a word count in the past—seemed like an easy way to psych myself out, plus how i write (jumping all around the story/page/doc) makes keeping track of word counts annoying at best, challenging at worst—but succeeding last month made it far more appealing. i’m going to try and hit it again this month, to see if it might be a good way to keep myself on the writing...treadmill? hike? grind? [insert relevant metaphor here].

for the first time in literally (literally!) years, i’ve completed a first draft of something. it’s objectively not very good, and will need a lot of work—i didn’t know what the hell i was doing for 50% of it, and once i figured out what i was trying to do i didn’t know how to do it for the other 50%, and it took me basically the entire month to put it together brick by brick, so what i have now is about as scattered as you’d expect from that process—but it’s done, which means i can actually do that work and make those edits with a holistic view on what i’m working with, instead of, like, trying to fix the foundation as i’m also trying to build the frame and hang the drywall, so to speak.

thinking also about this post, and about that Terry Pratchett quote about how the first draft is just you telling yourself the story, and about how impossible it is to know and see everything there is to know and see about my story on the very first pass. this idea—that something being done is better than it being good when it comes to first drafts—is something that’s both obvious and easy to understand, and yet has taken me years to realize and more years to actually implement.

why? lots of reasons. one of them: i get stuck in write-edit cycles—write something, go back and edit it, write more, edit that and edit the other part to fit in with the new part, write more, etc etc. it’s a momentum killer. if i do that, i finish nothing, as i’ve proven over and over again over the years as i’ve started a million things and followed through on exactly none of them. trying to break myself of this habit has been a struggle, and mostly i lose, but i’m losing less often and less extensively than i was at the beginning, which i’ll take.

why care about this? lots of reasons. one of them: i am extraordinarily tired of looking at my folders full of bits and pieces stuck in Google docs that get forgotten about and left to collect virtual dust. they might be “good,” but i’m not satisfied with just writing them and letting them sit and do nothing, like some sort of dragon’s hoard of words. i am, regardless of how i feel moment to moment, a decent writer; if nothing else, i’m writing things that i like to read, and that i’d like others to read; i should find a way to bridge the gap and finish these off into something i can share.

(feeling like nothing’s ever done enough to share is its own point which i’m still trying to figure out, and which might be the next meta “thing” i tackle on the first edit/second draft of this piece. how much can one oneshot teach me? is it wise to make this into The Little Story That Could? i guess we’ll find out.)

one thing i’ve been learning as i’ve been trying to put this idea into practice, which will absolutely sound sappy but keeps proving itself true: my story’s going to teach me as i go. it’s going to tell me what needs to happen with the plot and characters and everything else, and it’s going to do that regardless of whether or not i have a 19 page scene-by-scene outline or a conversation i like, an image in my head of the scene, and a vague idea of what i want to happen next. and, whatever i miss on the first round i can pick up and work on in the next rounds. but it only teaches me if i keep writing it, unfortunately.

basically: it doesn’t have to be good, it just has to be done. that’s it. that’s the only requirement of a first draft: that it be complete. just keep writing until the damn thing’s finished. polish comes second. i keep repeating this like a fucking mantra, like something you’d chant to yourself to get through a root canal or the last hour of a truly terrible shift, and honestly that’s what it feels like half the time, but it worked once, so who’s to say it won’t work again.

i think there was a third point in my original post, but i can’t remember it so i guess it can’t be that important. i’ll end with a few quotes from this past month of NaNo, entirely from that draft, which is partly because that was 80-90% of my writing this past month and partly because the other 10-20% is stuff that i’m likely going to be posting soon (yes, i do have plans to post something soon, sorry @ my poor neglected writing sideblog). without context, because i think that’s funnier—

1.

To your eternal shame, you can't actually manage to look up at the woman you know is standing in the doorway, one sandaled foot through the threshold and leaning heavily on the Death First to Solicitors and Thieves doormat. Instead, you glance partway over and see weak, yellowish light spill out from inside, cascade over the porch steps, and reach with dim and blunted fingers out towards her soaked half yard. You trace the watery edges of it with your eyes instead of looking at her, and it's a coward's move but that relief is back again, so.

"Harrow?" she says, barely audible over the pounding water around you.

You remember, then, when you told her ages ago that her vintage standing lamp needed its bulb replaced and the two of you had gotten into a nice little row over well, it's not dead yet, now is it, and where the hell am I supposed to find another weird filament bulb like that, and who exactly decided to get the damn antique showpiece thing anyways. It's entirely unsurprising that after all these years it's still the same almost-flickering bulb stuck in it, that it's somehow still alive and managing to bleed light out onto this miserable scene.

2.

Being shorn down to your shirts and jeans and socks makes you wrap your arms around yourself again. No longer having five pounds of wet denim on your shoulders lets your body remember what warmth is, and more importantly reminds you that you have none, and so what had been a vague shaking for the last hour turns into full-on shivering, teeth clacking and everything. You ask, not for the first time, for some reasonable God to show you mercy and cut you down.

Instead, Ianthe covers her smile half with her hand and says, "Oh, look at you, Harry, you poor thing. Soaking wet and I didn't even have a hand in it."

"Shut up," you try to say, but your chattering teeth and jaw make it come out more like "s-s-s-hhhht 'p," and Ianthe doesn't react regardless, just shakes her head and throws you another towel.

3.

"Harrow, please. It's late and I've never been fond of your insistence on bullshitting when I have your back against a wall. Besides, ending up huddled on my porch in the worst storm of the year is a little much, even for—"

"Even for me," you interrupt, "as though I was the one who slept in front of our front door for three nights so that I wouldn't 'run out on you with the rent' after you lost an argument."

The corner of Ianthe's mouth twitches, but it's the only slip of her otherwise curious, focused expression. "To be fair, it was an argument about the rent."

#posts from beyond the wifi #how do you fic #i was tbh on the fence about both writing all these Thoughts™ and about posting even these quotes #but the damn idea won't leave me alone so...*gestures vaguely* y'know? #also just want to thank whoever on the tumblr team finally made multi-nested lists functional. i DO love my tiered bulletpoints

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 244: Have You Read This Book

Previously on BnHA: Deku visited his mom on New Year’s Eve and was all “here’s a new letter from my ever-expanding fanclub of adorable preschoolers whom I saved from trauma” and Inko was all, “I’M SO PROUD OF YOU IZUKU I FEEL LIKE I DON’T HAVE TO PROTECT YOU ANYMORE” because she doesn’t watch the news at all or keep track of ominous plot developments I guess. The next morning, a.k.a. New Year’s Fucking Day, while other kids their age visited shrines or sat at home watching TV, Izuku, Shouto, and Katsuki were bussed off to go be child soldiers at Endeavor’s hero agency. Katsuki was all “HEY ENDEAVOR YOU’RE KIND OF A DICK,” and Endeavor was all “SHOUTO IS THIS VULGAR AND PUGNACIOUS YOUTH REALLY YOUR FRIEND” and Shouto was all “TOO LATE DAD, YOU SAID!!” and Endeavor hmmphed and booked it out of there and the kids all followed him and there was this old dude with a beard floating around screaming about END TIMES!! and Hawks was there and, what?? Seriously does anyone actually know what’s going on?

Today on BnHA: Endeavor chases down the old man (who may in fact be an actual prophet, though? Horikoshi what games are you playing) and sets him on fire and tackles him and it’s all very violent. Hawks then appears out of nowhere and breaks up BakuDeku’s tag team effort all “SAVE IT FOR THE MOVIE YOU TWO!” and is then all “hi Shouto” and “hi, you must be Midoriya, Tokoyami told me all about you, I wanted to work with you too, BUT -- [stares off angstily into the distance].” Then, because I forgot that Hawks never shuts up, he’s all, “Hey Endeavor have you ever heard of this book, ‘Paranormal Liberation Front’? Don’t let the really dumb-sounding title put you off, it’s actually a rousing tale full of hidden clues about all the bullshit I’m actually up to. I highlighted the relevant portions if you can’t be assed to read it, well anyways, Hail Hydra.” “Well that was a strange conversation,” Endeavor thinks to himself as he stares uncomprehendingly into the void. Sob someone please help them why are they so bad at this oh god.

(All comments are my unspoiled reactions from my initial readthrough of the chapter. I did a quick edit for grammar and clarity immediately afterward, and added a few ETAs in the process, but aside from that there are no changes.)

so thanks to that little stunt Horikoshi pulled two weeks ago, our chances of finding out Bakugou’s hero name any time within the next dozen chapters are slimmer than ever. probably he’ll reveal it at the end of the arc instead. it’s like he doesn’t even care about the databook. whatever I’ll have plenty of time to sulk more about it after I get to readin’

anyway the title of the new chapter is “Recommendation”, so... actually that does sound fairly promising, though? am I just eternally doomed to get my hopes up? is this referring to Shouto pestering his dad to take on his two best friends as fellow interns? what’s going on here

anyway so we’re opening with this

I love that it’s the two supposed goody-two-shoes kids who are actually being vocal about blatantly disregarding Endeavor’s orders. Shouto is just not having it to begin with, whereas Deku at least is trying to rationalize his own reckless behavior. Katsuki meanwhile is too focused on doing this fancy kick move to switch his suitcase from his left hand to his right to bother talking right now. reminds me of him playing with the soccer ball as a youngling

also the fact that his case is number 17 and Deku’s is number 18. have I talked about this before? I think I have but it was with some other numbered thing. anyways love the symbolism of him trying to stay one step ahead of him and Deku always being right on his heels. or maybe I’m reading too much into it but anyways rivals, yay

damn Endeavor is really determined to get ahead of them though

uh oh Horikoshi how much action did you pack into this chapter. starting to run out of time to finish all your panels again huh. you had a whole extra week! how fucking insane is this arc going to be holy shit

anyways Endeavor way to leave your brand new interns behind minutes after meeting them for the first time smdh. this is exactly how it went down with Hawks and Tokoyami

okay so like, I know a flash fire is an actual thing, but for a second I started wondering if in this kind of context (with him speeding off), it might also be a reference to the DC hero. then I remembered that the name of Endeavor’s technique is different in Japanese and the pun probably doesn’t translate. ah well

anyways dude is fast. but I wouldn’t count the kids out yet, they’re all pretty fast too!

so now we’re back downtown with Old Man Doom And Gloom, and oddly enough it seems that this isn’t actually an out-of-the-ordinary occurrence?

fucking quirk society. you guys are just so desensitized to the most bizarre fucking things. but I guess we in the 21st century are hardly ones to talk ourselves sigh

anyway now he’s being a bit more extra than usual and they’re starting to worry

?? the fuck is that? that sure as hell isn’t Hawks or Endeavor lmao. IF IT’S SLIDIN’ GO I SWEAR TO GOD

or wait, is it still the old man talking? should I actually be paying attention to his ramblings, my bad

is that a fucking Spirit Bomb

(ETA: in truth this is the most badass attack name that has ever existed or will ever exist and I should give it its proper due actually.)

so now I guess he’s hurtling it at them??

...hold up one sec

“revelations from the universe, I have received. flee, flee good citizens. the Dark Lord’s lips curl into a wicked crescent” -- holy shit, this all tracks?? IS THIS DOOMSDAY CRACKPOT MOTHERFUCKER ACTUALLY RIGHT ON THE FUCKING MONEY HOLY SHIT. ARE YOU A WITCH GOOD SIR. DID YOU WRITE A BOOK OF HIGHLY ACCURATE AND DEVASTATINGLY WITTY PROPHECIES BY ANY CHANCE

“the end is nigh! the wicked stars are conspiring against us! we must stop them! the earth is on the verge of being engulfed by darkness! flee, my fellow citizens! I am the one who shall destroy this source of darkness! be revealed! servants of the dark lord, come forth!”

okay listen. if he’s aiming this fucking thing at Hawks, though, after a speech like that? fuck it, I’m a believer. I’m sorry old man, I wrote you off without a second thought and here you are being the only one who’s actually like “HELLO!!!? PEOPLE!!!? THE LEAGUE OF VILLAINS!!?! THEY HAVE AN ARMY!!? AND NOUMUS!??! FUUUUUUUUCK”

and I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but those are some legit-ass universe revelations. fucking even talks about the “Dark Lord” specifically only describing his lips. because he doesn’t have anything else to describe nowadays, face-wise. shit that is spooky

anyway so that sure was unexpected. let’s see what shenanigans Master Roshi here is gonna get himself into next

did my boy just get fucking flashfired. jesus Endeavor show some fucking mercy

...

someone want to explain to this man the concept of a proportionate response? anyone? ...

fucking Todorokis I swear to god. if they weren’t all so good at being amazing superheroes, they could easily fall back on a career of being dramatic bitches for hire instead

anyways when did Endeavor change his clothes. this dude was wearing a turtleneck and slacks thirty seconds ago. did he literally just burn them off. how. what. fucking plot holes left and right

lol imagine if like on the next page the interns finally catch up and they’re like holding his fucking jacket and looking peeved

-- holy fucking shit, Endeavor

not cool, dude!! what the fuck. this isn’t a fucking Noumu for fuck’s sake THAT IS A HUMAN PERSON

(ETA: I guess he ended up being okay, but shit, for a moment it looked like we were going full blown Raiders of the Lost Ark over here. anyways the moral of this story is that Endeavor is terrifying, fuck.)

so now of course Nostradamus is trying to get the fuck out of there, because if he sticks around Endeavor apparently has no qualms about burning him alive. fuck me Endeavor, I’m still rooting for your redemption arc my dude, but tbh if Dabi happens to pop up out of nowhere here looking for some revenge I’m not gonna say no to it right now. quit burning people alive!!

so now 12/21/2012 is zooming down an alley and Endeavor is zooming after him and telling some extra with a sword to stay and lead the evacuation

oh??

Endeavor have you flown yourself right into a trap?

oh my god what the fuck is this

it’s like Dabi VS the Liberation Army all over again. fucking check all these motherfuckers who apparently want to get themselves deep fried. this one guy really thinks he’s going to clock the Number One with a piece of fucking PVC pipe

LMAOOOOO

LOOKS LIKE WE GOT OURSELVES A RUCKUS, BOYS! you better believe I have the Powerpuff Girls theme song playing in my head right now

-- !!!

HAWKS!! I WAS STARTING TO WONDER IF YOU REALLY WERE THERE TOO OR IF THE PANELS IN THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER WERE DELIBERATELY MISLEADING

LOOOOOOL

pour one out for these poor sobs who somehow got themselves caught up in an accidental pincer attack between the dynamic fucking duo and fucking Angry Bird here. where the fuck is Shouto btw. or is he the one that got stuck carrying Endeavor’s jacket

loool look at Hawks out here making friends

SURPRISE BITCH

oh my god though you guys look at this??

HELLO SURPRISE NEW FAVORITE SERIES OF PANELS, CAN I JUST TAKE A MOMENT TO LOVE ON YOU A BIT HERE, BECAUSE

1. Bakugou and Deku IN PERFECT SYNC, not even thinking about it. just effortless. that was an amazing tag team thing you guys had going on before SOMEONE stepped in and ruined it all omg. do you want me to talk to Hawks for you. I’ve been meaning to discuss some other things with him anyway so it’s not like it’d be going out of my way. can you believe this fucking pigeon blocked my number. WHERE IS JEANIST YOU BASTARD

anyways 2. “I thought Endeavor might have been in a tough spot” that’s a funny way of saying “I was lonely and missed my angry arson dad”! and fucking look at this ridiculous bantering between them. “did it look like I was in a tough spot?” I FUCKING CAN’T YOU GUYS PLEASE STOP

and 3. Shouto just watching. is he impressed by his dad? or just trying to figure out whether Hawks is his dad’s adopted son or boyfriend. I’m pretty sure it’s the former, Shouto, but I don’t blame you for being confused, Hawks just has that kind of energy with everyone

oh my god

somebody arrest this man. I can’t fucking deal with your cheeky fucking face Hawks

is Skeptic getting all of this?? are they sitting there with bowls of popcorn back at the League of Pliff HQ trying to figure out whether Endeavor and Hawks are dating

...and shit, I just realized the League officially knows now that the disaster trio is interning with the number one. so that’s fucking great. not that it would have been a secret for long, but still, things are officially starting to get real. in hindsight, after the Kamino arc we had a nice long stretch of chapters in which Deku, Kacchan, and Shouto were not in immediate danger from the main fucking villains, so that was nice while it lasted I guess. those days will soon be behind us

ahhhklkljkl

fucking shit Hawks could you be any more ominous. oh my god this arc really is going to kill me

so now we’re cutting away to somewhere. Pliff?

-- oh, nope, still in the same place, we just fast-forwarded to the part where the police came to haul all the bad guys away

and now the manga is being all clever and foreshadowing-y and would you look at this

BUT IS HE TALKING ABOUT ENDEAVOR, OR HAWKS omg. or hell, he could even be talking about Deku. or AFO even though he’s not actually there. point is, you know he’s not actually wrong. but what is he actually trying to tell us ahhhhhh Servant of the Stars please reveal your secrets

(ETA: in all seriousness you guys, I’m fully down for counting this as a prophecy. it’s already canon that future-seeing quirks are a thing, so. the only problem is that this is some Game of Thrones-level ambiguity as far as who he’s actually talking about. it seriously could be anyone. anyways at least we’ve got some shiny new theory material to play around with here so that’s nice.)

LMAO

HAWKS YOU BASTARD, JUST LIKE THAT I’VE FORGIVEN YOU FOR THE FUCKING JEANOCIDE

how does every single person Deku meets not greet him this way?? I sure as hell would. “well if it isn’t the kid who just. fuckin blew up his own hands on live television, multiple times. salutations”

anyways where’s Katsuki, the boy whose previous hero mentor you murdered in cold blood but he doesn’t actually know that yet. when are we gonna start in on that?

Hawks says he’s heard about Deku from Tokoyami. and he even says he would have liked to work with Deku too, wow. that’s high praise

ffffff here it comes, THAT GOOD HAWKS ANGST. WE WERE WAITING FOR THIS BUT IT’S STILL BRUTAL GAH

is this entire arc just going to consist of Hawks saying cryptic things with double meanings known only to him and then glancing sideways at the camera all broodingly omg

AH, THERE HE IS

Katsuki’s natural instinct to dislike 100% of newcomers on sight might work out to his advantage here. Hawks’s maxed-out Charisma stats VS Katsuki’s middling Perception stats which nonetheless have a tendency to land high whenever he performs an ability check! I might need to back off from this metaphor though before it becomes really obvious that I don’t actually play D&D

lol

omg Endeavor can’t a guy just drop in on his grumpy pal out of the blue to make sure he’s doing okay without having some sort of ulterior motive? why are you so sure that Hawks showing up means that plot must be happening. because you’re not wrong, is the thing. but he’s probably just being standoffish for show

holy shit and now Hawks is just pulling out the Liberation Army’s book just like that?? IS HE ALLOWED TO DO THAT

(ETA: “let’s see, what’s a subtle way I can try and clue Endeavor in on the fact that I’ve become an undercover agent in the Paranormal Villain League of Liberation Front Armies. ... ...shit I’m not good at this.”)

and since when was this book called “Paranormal Liberation Front”?? did they change the title to match the new name?

and what’s Hawks’s game here, though? is he going to play it as though he’s secretly investigating Pliff? you know, like he actually is doing? is this some kind of hiding in plain sight thing or what

guys. is Hawks just... actually really bad at being a secret agent. omg

so he’s all “DESTRO’S IDEALS ARE EVERYTHING WE COULD ASK FOR” and lol what. fucking look at Endeavor’s face though

this motherfucker could use a boost of his own wisdom stats, fff

(ETA: swear to god he’s two seconds away from a Katsuki-style “hah?!”)

oh my god

fucking fuck me. he better have highlighted a really obvious section of that book, because otherwise I’m not gonna hold out hope for this message getting across at all. at least we know what that “recommendation” title was referring to now I guess

(ETA: Endeavor: [reading the highlighted section backwards] “‘‘it’s fun to smoke marijuana’!? what in the --”)

loooool

the fate of the world now rests upon Endeavor’s abilities to See Underneath The Underneath and somehow decipher that when Hawks says, “ENDEAVOR I CHASED YOU DOWN IN ORDER TO GIVE YOU A COPY OF THIS BOOK THE VILLAINS WROTE, I THINK IT’S REALLY KEEN AND YOU SHOULD CHECK IT OUT”, what he’s really saying is, “ENDEAVOR I NEED YOU TO INVESTIGATE THIS SUSPICIOUS ‘LIBERATION FRONT’ THAT’S BEEN COINCIDENTALLY GATHERING A LOT OF ATTENTION SINCE THAT SHADY INCIDENT IN DEIKA CITY WHERE ‘TWENTY GUYS' BASICALLY DESTROYED AN ENTIRE TOWN. IF YOU’RE TOO DENSE TO PICK UP ON ANY OF THAT, I HIGHLIGHTED THE RELEVANT PORTION OF THE BOOK SO HOPEFULLY EVEN AN OBLIVIOUS DUMBBELL LIKE YOU CAN FIGURE IT OUT.” jesus christ

at least Endeavor now has some nerdy interns who fucking love to read. hell, Deku has probably already read the book. please help this dumb jock to understand his bird son’s coded message, Deku-Wan Kenobi, you’re our only hope

and that’s the end of the chapter! except that I heard there was a new poster for Heroes Rising that was released as well! how come it wasn’t included here now I have to go hunt it down

son of a bitch is this really the best quality that’s available? damn

well all right. not really much going on here that’s a big revelation or anything, aside from the surprise inclusion of Hawks in the upper right hand corner. did we know he was going to be in this? and like, even if the anime does make it as far as his debut in season 4, will it have reached that point by the time the movie premieres in December? glad I caught up beforehand if they’re gonna start spoiling things like this

so that’s all she wrote for this week! databook is due out next week so that should be fun! we’re finally going to get Hawks’s real name from what I understand. so I can start yelling at him using his full name like a disappointed mom. I have a feeling that’s going to come in handy a lot during this arc. go to your room young man

(ETA: and just watch it be the Japanese equivalent of “Judas McMurder” or some shit. smh. y’all. we stan a shady bitch.)

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha 244 #hawks #endeavor #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #todoroki shouto #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #makeste reads bnha #deku: [poring over the highlighted secions of the book with a magnifying glass] jinkies! #everyone: what is it #deku: you see if you take the first letter from each of the highlighted sentences it reads: #'endeavor I killed best jeanist and stuffed him into a satchl I am sorry please help me I am very sad' #endeavor: what do you think it means #shouto: I think it means he killed best jeanist #endeavor: no but what is a satchl #deku: I think it's the word 'satchel' but like abbreviated or maybe it's a typo #endeavor: hmm #anyways with these cracking investigative minds on the case I'm sure we'll have this all figured out in now time #yep this is going to go real well

[djjarins]

dark passenger

pairing: stenbrough warning: murder, breif mentions of past abuse and drug use summary: stanley uris has it all. a gorgeous boyfriend, a beautiful view of the atlantic, and his dream job of blood splatter analysist. he’s made a name for himself by helping to put away some of miami’s most deadly serial killers, but what his colleagues might never crack is that he is the most dangerous one of them all. a/n: the dexter! au is here!! let me know if you wanna be tagged!

"Please, please you don't have to do this!" A woman yells out, her cries falling on deaf ears throughout her large home.

Her husband left the night before for a business trip, leaving her alone for the weekend. The last thing she remembers was coming home from work and placing her purse down before the world went black.

She tries to pull against her restraints, to her what looked like plastic wrap, which tie around her chest, legs and lower stomach, binding her to her dining room table. A strap of plastic wrap keeps her head still on the table, only being able to use her eyes to look around her grand dining room.

Whoever was doing this to her covered her whole dining room in the plastic, leaving no inch uncovered.

The sound of heavy footsteps startles the woman, her heart rate accelerating as the figure gets closer.

"Please, I'll do anything! You don't have to do this to me!" She screams, hoping he has some sense of mercy.

"You see, I kind of have to do this," her attacker says firmly, moving to stand at the head of the table so he can look at her face to face.

The first thing she notices are his deep green eyes, which have no sense of life behind them. She shudders as he brings a small blade down and cuts her cheek, using a pipet he had in his other hand to extract some blood and place it on a glass slide.

"Why are you doing this?" She gasps, looking up at him helplessly as he stares back down at her, face devoid of any emotion.

He reaches down to the side table and grabs a handful of photos, flashing them to to the woman, who immediately shuts her eyes.

"Oh so now you're ashamed?" He asks, a few of his golden curls falling down in front of his eyes as he leans over her. "So you weren't ashamed when you killed these men?"

The woman tries shaking her head, only to be stopped by the plastic wrap. "I didn't do anything!" She yelps, tugging at the plastic binding her arms. Her attacker rolls his eyes, showing her the photos taken from the crime scene.

"Roy Beckett, Zach Mauzy, Carson Mckay, Sam Wyatt, you killed these men," he deadpans, flipping through each photo, causing the woman to wince, refusing to make eye contact with the man.

"You did this to them, you lured them in and killed them. You didn't care that they had families or that they had loved ones, you just took their lives away as if they were nothing."

A tear falls down the woman's cheek, mixing with the blood from her attacker's cut, causing a red trail to flow down onto the table. "Crying won't save you now, God knows it didn't save your victims."

The blonde reaches for the small table, ghosting his hand over his collection of weapons before settling for the large butcher's knife. The woman below lets out a deafening scream, only silenced by the wad of gauze being shoved inside her mouth.

"You won't get sympathy for me," he says plainly, playing with the blade in his hands. "I'm just like you, but I have standards."

Before the woman can process his words, the blonde violently jams the knife into her chest, a small, final gasp for air being forced out of her lungs as a pool of blood collects underneath the plastic wrap.

-

"Stanny!"

A young, brown-haired boy comes running full speed towards the blonde, his arms open wide, a toy truck still held in one hand.

Stanley gasps as he picks up the boy, swinging him around in a circle before settling him on his hip, holding him tight in his arms. "What did you bring me?"

Stan chuckles to himself. Alexander always wanted to know if there were presents.

"I brought you and your sister ice cream buddy!" He smiles, watching how the young boy's face lights up at the mention of his favorite treat. "Lia get in here, Stanny has ice cream!"

As if on cue, Alex's older sister Ophelia runs out of her room and straight into Stan, wrapping her small arms around his waist. She had come a long way since the first time they met, having shied away from her dad's new boyfriend, bad memories of the last one still etched into her memory.

"Alright kids, let's get you settled," Stan smiles, leading the two Denbrough children into the kitchen, settling them into seats at the kitchen counter before dishing up their ice cream. Chocolate with rainbow sprinkles for Ophelia and mint chocolate chip with chocolate sauce for Xander.

The blonde watches the kids for a few minutes, before excusing himself. He walks up the stairs, passing numerous family photos and pieces of art, before coming face to face with the master bedroom door, which was closed.

He knocks gently before peering inside, seeing his boyfriend of 6 months, Bill Denbrough, typing away at his computer.

He smiles to himself, noticing the way Bill pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as he edits his latest chapter, his reading glasses perched upon his nose.

The brunette continues typing as Stan sits down next to him, finishing his edits on the second to last paragraph on the page before briskly closing his laptop and shoving it out of the way.

It takes less than 3 seconds for Bill to crawl into Stan's lap, their lips crashing together gently, with Stan's large hands moving to grip his lover's hips.

The pair remain entangled for a few moments before pulling away, with Bill leaning to rest his head on one of Stan's broad shoulders.

"How way your day?"

He could tell him the truth.

How the day started with an officer giving him shit for not getting a blood analysis into him exactly when he wanted it. The feelings inside of him of how quickly he could slice the officer up and clean it up as if it never happened.

He could explain how annoyed he was when his adopted brother, and officer, Eddie wouldn't stop complaining about his hatred of working VICE, how he deserved to be on homicide, how unfair it was that he was stuck in VICE just because the lieutenant "has it out for him."

Or how difficult it was to wait for the perfect time to kill his latest victim. How weeks of waiting and observing had driven him crazy. How hard it was to clean up her place and dispose of her body into the Atlantic, having to sneak out onto his small boat around 3 am with 3 black garbage bags, making sure to dump them far enough out and away from people.

But he couldn't do that.

"It was okay, just a lot going on at work," he breathes out, bringing a hand to run his fingers through Bill's brown locks.

It wasn't necessarily a lie. The precinct had seen a jump in gang-related activity within Miami in the past few months, with officers feeling pressure from the Captain to find the connections between different cases.

This pressure had also been felt by Stan, as one of the best blood analysts within the state, he was called to almost every crime scene to help officers understand the type of people they were up against. It all seemed so simple to him, but having to explain how these criminals used certain techniques to the average detective just gave him headaches.

"Well I know something that could help you," Bill starts, lifting his head off Stan's shoulder so he can lock eyes with him. "The sitter should be here in a few minutes, that will give us some time for ourselves," he says, pressing a few kisses to Stan's neck, causing the blonde to tense up a bit at the sudden affection and attention he was receiving.

It's not that he didn't enjoy this, hell he really enjoys it, but something about possibly having sex with your boyfriend after you have just murdered someone is not really what Stan was looking forward to.

Bill feels the hesitance in Stan, using his fingers to tilt Stan's head so he can look into his eyes, having not have noticed how the blonde ceased eye contact moments prior.

"Sorry if that was too much," Bill stammers, "We don't have to if you don't want to."

Stan nods softly, flashing his boyfriend a small smile, bringing hands up to cup his face. "Thank you baby, I just feel a bit tired, is it okay if we just lay here and maybe watch a movie?"

Bill smiles back, a look of utter happiness in his eyes.

"I'd love that."

- 

Eddie was the one that introduced Stan to Bill.

Just about a year ago, Eddie was the responding officer on a domestic assault call. He remembers rushing to the scene, a small white house in a residential neighborhood just within city limits.

He remembers making his way inside, seeing a coffee table flipped over, its prior contents spilled across the carpet. Chairs were knocked over, items askew and out of place.

He followed the trail of blood upstairs, coming face to face with the man who did this.

Other officers rushed passed him to cuff the man as he shouted extremities, forcing multiple officers to have to drag him out of the house and down to the station.

Eddie remembers opening the master bedroom door, seeing a young man, his face bruised and bleeding, his lip split and eye starting to swell, holding a young boy to his chest. A young girl next to them clenches the phone in her hands. She's the one who called him here.

"Are you here to help my daddy?" The young boy asks, peeking his head out from his father's chest with watery eyes.

Eddie remembers nodding his head, promising no one would ever hurt them again.

Eddie learned the man's name was Bill, and that the man forcibly dragged out of his home was his husband, Jacob Mills.

The pair had been together for a few years, being there for Bill after his long-time girlfriend, and mother of his children walked out on him.

Jacob was there for Bill every step of the way, helping him to raise his two beautiful children, who reminded him of their mother every day. He loved and supported Bill, but over time they began to fight.

At first, it was over small things, like forgetting to sign Ophelia's permission slip, or not being able to make it to a date night. But over time things got worse.

Things started to become physical after Jacob started using.

It started with smoking. Bill didn't mind at first, hell he smoked in high school and college, but he always made sure Jacob didn't bring it around the kids. But then weed and cigarettes escalated to drinking.

There were nights where Bill wouldn't know where Jacob was, or when or if he would be returning home.

When he did return, it was bad.

The first time, Bill waited up that night for him. Around 3 am he stumbled in, slamming the door closed, only to be startled by Bill turning on the kitchen light.

Bill told him that this was unacceptable, how he and the kids were worried sick, but Jacob was too far gone. He just brushed past Bill, muttering something about going to bed, but Bill kept going, telling him that he was scared for him, how he never answered his messages, how he-

SMACK

Next thing he knows, he is on the ground, clutching his now red cheek, with Jacob walking right upstairs and plopping right into bed.

It didn't happen again for a few months.

Jacob always insisted afterward that he was sorry, and that he would never do it again.

But it just kept happening.

The night Eddie was dispatched to the scene was the night Bill decided enough was enough. Jacob was out at the bar with some friends, so he knew he had time. He planned on packing his and the kid's things and getting out of town, probably with his parents, while he filed for a divorce.

He was just finished packing Ophelia's toys when Jacob got home.

The next thing he knew he was on the bedroom floor, with Eddie leaning over him, promising that he would keep them safe.

Eddie kept good on his promise, helping Bill find the right resources and people who could help him, recommending a therapist that Bill could work with to figure out how to plan out his next moves.

Bill was eternally grateful to Eddie for saving them, insisting that if he didn't receive that dispatch, he wasn't sure where he would be right now. The kids got attached to Eddie quite quickly, finding his demeanor quite calming and his jokes hilarious.

Bill and Eddie from then on had standing "lunch dates" where Eddie would check in on him and the kids, making sure that they were okay and if they needed any help.

It was on one of these "dates" that Eddie introduced Bill to Stan.

Eddie's car was in the shop for repairs, repairs that he insisted he do himself much to Stan's dismay, which ended up making the problem worse. This led to Stan becoming his brother's taxi, driving them both to and from work, and any other place they had to go.

Eddie had mentioned that he was going to check up on one of his old victims and that he needed a ride.

Stan agreed, driving the two of them to the small white house. Eddie had insisted that it would only take a few minutes, but after 30 minutes, Stan was getting a little frustrated. He gave it another ten minutes before he got out of his car angrily, slamming the driver's side door shut loudly.

I should be out getting my next victim, not here just sitting out in the middle of some neighborhood. I could be halfway done by now, what the hell am I doing just waiting for-

Just then, the front door had opened and Stan's eyes widened. Before him stood the most gorgeous man he had ever laid eyes on, his smile bringing an unfamiliar sense of warmth and comfort over the blonde.

God, he could look at his smile all day.

Eddie chuckled from his spot on the couch with Ophelia and Alexander, the younger of the two playing with an airplane toy, dragging it along Eddie's arm, claiming that it was the best runway for the plane.

Conversation between the pair came naturally, even out of earshot Eddie could tell something was up there. He swears he had never seen his brother talk to someone that easily and eagerly before.

It was about a week later when Eddie set them up. He told both of them separately that he wanted to go to dinner, arranging a sitter for Bill, and promising Stan that he would do some of his paperwork for him.

But when both men arrived at the restaurant to see no Eddie, they weren't disappointed.

-

The sound of Stan's phone woke him up a few hours later.

The tv was still playing softly, a re-run of a Law and Order episode he and Bill had seen at least 10 times playing as he picks up his phone.

"Stan its Eddie, you have to get down to the 7 Seas Motel right now, you need to see this."

Stan lets out a sigh and assures Eddie he will be there soon before hanging up. He places his phone back down on the bedside table and looks down at Bill, who is currently nestled into his side. He hates to leave, but work calls.

He carefully maneuvers his body as to not disturb the sleeping brunette, pressing a gentle kiss against his forehead before making his way downstairs and out the front door.

It's about a 15-minute drive to the motel.

Stan fidgets with his fingers as he waits at a stoplight, his mind wandering to the previous night.

He watches silently as the blood begins to accumulate underneath the plastic, sighing in relief. The first blow was always the hardest.

He makes quick work with his buzzsaw, making sure to make as little of a mess as possible. Even though he covered the room in the plastic, he still wanted things to be somewhat neat, even down to the cuts he makes.

When he's done, he feels a sense of relief wash over his body, his work finally being done.

Once on the scene, Stan pulls a pair of rubber gloves on from his bag, showing an officer his official badge so he can gain access to the scene.

Several motel guests and onlookers wait behind the yellow tape, craning their necks to try and look at the crime scene.

Voyeurs. Stan thinks to himself, walking a few feet before seeing Eddie leaning up against the doorway of one of the motel rooms. He's dressed in a pair of short, red athletic shorts, just like the ones he would wear when they were kids. 

He wears no top, which could be blamed on the Florida heat, or the fact that he's trying to fit in with the hookers he is working alongside with as an undercover. 

"It's one of the girls who works here," Eddie rushes out, pulling Stan into the small room. "I was asking around about her when some other girls noticed she was missing, but then she turned back up."

Stan notices the pain in his brother's voice. Working VICE is hard, you form connections with those around you, even if you aren't telling them who you really are.

"What sick son of a bitch gets off on cutting up people into pieces like this?"

If only he knew.

Stan shakes his head, promising to talk to Eddie later and telling him to stay safe before walking over to the taped off area around the pool.

A few officers are already in the drained pool, a few taking photographs of what sits at the end of the deep end. He makes his way down the stairs and over towards the end, seeing Richie and Ben already on scene.

"How's your brother doing Stan? Fitting in well with the other whores?" Richie teases, a small smirk pulling at his lips.

It's no secret that Richie has some sort of infatuation with Eddie. Whenever the smaller detective is brought up, Richie cannot help himself from cracking jokes or making remarks about getting with him. It mostly just annoys Stan, but Eddie knows how to stand his ground, but Stan swears sometimes Eddie blushes when Richie talks about him.

In this instance Stan ignores him, moving past the two detectives, feeling his blood run cold when he sees what the detectives have been looking at.

Lying before him is the body of the woman Eddie had mentioned, sectioned into several pieces across the tiled pool floor. But what shocks Stan is the lack of blood. No blood to be exact.

"We think the guy drained her blood before dumping her here," Ben says, "But what he did or is doing with the blood is what's throwing us for a loop."

Stan bends down to get a better look at the body. "These cuts are very precise," he states, "whoever did this has some sort of medical training or expertise to understand how to get clean cuts like this, with no hesitation marks."

Ben nods, taking a few notes on what Stan said before patting him on the back. "You can go since there's no blood we don't need you here."

Stan nods, standing back up and turning toward the black-haired forensic science investigator. "Let me know if you find anything Rich."

Richie nods, making a mental note to check by Eddie's room as Stan walks away.

Stan decides to head back to the station, where he can get a jump on finding his next target. He heads back under the crime tape and over towards his car when his phone starts ringing.

He pauses for a moment to look at the caller ID before picking up.

"Miss me already Denbrough?" He asks with a smile, getting into his car and placing his keys in and starting the engine.

"Stan you need to come here right now, the prison called, they let Jacob out due to overcrowding and he's here right now."

Stan doesn't miss the sense of panic in Bill's voice, and he speeds off before he can get a word out.

Looks like his next target already found him.

#KDJCKSLSLLS ITS DONE #dexter au #dark passenger #stanley uris #stanley uris fanfic #stan uris #stenbrough #stenbrough fanfic #bill denbrough #bill denbrough fanfic #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #ben hanscom #it #it fanfic #it chapter 2 #it chapter 1 #it 2019 #it 2017 #writing tag #mine

[musicncomics]

The Spider

WARNING: THIS IS BASED ON AN OLD NIGHTMARE I HAD BACK IN HIGHSCHOOL.  THEMES OF SUICIDE, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, DEPRESSION, ABUSE, MURDER, AND DEATH ARE PROMINENT.  IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THIS, THIS IS YOUR WARNING. I WILL TAG IT TOO.  It is also about 3 or 4 years old, so the writing isn’t the best.  I have edited to make it sound more like how I currently write, but still want to give credit to the me who woke up crying at 3 am, and physically couldn’t stop writing until I got onto the bus that morning (both by how shaken the dream had left me, and the fact my thoughts wouldn’t let me drop it).  A variation of it might also be found on Deviant Art and Reddit...I honestly can’t remember if I posted it on either platform, but knowing me I probably did.

A spider follows me.

It’s been following me since before I was born.

It bit my father upon my conception,

And my mother upon my birth,

It has bitten my guardians,

And any people I meet to ignore it.

It doesn’t like being ignored,

It doesn’t like me talking to others.

Its jealousy like a child having their favorite toy taken away.

For a toy is all I am.

Its bite holds a toxin.

Destroying the mind,

Uprooting the soul,

And beckoning one to...

Eradicate the flesh.

I am the only one that can see it.

At first, I tried to warn others of its increasing presence,

They saw nothing, 

Only an imaginative child,

With too much going on in their head.

I tried to warn them of it baring its fangs,

But they didn’t pay me any heed.

And they didn’t feel the stinging bite.

I watched the toxin take root in their minds,

Twisting them, 

Marring them,

Devouring them.

They saw no change.

That is, until they took their lives,

Sometimes the lives of others.

And with every life it takes,

It gets bigger,

Its venom more powerful,

Manifesting new and more horrendous afflictions on its victims,

Keeping me a helpless watcher of what is unveiling before me.

I am the only one who hasn’t been bitten.

It’s as if it knows there is already a toxin in my mind,

Devouring me.

My toxin is slower than its,

But it wants me to suffer.

It does not want it to end.

It only prolongs my life out of its own sadistic pleasure.

Or are these ignorant rambles of a child?

Maybe the spider pities me?

Maybe it envies me?

What if it isn’t the spider’s fault?

What if the spider...?

These questions pester me constantly,

But I know I can’t have people suffer at my expense.

I run.

I run as far, and as fast as I can.

The spider, the curse, can only move so fast.

I run,

I run,

I run,

I run,

I run,

I run.

.

.

.

.

.

I’ve succeeded.

I’ve started a steady career,

I’ve met someone to settle down with,

I’ve got the house of my dreams,

I’m pregnant,

I haven’t thought of the spider since the last time I wrote in this journal…

.

It’s here.  It’s at my job.  Any clients I interact with are bitten, any co-workers I talk to are bitten.  I ask for the rest of the day off, so as not to cause any more problems, and now the boss is bitten, and I’m fired.  I’m tired, I’m devastated, and I’m so alone, I just want to go home.

.

I am a fool. I forgot about my husband. He just got home, and now he wants to know what happened.  All I could do is stare through him, and plead with the spider “Please don’t take my husband too.”  It didn’t listen.  It didn’t care.  It bit him, while staring into my soul, all the while taunting, daring, seeming to say “Go on tell him what really happened, let him see the loon he married, and see how far it gets you.  Whether you tell him or not, you’ll know you did this to yourself for trying to escape me. I will take joy in your suffering, and I hope you feel sorry, for this is only the beginning of your hell.”

 It was the longest bite I’ve ever seen it take.  Wanting to pump as much venom into my love as possible.

.

Days- 

Weeks- 

Months-

Time loses meaning with the venom.  You start marking days by aggression, weeks with strikes, and months with near death experiences.  I didn’t leave him through it all because I still loved him, and I knew it was my fault he was like this.  My sweet, caring husband turned into as big a monster as the one who bit him. Thank whatever saving grace there is my husband didn’t kill me.  But he did start a fire in his factory.  A fire that is now infamous for the countless of floor workers it killed, including himself.  

He started it after receiving the call that I went into labor.  True to its form, the spider bit all the doctors and nurses who were trying to help me, triggering the start of their cruelty during the procedure. When the baby had finally been delivered, I didn’t even get to name her before the spider turned, almost smirking, to look at me.  In its eyes I saw it say, “Now let the real fun begin”.  I knew what was going to happen, there was no other way but for it to end like this.  I closed my eyes, sobbing, not wanting to see.  The doctors thought it was pure joy, it was nothing but sheer terror.  It felt like an eternity before I opened them again, confused as to why nothing had happened yet.  As My eyes opened I saw its gaping maw stretched over the body of my child. When it saw that my eyes were finally opened, it lunged towards my baby.  

Before I knew what I was doing I forced my arm into the spider’s gullet and watched as it feared me for the first time in my life before clamping its jaws down. I felt its stinging bite, and the chilly warmth of its venom, closing my eyes again to process the evil taking hold of my mind.

When I opened my eyes it was no longer there, instead I saw my child, now swaddled in my arms.  And all I thought was how easy it would be to strangle her little frame.  To kill her before she had to endure what I did.  But I didn’t.  I couldn’t.  The venom prevented me from granting my child that small mercy, and ending the reign of the spider.

.

I can no longer be in the same room as her.  I can no longer be in the same room as you.  I am so very sorry sweetheart.  As of now my cruelty towards you would damage you more than never knowing me at all. If you see the spider, I regret everything I ever did, but I know that you will be the one to find a way to break this curse.  Let me give you this advice to help you out for the time being: don’t run, that provokes it; engage it, try to divert its anger; if possible, avoid contact with other people; find a way to trap it, keep it in a glass box if you must, that way you can see it, it can see you, and most other problems will be solved. I don’t want to do this, but I must. I know my life is at its end, and I am on my last shred of sanity, but the hardest part of my life will be giving you up.  Stay strong, stay brave…...please.

I love you, so, so much.

-Mom

I found a way to train him momma!!  Now he only attacks those who want to harm me!  I put him in the glass box like you said, but a meanie tried to take it, and he accidentally opened it!  Mr. Tickles bit him, then crawled onto my shoe and raised his front legs to protect me. That meanie hasn’t been to school since that day, and I’ve heard that he “did himself in” I don’t know what that means, but I hope he’s learned his lesson!!

.

Momma!!! Mr. Tickles can talk!!!  Well, not really, but he talks to me in my head!!  He says he’s reeeaaaallllyyy sorry about what he did to you and to your momma, but at the same time, that you two were naughty, and never played with him.  Any time he bites one of my friends he always says sorry, and he says when I get older, that he’ll teach me how to fix them!!!!  Isn’t that cool?!?!  Anyway, I gotta go, Mr. Tickles says it’s time to go to school. Bye!!

@beautiful-doom

#tw suicidal thoughts #TW SUICIDE #tw murder #tw abuse #tw depression #tw death #nightmare writing #nightmare #my writing #dream #i have weird dreams #Oh yea #the entire thing #it's supposed to be a conversation between a mother and her daughter #both growing up in the system #my friends kept on asking me for a sequel when I showed them it #never made one #meant to #might if this gets more than 20 notes

[shy-magpie]

RQG 141

The wait is over! Skraak's gonna sober up soon and all signs point to upcoming boss fight. Will they end up with an army of captured Kobolds fulfilling the promise to make Skraak a general or are they going to spend the last episode on the island trying to remember who was tied up where? Patreon thanks have gotten more fun since I started recognizing names.

Alex sounds contrite about possible errors. Ben is honest about the social contract. Honestly these guys hold themselves to too high a standard sometimes. Oh everyone is doing Ben impressions, I love it when you can see they are really are friends Back to the elevator shaft Hamid and Zolf can fly without warning but are Cel and Azu going to be OK? Oh ladder is bad bad bad. Right not their first rodeo: Hamid and Zolf are talking out the plan. Zolf will scout? *scouts* *elevator ain’t moving* *reports* Regarding the text level of the ensuing conversation: Everyone is going to be tied together. No falling allowed. Hamid makes a case for Lightest First, Zolf was thinking Heaviest First. They go with lightest first. Eh I'm no hiker so not going to spend to much brain space on working out which order makes sense. Especially since none of them are allowed to fall, Alex. Subtext: Hamid sounds a little nervous about it but is in leader mode, not presenting an idea to his boss mode. Zolf sounds unsure how to take that level of the conversation but always did take Hamid's ideas seriously; even if only seriously enough to argue about rather than dismiss out of hand. As they discuss it Hamid sounds a bit more confident as Zolf takes it well. Zolf sounds frustrated but I think it's only on the level he explicitly said: this is going to suck and he would rather do it quickly, than have time for worry to really set in. I swear if they have Azu fall on someone like Bertie fell on Sasha; the way the last season of scripted shows do call backs to fan favorite episodes I'll never trust the dice are unweighted again. Eep, fatigue mechanics are starting now Yes having typing as an excuse to pause as they hit the bit we've been worrying about is nice. I don't want anyone to slip but I kinda need Zolf as Iron Man saving someone fan art. Ha Bryn just figured out they can work out how much time has passed by how often Zolf has to reactivate his boots. He clearly knows how much Ben will appreciate being used to add to the admin when he points this out. Oh this is going to be Planes Walking all over again, rolls every few seconds. I refuse to track the numbers, we had too many naturals in both directions. Tired climbing in the dark. Or not: Zolf lights a torch because Hamid can't cast and climb. Fatigued officially kicked in for Cel. Yeah we worried about this in the discord it is a Bad condition. Alex was going to soften it but Zolf has it covered? Well at least cover 7 times a day but there are only 5 of them unless sickened* or one of the other conditions comes up too. Zolf & Cel scene is fun. Rolls, trying to tune it out and just wait for the effects. Mood lightened by Ben rolling for fun. Skraak needs to be rolled for too. Of course Ben is the only one not sounding stressed at this. To be fair its a bit heavy handed by Alex standards to give us an NPC whose two main traits are endearing and vulnerable. Yes, yes, yes! Zolf is carrying Skraak in a little rope backpack! What is up with this design? I'm getting an overpowered kid vibe. Where is Alex going with this? Water reflections? Leaking hydraulics? Break right after pointing out that Hamid's armor is probably gone. Please tell me he can recast if there is something nasty down here. Ouch falling would have hurt even worse than expected. No Cel/Lydia, things that could have easily turned you into pâté are not cool. Alex has trained them too well to just open the door without a plan. Little Kobold Jeffrey's Tube hatch Skraak time. Yes, I know I said Alex was manipulating us, I never said it didn't work. Poor little guy is too cute. Ben admits Zolf would have cured his fatigue. Aquarium tunnel? For just the boss? Doesn't fit the military past and is a stretch for a school, did Yoshida have it added? how rich is this guy? Quick Hamid and Azu moment My respect for Shoin as an alchemist is going down.  Maintain your equipment: you're a mad scientist for heaven's sake. Going back to my “something is using Yoshida as a boogeyman” theory Sorry if this isn't up to my usual. Listening at home instead of waiting for work and I don't think I got 10 minutes in a row undisturbed. Anyway: set design/world building is wonderful. Light turns out to be natural phosphorus(?) from a thermal vent, because Alex world builds from the geothermal layer up. Never let it be said Alex doesn't give the people what they ask for. Thank you Alex and Helen for 15 octopuses and the rest of the table for making the Jurassic Park reference/background music. A pulpy fun scene that was indulgent even before a geeky reference right from my childhood? RQG is good to me Ship wrecks? Gotta be the Mechanical Squid from Dover! Zolf knowledge time Boats were sunk over the last decade? Hamid agrees with me! I am going to be smug even if debunked, at proof I'm thinking the same way as the players. I'm thinking dragging the boats here was just an easy way to be sure they got all the stuff they wanted before dumping the looted wrecks? Telling a machine to grab a boat and bring it back has to be easier than defining what loot it should take and what to dump. Genre savvy Zolf points out we will probably get an evil monologue explaining. Good bye nice safe tunnel. Utility is king in the new complex but no maintenance again? Been damaged without repair too? And has it's own power? Cel is also wondering about the maintenance. Azu points out the danger Cel is accidentally but actively making her more frightened. On a Watsonian level anyways. Lydia knows what she is doing. Literal fun-house is it, Ben/Zolf. The place was set up for the kind of nerdy party RQG fans would love then it was abandoned? But the food was fresh and the costumes were designed for the team? Locker, trap, and Helen gasp. Vial broken, was that what the potion puzzle with the costumes was for? Alex is merciful and reinforcing the "set up for a party years ago and abandoned in place" by the contents being too old to hurt the team. 3 years expired, is that when the party was? Zolf breaks the box because  he does not like puzzle games. It was the prize: 4 vials but also too old to use. The customization is discussed. Lydia has Cel accidentally point out the time skip accounts for a lot of the time element. Well half of it, but if we take 3 years as a solid date, that leaves 18 months before the times skip and I don't think The Rangers were formed over a year before that. Maybe minions who kept updating based on old orders? "Actually"? Alex?!? OK, Broken traps can be tagged on like that. Holy Hades, I was right: Corpse with a bolt through his head?  Gotta be Yoshida. Poor Bryn glitched on his own character name because of all the Salad jokes; honest to god we tease because we love. Ben lightens things back up. Wait hey Zolf's cure fatigue also covers poisons*, is Skraak no longer drugged? Also is he still tied to Zolf? I don't remember them taking him out of the rope back pack. Did a lunch time re-listen/edit of these notes, because the universe punishes me with interruptions if I try to break my ritual. Hope it helped more than made the tone even more confusing. *I could have sworn poisoned was one of the conditions cured by Calming touch (Zolf's spell). I listened while doing my edit pass on this post and I couldn't find it. Maybe that damned processing issue again: you know I can wrap my head around hearing a tone but not make out words; hearing a completely different word so clearly I don't know my ears/brain glitched? Pisses me off more than it presents an actual problem.

#Rusty Quill Gaming #RQG spoilers #long post #live blog thingy #RQG season 4 #RQG 141

[paladin-andric]

11/11/11 Tag

Thanks to @corishadowfang​ for the tag! Sorry this took so long but I’ve been pretty shot the past couple days.

Rules: Answer the eleven questions, make eleven of your own, then tag eleven people.

1. Do you have a WIP for NaNo?  If so, what’s it about?

Sort of? I’m not really doing Nano officially, but I’m trying very hard to wrap up Blackheart this month.

2. Are there any things you’d really like to write about that you haven’t had the chance to yet?

I’ve got a story about dragons invading late medieval Europe on the backburner. It features actual historical figures that were in power at the time, like famous Polish King Casimir the Great, Pope Innocent VI, and more! Some events change due to the dragons’ invasion, like the massive war ending a power struggle in the Holy Roman Empire and ensuring Louis V, son of the previous emperor ascends to rulership, where as in our timeline he lost out to Charles VI and ended up being the Duke of Bavaria. In this story most of Europe is destroyed and the survivors flee to the Byzantine Empire, which intends to make a stand at Constantinople. The son of the dragons’ leader spends a large portion of the story being held captive in Constantinople, and is interrogated and persuaded throughout the story.

3. Plotter, pantser, or plantser?

Plantser, I guess? I plan the framework, and sometimes I have a scene I really want to make a certain way, but for the most part it’s touch and go.

4. What is your favorite part of the writing process?

The creative process. Just daydreaming about all sorts of scenes and scenarios is incredibly fun. When it comes time to put it to paper though it gets tougher.

5. What does your editing process look like?

Spellcheck and extension. I usually write a scene haphazardly and then add more dialogue and descriptions when I return.

6. Is there a scene in your WIP you’re particularly proud of?  Share it!

This scene in the chapter “Field of Dreams” chapter of Blackheart, it’s my favorite chapter in the book honestly. As a prelude, how this works in Blackheart is that demons capture people and turn them into mindless beasts. Earlier on, a paladin runs into a corrupted birdwoman as he journeys through the city. He goes to kill it like all the others, but when she starts begging for help he realizes the survivor is still clinging on deep in there. He tries to bring her somewhere safe to perform a purity ritual to save her. She struggles and eventually is overcome by the corruption. The last thing she remembers before waking up in darkness is the paladin choking her as she begged for mercy.

Fianna suddenly found herself standing in nothingness. All around her, terror filled the air.

Voices of the damned screamed at her, dark visages stared from afar and corpses and flames littered the expanse.

Other  corrupted lurched forward, hobbling toward her, screaming and howling  as they closed in. The darkness had come to claim her at last.

She could only cower in as absolute fear gripped her heart. This really was it.

The  crowd latched onto her, dozens of unholy beasts dragging her into the  ground. She could feel herself falling, sinking into nothing as her soul  was trapped in the nothingness.

Just as she felt her head begin to sink under, to join her body in eternal torment, a loud noise brought everything to a halt.

The  beasts dragging her to the abyss suddenly paused, turning away and  looking up. She too joined them in staring up into the blackness.

The  sky flashed a bright white, the corrupted monsters, in unison, all  crumbled away. They simply fell apart into nothing at all, scattering to  the wind and leaving Fianna alone.

The screams let out a loud  unified wail before the blackness, all around her, flashed wildly,  vibrant colors flowing through the air and filling the void with light.

She  felt numb for a moment as she found herself no longer sinking. The  koutu clenched her talons as she lay on the ground, panting and heaving.

"Fianna."

Dozens of voices filled the air. Unlike the screams of the damned, these voices were clear, coherent, and sweet as honey.

She looked up, and all around her, as the void pulsed with light and color...figures surrounded her.

They were familiar. All of them.

Her family.

Her friends.

Everyone she could ever remember meeting.

One of the figures stepped forward.

She  was a tall and graceful koutu, every step dignified, her eyes full of  warmth and love. Her feathers were patterned the same as Fianna's...

Her feathers...?

She looked down.

The jet black feathers were changing, warping.

The  blackness seemed to almost...bleed away, the feathers beginning to glow  with color in the middle, expanding outwards until the blackness was a  simple lining at the ends of each feather.

Soon, that tiny bit of   blackness bled away, and her feathers were her own again. Her midsection  was a bright and beautiful orange, while the rest of her was mainly a deep, vibrant blue.

Just like she remembered.

She looked back up at the other koutu, whose coloration and shape was the same as her own.

"Sister..." Fianna said breathlessly.

"You are free," she spoke softly.

"B-but, the demons, you were-"

"I know," her sister assured her, "I know. I am no longer here...but even though I am not here...I will always be HERE."

She pressed her hand against Fianna's chest...over her heart.

Fianna could feel herself crying again.

She  reached out and embraced her sister. The older koutu returned the  gesture, the two of them kneeling and hugging each other tightly.

They sat in silence like this for quite some time.

For the first time since the attack, Fianna felt alive...even though she had the sneaking suspicion she wasn't.

The paladin was right. This was better. She was thankful.

The nightmare was over.

"I missed you so much," Fianna said, her face damp with tears.

"I missed you too."

"I'm so happy we're together again."

Her sister was silent for a moment.

"...you know you're not dead, right?"

Fianna blinked.

"W-what?"

"You have to go back."

The koutu's eyes widened as comprehension dawned on her. "N-no, no!"

"I'm sorry," her sister said quietly, "I know you don't want to."

"Sister, please..."

"I can't control it, Fianna. It's your life, not mine."

"T-than how are you-"

"Because this isn't real."

Fianna's heart sank.

She was in her own imagination, dreaming about being with her family again, rather than actually being reunited.

Her grip tightened on his sister, who looked at her curiously.

"Fianna?"

"I don't want to let go..."

"Trust  me, I understand," she answered quietly. For the first time, her voice  too was filled with pain. "I want to be together too."

"I-I just...want it to be over."

"You have to get through this," her sister spoke, "Please. Don't end up like me."

Fianna couldn't believe this was happening.

"I  want you to live. Can you do that? Please. I've been watching you, you  know. I know how hard it's been...but you've come so far. You're so nearly  there. Just a little more. Please...you have to hold on, okay?"

Fianna nodded.

"O-okay...okay, I'll do my best."

The two sisters looked up and stared at one another.

"I'll keep watching you. I know you can do it. Be good for me, alright?"

"O-okay."

"I'll be waiting for you, someday."

With that, everything faded away once again.

7. Is there an author that inspires you a lot?

I wouldn’t say particularly. I like certain books but I don’t really “follow” anyone like that...well, maybe some of the other writers on here.

8. Do you do anything to prepare yourself to start writing?

Put on some music and grab a drink.

9. What’s your favorite type of villain to write?  To read about?

Villains that you love to hate. After so many ““““sympathetic”””” villains (this mass murderer got bullied by people that have nothing to do with who he’s killing, he’s justified!), it’s nice to have a villain that’s just plain evil and knows it. Someone that’s so shamelessly bad that you’re just dying for the heroes to give em’ his comeuppance. Also, villains and antagonists can be very different. Someone like The Boss from MGS3 is an antagonist, but she could hardly be called a villain. Sympathetic antagonists are a lot easier to root for than someone that’s out and out a bad guy.

10. What is the best compliment you’ve ever received on your work?

Probably either @lady-redshield-writes​​ or @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword​. They’ve both said so many great things I can’t even begin to remember all the nice stuff they’ve said.

11. What are your characters’ favorite animals?

Considering his shield and family crest, Alexander’s is probably the eagle. Leianna likes dogs. Lexius and Senci both like cats.

My questions:

1. Do you make steady progress in writing or work in short bursts?

2. What’s your favorite character archetype?

3. Favorite fictional hero? (Can be from any media) Has that character influenced any of your own?

4. What sort of scenes do you struggle most with? (Fights, group conversations, etc.)

5. What time period do you find yourself writing the most of?

6. Do you enjoy music, background noise or silence while writing?

7. Where’s your favorite writing spot?

8. Do you like people reading along as you write, or do you want people to wait til’ it’s all edited and done?

9. Share a random hobby besides writing!

10. If you could have your cast from your story visit another time or world, real or fictional, where would it be?

11. Have any of your characters changed or developed drastically since they were first created?

Tagging @lady-redshield-writes​, @homesteadchronicles​, @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword​, @candy687​, @ashesconstellation​. Joining in, as always, is completely up to you.

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

Who You Should Fight: Timeless Edition

So I did a version of this months and months ago but it was at the very beginning of season two and is no longer accurate so take two, here we go!

Note: This assumes you have read @timeless-season-three. If you haven’t, what are you doing? Do you not love yourself? Go read it.

Lucy: Um. I mean. On the one hand yes, you should fight Lucy because she’s got a lot of rage she needs to work out and you will provide an excellent opportunity but on the other hand Flynn’s going to literally murder you. And Wyatt’s probably gonna help him. So I mean if you want to get one good fight in before a 6′4″ one man army mows you down and obliterates your soul then sure! Go right ahead! But why you’d even WANT to fight Lucy is beyond me, who are you, Emma? What did our darling historian ever do to you? Do you just hate sunshine?

Wyatt: Please fight him. Absolutely. Here I’ll help you. Boy needs a good ass kicking. Will you win the fight? Possibly, I mean, God knows Wyatt’s gotten his ass kicked by both Emma and Flynn multiple times now so his record isn’t all that great but on the other hand he was trained by an elite military squad so I’m not sure whatever gym membership you have is going to cut it. BUT WINNING DOESN’T MATTER. FIGHT HIM. ABSOLUTELY FIGHT WYATT LOGAN.

Rufus: Okay first of all what kind of monster are you. You would fight this cinnamon roll? After all he’s been through? After he’s been nothing but a good and pure soul who has saved the day constantly? Did you not get hugged enough as a child? Sure. SURE. Go ahead and fight Rufus. See how long it takes before the entire Time Team pile drives you for it.

Flynn: Hahahahahaha. *cough* I mean. Yes, you should fight Flynn because he’s always in the mood for a good fight but uh. I hope you made arrangements for your funeral ahead of time. You’ve seen him in action right? There’ll be a stain on the floor where you used to be standing. Really, for your own personal safety, don’t fight Flynn.

Jiya: ...you want to fight the woman who spent three years alone in Chinatown and has visions of the future. I wasn’t aware that you had a death wish, but far from me to stop you from dying by Jiya’s hand if that’s how you want to go. She’s not going to fight fair, I can tell you that much, she definitely now carries at least one (1) knife concealed on her person at all times. And even if you did somehow win you’d have Flynn to deal with for kicking the ass of his basically-adopted-daughter, so, y’know, either way your ass is grass. Don’t fight Jiya. She is Tired and wants a Rest. Don’t fight her.

Denise: Y’know what? Yes. Fight Denise. She needs to get off her high horse a little especially after all that bullshit she dumped on Flynn and God knows she hasn’t been able to get out all the frustration the Time Team’s been giving her. She deserves a good fight just for all that romantic bedhopping drama in season two. One hundred percent fight Denise. You’ll probably lose, but it’ll be a good fair fight and she’ll buy you dinner or something afterwards. Fight Denise.

Mason: If you really need an ego boost, then definitely fight Mason. The poor man’s probably thrown a punch, what, twice in his life? By all means fight Mason. It’ll kind of be like kicking a puppy while it’s down because of all the emotional shit he’s been through and the guilt he feels constantly over inventing time travel and losing the man he loves as a son and being stuck alone in a safe house for a month thinking all his friends had possibly died... actually how about you don’t fight Mason. My God. Hasn’t he been through enough?

Emma: Please fight Emma. You’ll die in the process but you’ll die a goddamn hero and you’ll have the entire Time Team up in her ass avenging you. And hey if you surprise her you’ll actually get a few good hits in before she eviscerates you. Go to Valhalla. Fight Emma.

Jess: Okay let’s start with how if you’re fighting a pregnant woman I don’t know what’s wrong with you. Second of all, I mean, good fucking luck staying alive once Wyatt hears about it. You fought his pregnant wife and endangered the life of his kid? I mean with that track record he’ll probably be able to convince Flynn to help him and that is NOT a duo you want on your back. Of course this is all assuming you win the fight, because Jess might not have a lot of prowess but she’s also literally at the end of her mental rope and I’m not sure you want to be the person she finally unleashes all of that rage on. Don’t fight Jess. Why am I even having to explain this to you. Just don’t.

Temple: If you don’t fight Temple or at least want to fight him then I’m not sure I can respect you as a human being. The man’s useless at hand to hand combat so you’ll actually win this fight, too, and that’s always a fun ego boost. Fight Temple. In the street, in the office, on the bus, in the Denny’s parking lot, it doesn’t matter, JUST FIGHT TEMPLE.

Jane: Well, you’ll have Wyatt to deal with afterwards, and I’m not sure why you would want to fight a literal teenager, but if you want to feel better about your fighting skills then feel free to fight Jane. She’ll put up a good fight and I don’t think she’ll hold that much of a grudge afterwards. If you want a good fun friendly fight, then fight Jane. Just be prepared to run for your life when Wyatt hears about it.

Timothy: You want to fight a literal baby boy who just wants to be himself? Are you truly heartless? You’ll literally kick his ass to kingdom come, kid’s like 90 pounds dripping wet, but Denise will show you no mercy afterwards and Wyatt’s gonna be real pissed that you reopened all those stitches he put in so it’ll possibly be the last thing you ever do. If you’re determined, sure, fight Timothy, but I’m not responsible for where your soul goes afterwards.

#timeless #timeless s3 #timeless-season-three #Time Team #bunker family #lucy preston #garcia flynn #wyatt logan #rufus carlin #jiya marri #denise christopher #connor mason #emma whitmore #jessica logan #michael temple

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S3 Ep 1: Can We Just...Ignore the Apocalypse? Let’s Just Ignore the Apocalypse.

Ah guys, we’re back, it’s a new season! Sort of! It’s a filler arc that probably won’t make a huge difference on anything in the plot but bro has promised is hella weird so lets dive into it.

Remember all the stuff we were talking about last season, and how I had to like basically carry around a notebook and take character notes like for the first time since my High School English class when we read Shakespeare? Remember how freakin complicated everything got?

Well the writers for this season decided to do a soft reset on all of that mess. Apparently they’ll get back to that crazy stuff we spent a whole season building up but with a new season they’d get a new audience of viewers, and maybe they didn’t want them to be confused. Because, lets be honest, nearly all of the latter half of S2 would be unwatchable if you did not know what was happening.

They also knew they had a problem, especially since they were waiting for the manga to catch up to the show at this point so they couldn’t accidentally step on the manga’s shoes and invent things that later negated the manga entirely. They had to edit. They had to stay as far away from the manga points as they could. And they did it in the most ridiculous way.

Y’all don’t even know this blog was *almost* a SeaQuest DSV blog. But it was pulled. So then it was almost a Kolchack the Nightstalker blog. But that got pulled. Yugioh was my third choice. Much like my dating life.

That’s right, we’re going to do a soft reset by adding a whole new set of characters! A whole new plotline to keep track of! To show us this tantalizing view of Kaiba island and then just.......detour.

It’s honestly, a welcoming thing for me, a reviewer, because I was getting hella lost and now it’s back to basics. Although, there are certain things they just...didn’t even address.

Cold as ice, Yugi. Cold as freakin ice, like way to appreciate your most interesting friend. Like maybe put that house fern where Bakura died or something. Anything.

What teenager finds out their other teenage friend freakin died last night and is like “well...that happens” and of all teenagers--especially Yugi Muto. Yugi is usually so freakin extra but he doesn’t really...seem to be freaking out. I’m so used to this kid having a melt down so often, that when he’s not having a melt down, I assume there’s something absolutely wrong with him.

Yugi kind of glazes over the more complicated parts of Season 2 in some flashbacks, and then the blimp starts shaking violently to get us right off course in both location and plot.

(read more under the cut)

We did not get a peek at anyone’s mirrors to see if the giant mystery purple bottles are still around. A shame.

Also, guess what time it is, just by looking at this image. Just guess in your head, knowing that all these people went to bed at like 3AM last night.

Yeah it’s canonically 5 AM. In grand Yugioh tradition, all these kids, mostly a bunch of really gross boys, who are still in clothes from the day before, who miiiight not have showered, are now going to continue their adventure, just piling on the gross as much as possible until this season ends. It’s like every little kid’s dream honestly.

Anyways, we’re gonna fly right into a plot dump that is maybe one of the most insane dumps this show has ever dumped--and y’all we’ve had some nuts dumps--but this one is especially weird because it actually makes sense within the continuity.

Just remember when you hear this that we are in Season 3. It is Season 3 and this has never once come up, not even once before. That one guy on the writing staff who really, really, REALLY stans Seto Kaiba apparently walked into work the day when they were making this episode and was he like “wow, everyone called in sick to work today and no one’s here but me and I can go home or I can finally just go NUTS.”

So this entire time, the Kaiba’s were basically the Patriots. OK.

I mean, it actually makes so much more sense as to why these children know how to ride a helicopter and why Seto randomly knows CQC. I never thought I would ever get a proper explanation for this but here it is. Kaiba was being honed to devote himself to the...war economy...but then he said “actually nah, because that’s too effed up even for Yugioh” and then to spite his father replaced every weapon with trading cards.

And then...accidentally weaponized trading cards in the process thus turning into his own Father. 

I guess that’s why people are legit dying in this tournament and Seto and Mokuba are like “Yeah? This is what happens?” since they were literally raised by some Hideo Kajima mini-boss. They probably have no idea what children’s games are supposed to be like, so when Yugi loses his nut and starts Shadow Realming they’re like “hm. Is this what kids are into? I’ll go along with it. See Dad? I am blending into kid culture real well. Really good at kid stuff.”

Like, it’s a good layer of irony that these two decided to bring peace and harmony to the whole earth by replacing weapons with games you’d play with children--but then they chose the one game that will absolutely end the Earth quicker than a weapon of mass destruction. Congrats. You did it.

This show, man, sometimes I’m not sure what it wants Seto Kaiba to be. Because, yeah, Seto just showed us a very nice thing he did as he randomly does--he’s basically won a Nobel Peace Prize by default--but he’s still a complete asshole. Like did he just feel like he has to show up Yugi again for saving the Earth last season by reminding us that Seto has already done that before this show ever started? That he dissolved the freakin Patriots before this show ever began?

Like Seto single-handedly fixed the entire plot of Metal Gear. Like this is the child that ended how many wars with getting rid of the ammunition? This is the child the writers chose? Seto freakin Kaiba?

And then he turned around and essentially put cards into a bunch of guns and you wear them on your wrist what the hell is even going on with this kid?

But don’t worry we won’t get even five seconds to register this plot dump, much like that time they told me that Seto freakin Kaiba has a dead soulmate from 5000 years ago who is now four separate playing cards and also probably his Great^nth Grandmother.

The Seto lore is rapidly getting more complicated than the Yugi lore and Yugi Muto is two people. Just saying.

Anyway, lets meet our new villain.

So the theme of this arc seems to also be a theme that the writers are currently wrestling with. You got Yugioh which has a very--INTERESTING background, it’s this horror manga turned effed up anime turned much more tame child’s anime and it’s like, that’s a lot of pressure for this team. Kinda feels like every time they try to do Yugioh there’s going to be people that are pissed off because it wasn’t like what came before it. And so this whole story of Kaiba trying to get out of his problematic Father’s shadow is almost like the entire writing team at this point just begging us to please let them do a thing without having to do 158 on-screen murders.

(JK, they’ll murder off more people in this very episode.)

And so this arc they decide to make this character who, as bro mentioned, is a throwback to Season Zero Kaiba, but with better hair. Sort of. Honestly, I mostly only see the white shirt as a reference but I can see what bro is getting at, especially since their hair shape and eyes are like...VERY Kaiba-ey. Anyway, I called it right away before we saw this kid that he’d be a distant relative here to claim his cut of the Kaiba inheritance pie so, because his hair is Mokuba blue-green, we’ll just make him a Season Zero green. Because it looks like no one else’s font color.

Honestly, hopefully that won’t get too confusing if he and Mokuba are speaking at the same time but I have changed Mokuba’s font color once already and now I might have to change it again...

They’re already kidnapped, right? Like all of these people on this blimp have absolutely been kidnapped by Marik and are at this moment at his mercy? (mercy meaning “he just doesn’t feel like it right now”)

So yes, Noah kidnapped them, but at the same time he’s just borrowing hostages from Marik for a little while. He’s just babysitting some other person’s kidnapees from how I see it.

Also, his name is Noah and he lives on a very big ship. That’s uh...a little on the nose there with the naming conventions, Yugioh. As far as villains go, at least this kid doesn’t live underground and get tortured with back tatts. But, with the way this show is going, I would not be surprised if all the Kaibas got Agent 47 serial codes on the back of their heads.

*I love a good Star Trek tractor beam, don’t get me wrong, but never in my life did I think I’d see a sci fi tractor beam being used on a freakin party blimp*

Marik, PS, is still standing here on top of this blimp saying “this will be very interesting to just let another villain waltz in here on my territory while I just chill on the couch for a little while. I am tired.” which was...actually pretty true to Marik. This kid will let anyone else do his job for him if given the opportunity. Such a lazy villain. In a show where all the villains have been pretty lazy.

Now, Noah insists that everyone get the hell off this blimp, but Seto was like “Really, honestly, I just want to keep one secret today. Just any secret. Lets just have this conversation in private and everyone else, please don’t mind my family issues. No need to call the cops, it’s just a light kidnapping, no big deal. Family, amiright?”

So because they’re getting shot at, they stubbornly get off the blimp.

And then Marik wrote himself right out of this arc. At least according to my bro.

So, in honor of blimp, lets give that blimp a good send off. One last time, for blimp

I will miss you, blimp.

So, down a hallway and in a room of so much bloom they run into...these guys?

I had to like really think for a while to remember who the hell these guys were, it feels like 10 years ago since that one-off MMO arc that I figured would never come back.

Apparently time doesn’t work the same, much like in Narnia, so the Big 5 are just straight up insane now. Got it. Really glad I get to try and keep track of the names of 5 new people, don’t hold me to it, I’ll absolutely forget the name of every one of these mini-bosses. Anyways, while they were strapped to Kaiba’s game for 2 months, they freakin died.

Yeah, what?

Wow Yugi killed 5 people and it’s not even Season Zero! Like this is a Yugi kill, right? Like Yugi did this entirely? Like that whole game would’ve been a lose if Kaiba wasn’t told exactly what to do by Yugi and Pharaoh? Nice.

And then they got...the digital version of Shadow Realmed.

Ah the digital space. We can go anywhere here. Any environment. Anywhere. lets see where they go.

Man this show and it’s obsession with island climates.

I say that, forgetting they’re all from Japan.

Apparently every season of Yugioh contractually has to have at least one reference to Tristan’s enigmatic ass. Thing is--assuming they’re all hooked up to sensors or whatever---is there just one that covers...farts? Like there’d have to be, right? Google, stop whatever weird self driving car glasses you’re making and get on that.

After Kaiba proves that you can’t actually touch anything in this universe, Tea immediately sees a great opportunity and just starts touching all the stuff that she can’t touch, too. So she goes over to the bushes and sees this looking back at her. From a bush.

This still doesn’t answer the question of why the hell there was a clone in the bush!

Anyway, apparently Kaiba has made hundreds of clones of himself so he could play cards since he had no friends growing up and that wasn’t even the weirdest Kaiba plot dump this episode. Kaiba and his Clone Wars just feels so tame now.

So they go over rules--it’s a lot of words all right. Whatever, we don’t go into duels here, but overall they have to choose a mascot whenever they play to act a King in chessboard. So if their mascot card dies, then they lose.

Honestly they could just kill everyone straight up but youknow, it’s Yugioh so we’re gonna throw some honor into this murder by making it card murder. It’s fine. Don’t think about it.

Ishizu just slept through everything, right? Like she looked outside, saw all this go down and was like “NOPE” and then went right back to bed? I mean...that is also sort of what she did for half of last season.

And no, Yugi never ever once mentioned that Bakura freakin died last night. Amazing.

#Yugioh #photo recap #yugioh recap #s3 ep0 #Yugi muto #joey wheeler #seto kaiba #tristan taylor #marik #for like 2 seconds #mokuba #tea gardner #serenity wheeler #duke devlin #Noah #wow the noah tag must be hella broad right? #seaquest