#i found the fucker after like 6 hours

[jangmo-othewarrior]

I'm sorry but one of the CoO headcannons I posted previously has taken over my brain (along with another idea that I am attempting to draw art for but shush)...... so I wrote a drabble. (SPOILER ALERT: IT IS NO LONGER A DRABBLE IT IS BASICALLY A SHORT STORY I'M SORRY YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED)

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

Fenrir sighed. Being alive again was nice, but his redemption had already been realized. His purpose was fulfilled. He had no reason to continue being on this plane. His journey was over.

To put it simply, he was bored and he felt like shit.

He had promised the kid he wouldn't sent anything on fire if he couldn't find anything to do. And he would be hanging out with the kid right now, but they had ran off to go look for a 'Cosmic Skerdi', whatever that is. The cat, glasses girl, skull boy, anger issues 1.0 and 2.0, water himbo, and Riley went with them, so at the very least things might not get destroyed to much. He wasn't about to go hang out with any of the other guild members, and Celine was busy with Laterian shit or whatever. Which left Fenrir with his siblings.

Zetta and Merida were out of the question. He did not have the time nor the energy to deal with volleyball matches or Zetta's entire existence. Nadine was also out of the question, as she had explicitly told all of them to leave her alone for at least week after Xanders had tried to kill her. Again. And Deena was dealing with that whole situation.

Which left Grunda. Honestly, Grunda was probably his first pick anyways, other than his niece. He is easily the most mature out of all of the them, and he has calmed down significantly since his second death. The only problem with visiting Grunda is his current residence.

His brother lived in and ran a human orphanage. With human children. Everywhere. And Fenrir only liked 1 human child on this planet, at most 6. So on one hand, even entering a building filled to the brim with emotional, disgusting, and chaotic human children sounds like a nightmare.

But on the other hand, Fenrir had nothing else to do. And maybe if he was quiet he could just sneak up to Grunda's personal quarters. No unnecessary human interaction needed.

And so here he stood, in front of the two large Orphanage doors at 8 in the morning. The kids probably weren't awake at this time, so he was safe to run up and start pestering Grunda. The old wooden doors creaked as he slowly pushed them open. No one was in the barely lit hall, and the entire building felt as quiet as a torched landscape. The pillar within the center of the entryway was covered with pictures, some old, some new. Fenrir made his way towards the the pillar, footsteps echoing down the hall lit only by the sun beginning to shine through the windows. The pictures were similarly lit, with a multitude of faces unrecognizable to himself.

It was odd, how Fenrir felt looking at these photos. He had thought that humans only hung pictures of their triumphs to boast about them to other humans, like how Omnicron had shown him and his siblings off the the human populace so long ago. Most of the pictures on the pillar, if not all of them, were captured moments of triumph. But, they did not feel like they were bragging about anything.

There was a picture of a young woman wrapping a bandage around the end of a child's leg, where they were missing a foot. The child was laughing as the young woman appeared to be telling him a joke along with caring for his injury. Another photo featured a large group of young children sitting underneath a large structure made out of pillows. It wasn't well crafted, but they were all clearly proud of their work. However, the last photo that really caught Fenrir's eye was one of the most plain picture of the bunch.

It was a photo of four young children, no more than 8 years old. In center of photo sat his niece, smiling wide at the camera with her arms hooked around two humans on either side of her. The human child on the right had glasses on, with short pink hair and a large book held tightly against her chest. She seemed slightly suprised by his niece's actions, but gave a small smile towards the camera. The other human child had bright orange hair, with a pair of Google to large for him on his head. He was laughing, with one eye open and looking at the camera. The last child, a cat, sat just below his niece, his body slightly cut off by the frame. The cat had bright eyes and a small smile directed towards the camera, although the smile almost seemed like a smirk.

It was his niece, Nora, Ross and Coco. All of the photos were of children who were either at or were from the Orphanage. Their accomplishments, triumphs, and achievements. And their daily lives. It wasn't boasting. It was pride and praise. It was contentment, a feeling of causal happiness in a destruction filled world. It was something him and his siblings never got.

"Excuse me?" Fenrir jumped out of his thoughts and whirled towards the voice as the room got a few degrees hotter.

It was a young child standing against the lefthand side of the pillar. Their hair appeared to a ginger color, and they had a red scarf around their neck. They hid slightly behind the pillar as he locked eyes with them. Fenrir let out an exhale, and the room returned to its regular tempature. He struck a hand against his forehead. So much for not running into any humans. "What do you want, kid?"

The human blinked a couple of times before emerging from behind the pillar. They were probably around ten years old. "Whose picture are you looking at?"

Fenrir huffed. He pointed to the photo of his niece and her friends. "The one in the middle is my niece." A pause. "Not the cat." He added.

Suddenly, a small gasp came from the child. Small footsteps echoed down the hallway as the child ran straight up to him and looked him in the eye. Fenrir nearly transformed right then and there, but there was something about the child's eyes that stopped him. They were bright, full, and nearly shining. They were looking at him like he was a god, despite having no way of knowing that he actually was one.

"You're one of Mr. Grunda's brothers!" The child started rocking back and forth on their heels. "Which one? What's your name?"

Fenrir stared at the child. One of Mr. Grunda's brothers? How on earth did this kid know that? He blinked down at the child, who was waiting with... baited breath? Fenrir silently prayed that Grunda used their human names instead of their true ones. "Ummm.. My name is Fenrir?"

The child immediately started bouncing up and down. "I knew it! You have the long coat, just like he said!" And with that, the child dashed into the down the hallway, into the last room on the right. Fenrir stood next to the pillar, trying to process whatever the child had shouted before running away. Suddenly, as if a tsunami had appeared on the horizon, a swarm of children erupted from the door the child had ran into. All of the other doors in the hall also swiftly opened up, and joined the swarm. And then, they were upon him.

Fona, the Primordial Tyrant of Fire, is known across time and space for scorching anyone and anything who stood in his way. The third child of King Omnicron, only able to be held back by Ulzar's chains. At times Fona was known to turn into Fenrir, champion of the flames and a ruthless member of the Nexolord's council. Fona was cursed, demonized, and above all feared by humanity. Fona...

...has been bested by a group of human children.

He was surrounded on all sides by hopping, screaming children. All of them were asking questions, but they were lost to the eternal screeches of the masses. The original child had been lost to the crowd, probably to save himself from the mountain of children he caused. Fenrir didn't know what to do. This was just so... overwhelming.

A sudden thunk hushed all of the children almost immediately. A cat stood there, at the base of the stairs with a book hooked under one arm. She was clearly older than Coco, with black fur and white and carmel markings with light green eyes. One tooth was sticking out slightly over her lip. She was wearing a red sweater with a pair of jeans. All of the children were looking at her guiltily.

"What in Ulzar's name is going on here?" She said as she made her way over to Fenrir and the mass of children. "Why are you all up so early?"

"Mr. Fenrir's here!" At least ten children all pointed at him.

"Mr. Fenrir?" She blinked. "Well, what are you doing here?" She gestured to him.

Fenrir's mind blanked. Yet, his mouth moved anyway. "I came to see Grunda."

The cat nodded. The children began to murmur to each other before her voice silenced them. "Well, I will take you to him. Fo?" The child who originally saw him shuffled up to her. The cat passed the book to him. "Can you please take this to the library for me?"

The child, Fo, nodded and clutched the book against his chest tightly. "Okay, Bee." The cat, Bee, gave him a small smile before addressing the group as a whole.

"All of you, go get ready for breakfast. I think it will be a bit special today." Bee grabbed his wrist and began to drag him towards the stairs. Fenrir wanted to say something, but his throat had throughly clamped shut. He glanced back at the mass of children.

All of the children lit up as he looked back at them. "Bye Mr. Fenrir!" They all shouted as they waved at him. Fenrir, throughly overwhelmed, simply waved back.

As the two of the them walked up the stairs, Fenrir finally felt like he could breathe. It didn't feel like he was suffocating under his father's the children's expectations. At the top of the stairs, Bee came to stop.

"Are you okay? They didn't mean to overwhelm you." She retracted her paw back to her chest. It struck Fenrir in this moment that this cat only had one functional arm. Her left arm was in a sling that matched the red sweater she was wearing, down to the green butterfly pattern. It was almost unnoticeable if it weren't for the carmel and white paw sticking out of the end of the sling.

Fenrir suddenly remembered that he was having a conversation, and quickly shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "I'm... I'm fine."

Bee quirked her brow, but didn't press him. "Well, my name is Buttercup, but everyone just calls me Bee." She put her right paw on her hip. "And you are Fenrir, I presume."

Fenrir snorted. "How could you tell? The coat?"

"That and the eye scar. You are quite famous here, Mr. Fenrir."

Fenrir sighed. "Can I ask why?"

Bee laughed and pointed at the large doors Fenrir had neglected to notice down the hall. "You will find your answer through there, Mr. Fenrir."

Huffing, Fenrir opened the doors. To no one's surprise, Grunda was sitting there waiting for him, cane leaning against the edge of the table. The most surprising part was the smirk fitted on his face.

"You knew." Fenrir says into the morning air.

Grunda huffs. "I didn't know you were coming until shout of 'Mr. Fenrir!' hit my office. I did know they were excited about meeting you, however." The smirk didn't fade. In fact, it got wider.

"How do they know about me?" The air in room got hotter. "The stories about 'Fenrir, champion of flame' are long gone now."

"They don't know the champion of flame," Grunda got out of his seat, and stared into Fenrir's eyes. "They know the determined, passionate, and fierce person you are. And they only know that because I told them."

As two of the stared at each other, it struck Fenrir just how different Grunda was compared to their... their childhood. Grunda had always been Omnicron's favorite, with his sheer destructive power and ability to take damage with little effort. Fona had idolized him for that destructive power and tried to emulate it for their father's attention. Even after death, Grunda maintained the most power out of all of them, able to create a physical form easily. But now, Grunda seemed more... calm. Reserved. At peace. Which was ironic, considering their niece only resurrected him a few months ago.

"Am I interrupting something?" Both of them turned to Bee, who was leaning against the door at the entrance.

Grunda sighed. "No, Buttercup. What is it?" Bee staggered into the room like she owned the place.

"Breakfast is gonna start soon, but the kids are antsy for," She gestured towards Fenrir. "Obvious reasons. Can you get them to settle down?" Grunda nodded, patting her on the back in sympathy.

Yet another thing that has changed. The thought sat in the back of Fenrir's mind.

Bee turned to leave before waving him down. "I'm sorry about Fona summoning the horde, by the way. He can get caught up in his excitement easily." And with that, she strutted out the door, and closed it behind her with a gentle thud.

That was the only sound in the room for a long time. Or, at least what felt like a long time. Of course, that morning air silence would have to break eventually.

"Is he named after.. me?" Fenrir's voice felt quieter than it had been for a long time.

Grunda's sighed, but it felt more sad and burdened that anything relieving. "His father named him after you."

Fenrir stared wide-eyed at Grunda. "Why?" He found himself saying, unable to comprehend why a human would name their child after the ancient primordial tryant of fire, who was known for scorching entire landscapes to ashes.

Grunda looked at him sadly. "He wanted Fo to be like you, I suppose." But why? Fenrir asked himself. "Fo's father was not... not a nice man."

"What happened to him?"

"Prison happened. He was found guilty on multiple accounts of assault and one attempted homicide. Fo was seven, I believe. He's been here ever since."

"What.. who.. why...?" How ironic. The Primordial Tyrant of Fire feeling sympathy for a human. Their father would have lost his mind. The thought silenced Fenrir for a moment. "Can I talk to him?"

Grunda smiled at him sadly. "I was hoping you would say that."

------

"This is a horrible idea." The words reached no ears as Fenrir stood, murmuring to himself in front of the doors to the library. Breakfast had been chaotic, with questions being thrown at him from all directions. The only person not asking questions was Fo, who had eaten so quickly that Fenrir had barely noticed that he was even there. Luckily, Grunda and Buttercup had been able to distract the other children enough for him to slip away. And so, here he was, nervously (By their father's name, when was the last time he was nervous?) standing in front of two large doors, about to have a conversation with a child about their emotional relationship with their father. So nothing major.

Fenrir opened the door slightly to peak inside. The library was large, and primarily composed of books Grunda had collected throughout the centuries. There were no windows, with only a lamp sitting at the centermost desk lighting the entire room. At that desk sat Fo, leaning over a book, his eyes glued to the page. As Fenrir slowly opened the door, the child did not even acknowledge his presence. Unsure of what to do, Fenrir began to shuffle his way towards Fo.

Wow. He thought to himself. I used to enter rooms by causing explosions of flame and smoke to erupt out of my feet. Now I'm trying to quietly sneak into a library. Ivan would get a kick out of seeing me now.

Fenrir stopped about a foot away from the child's shoulder, and he was now close enough to lean over and look at the book Fo was reading. It was... a picture book. A familiar looking tiger was laying on the ground in what appeared to be a cave, with two cubs spouting small puffs of flame from their mouths as they climbed on the older nexomon.

"That's an interesting book." Fenrir found himself saying. Fo jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Mr. Fenrir!" The kid's eyes were blown out wide. "What are you doing here?"

Fenrir smirked. "I saw you slip away and figured I would go have a chat with someone I've talked to before. Now," he pulled over the chair on the other side of the desk and sat down. "What are you reading?"

Fo closed the book and pointed at the cover. "It's an old picture book on fire type nexomon. Most of them are extinct now though." The kid's eyes dimmed.

Fenrir nodded. "Well.. which one is your favorite?" Fo's eyes lit up again as he excitedly began thumbing through the pages. As the pages flipped by the kid kept stopping and pondering the nexomon on the page, probly trying to figure out his favorite one. Eventually the kid stopped, but he thumbed the next page. The current page featured a skunk with a long flame shooting out of its tail standing the middle of a large plain. Fenrir vaguely remembered this nexomon. "Is this your favorite?"

"No, but it is pretty cool." The kids eyes were hesitant, and he gnawed on his lip before turning the page.

Unlike the previous pages, this image filled the entire space. The centerpiece was the nexomon standing on a large cliff, with a forest below and around it. The nexomon stood proudly, but also appeared almost at peace. It was Fona. It was him.

The room was quiet. Fenrir would of been able to hear the sounds of the other children if he wasn't staring at the page. Suddenly, Fo pointed at the him on the page.

"He's my favorite. There's no nexomon like him in the book." The kid paused. "I'm also named after him."

Fenrir felt dread creeping down his spine. "Why is he your favorite?" His somehow calm voice asked the child.

The kid blinked a couple of times before looking up at the ceiling. "He was one of Omnicron's kids, supposedly. " Supposedly is far from the truth, kid. Fenrir thought. "Apparently he burned down a ton of stuff too."

Lord, please don't let this kid idolize him for burning down entire continents.

"But.." The kid looked down at the page once more. "This drawing has none of that. Fona is just standing there, looking out onto the landscape. Nothing is burning down. Nobody is running away in fear. He just... exists." The kid gestured to all of the scenery on the page. "But if he can exist peacefully, why would he burn down other places? I think its because he never really wanted to burn those places to the ground."

Febrir nearly spit out a rebuttal right then and there, but his words dies in his throat as the kid continued.

"I think he only did bad things because his dad wanted him too. Because his dad made him." The unsaid words sat in the air. Fenrir's throat felt like it had snapped shut. "I don't think his dad was nice to him." Fo's words were simply a whisper, but they felt like a punch to the gut to Fenrir.

Because the kid was right, at least in some capacity. Omnicron was not kind to them, not fatherly to them. He only gave them the light of day when they did something he liked, so that's what they did. Destruction and death, all for Omnicron's attention. The things they had done were their own choices, but Omnicron was often a reason behind them. Omnicron did not tolerate anything he disliked either, Nara being the prime example. But Nara had not been thrown out, she had escaped. To put it simply, Fenrir felt like the past thousands of years have all come crashing down onto him. Fo continued, oblivious to Fenrir's internal breakdown.

"But here his is, peacefully standing in a forest. I think he got better." The kids voiced wavered slightly. "He got away because if he didn't that forest wouldn't be there. This picture wouldn't exist. And if he got better, then I can get better."

The picture was fake. Fona had never gotten better. Fona had continued to torch everything in sight even after Ulzar had killed Omnicron. Fona had worked to resurrect the father who would absorb him and his siblings simply to bring himself back. Fona had stayed by his father's side until the day he died.

But he was back. He had earned his redemption through his niece's ascension. He had continued to live, despite Omnicron's soul being forever gone from any and all planes. Just like this human child, he had gotten out, alongside the rest of his siblings.

Fenrir let out a large exhale as he leaned back in his chair and stared at the false image of him on that page. Despite the inaccuracies, he smirked at the picture. His journey wasn't over. It would be hard, grueling, and painful. But maybe...

Maybe Fona, Fenrir, or whoever he was could get better.

#nexomon #nexomon extinction #that's all folks #this got so much longer than it was supposed to be #it was originally just fenrir entering the orphanage and him meeting and talking with fo #but then it turned into THIS #also i gave all of omnicron's kids daddy issues #they are like the umbrella academy but more evil in their youth(?) #they all got different problems #some of them have healed fairly well #and some have barely started #also I gave fenrir social anxiety #so thats fun #anyway here are some behind the scenes tidbits #Fo's design is based off of one of the avatar options #the kids mentioned in the picture segment will have relevance eventually #Buttercup is based on one of my family's cats #and finally #the cosmic skerdi hunt was something I actually did while writing this #i found the fucker after like 6 hours #and also a random cosmic griff #mission success

[grape-eating-vampire]

alright, it's done. i finished it.

this is the third and final part of things that happened in my first bg3 playthrough ever that I found so funny that I put them in my notes (spoilers below)

let me start this by saying I have only cried twice in the 155 hours it took me to complete this shit. however, I have almost-screamed at the characters more times than I'd like to admit. but first here's stuff that happened since the last one of these posts I made:

after killing Orin I went around Baldur's Gate for a while and did odd sidequests, including

clearing out a haunted house and sidelining to kill a stinky man in a wardrobe (and drag his body to a guy two streets over)

entirely ignored Gale's quest to look at a book because I kept getting arrested there after having killed the boss mage guy

I also foolishly though this wouldn't have any consequences. oh boy was I wrong

went to see a underwater prison, got told off by Gortash, decided to explore it after killing him, and promptly forgot to do so

killed Gortash! fuck that guy the only good thing about him is his fancy robe

tried to recruit a dragon called Ansur, found out the emperor is Balduran (????????? honestly I was shocked)

killed said dragon and felt like I was playing skyrim all over again

found a letter ("Dear Ansur") by Balduran/the Emperor. this was the first time I cried. I could still cry.

patch 6 came out! that was yesterday and I spent about 10 minutes trying out new kisses and sitting on Shadowhearts stool in camp (she now says "I'm glad you decided to join me" or something like that when you do)

went pretty much straight to the underground pool thing where the brain was supposed to be

failed abysmally to Dominate The Brain™

got pulled out by the emperor and had to start beef with Lae'zel because I had also forgotten to care about Orpheus and the hammer from the House of Hope

admittedly, I didn't really forget, I just didn't want to spend any more time with Raphael than I absolutely had to

my +14 persuasion saved the day once more and Lae'zel was fine with the one hope in her life getting his brains sucked out

went off to fight the brain once more. my game crashed twice trying to load that cutscene.

met all my allies! I forgot how many there were actually, and I only called on two of the groups later on

fought a lot. like a LOT lot.

got to the Netherbrain and kicked it's ass*

*had to reload about 3 times and try again because Minsc at level 12 was stuck on 100 hp for some reason and kept fucking dying

finally managed to kill the fucker! had Lae'zel deal the killing blow which seemed very fitting

more cutscenes, but this one actually didn't crash the game, I got to look at some beautiful unloaded walls and stuff instead

Lae'zel left right after we got to the haven. understandably so

remember how I ignored Gale's quest? well he didn't blow himself up like he inteded earlier, but he left to becOME A GOD????? I cannot fucking deal with this man

Karlach on the pier. this was the second time I cried, but unproportionally much so

Wyll left with her for Avernus, the little cutscene of them arriving there made me feel a bit better

Astarion had to leg it because of the sun (sorry)

Shadowheart didn't do much of anything during all of this, neither did Minsc, Halsin or Jaheira

decided to go help kids with Halsin, seems to fit my character (eventhough I really didn't roleplay so much)

we got an epilogue! yippie!

caught up there with everyone, except Lae'zel (who was there via the fantasy version of zoom) and Gale (who was there via the fantasy equivalent of a voicemail)

tried to hug Gale, couldn't, almost cried again but managed

also met a tressym who I recognized from fanart as Tara. I don't know why she was there, we never met her before and Gale hadn't mentioned her either

read a LOT of letters the party had received. barely kept my composure at the Gur's letter to Astarion

Withers did a cool speech and the game ended

after all of this and so much more that I didn't take notes about, I can confidentially say that Baldur's Gate 3 is the best video game I have ever played, and within it's genre my favourite ever!

I'm also emotionally devestated, especially after these final parts (but in a good way)

that's all, thanks for reading!

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #orin the red #enver gortash #astarion #gale #wyll #karlach #lae'zel #shadowheart #jaheira #minsc #withers #bg3 spoilers #the emperor #ansur #bela rambles

[dustydaddyyy]

ii. you can't always get what you want | joel miller x reader

flash point (series) masterlist

pairing: pre-TLOU! joel x fem!reader (no use of y/n!) summary: on a particuarly wet night, you run across tess servopoulos and joel miller, and they help you out of a tight spot warnings: canon-typical violence and gore, swearing, more tense moments, mentions of stab wounds, mentions of sex.

a/n: aaaaaaaaaah it's getting even more tense teehee. a bit more insight into reader and her relationships to people in the QZ in this part! decided i'm turning this into a 6-part series and nobody can stop me 😏

"you can't always get what you want"

It takes almost an entire month for your arm to heal.

You've sat holed up in your small apartment for three weeks, only leaving when you have to get food and trade for things like pills, which, if you're honest, are necessary considering how painful it is to get stabbed in the arm. There's only a handful of smugglers in the QZ that trade in pills, and you'd quickly found out that the man you'd met earlier this month – the dilapidated documents you'd pulled from his jacket pocket had called him Joel Miller – was one of them. Along with the woman, who he'd called Tess on more than one occasion the other night and you presumed was his partner, he carried a fearsome reputation in the QZ. It wasn't necessarily a very well-known one, but those who had managed to tell you things about Joel Miller had not minced their words.

"Don't know much about him," your usual connection had said as he'd lit his cigarette, face illuminated by the flick of his lighter in the dark, "But I do know Robert's terrified of that fucker, so he must mean business,"

You'd almost ran into them once during the day, managing to just recognize them and pull your hood over your hair and head in the rain, shielding your face as they shouldered by. He'd looked different in the light; more real. You'd briefly seen the ageing grooves in his forehead you hadn't noticed in the dark, the stray hairs of grey in his beard and the bags under his eyes.  

You're sitting at your dinner table, having just finished the final bit of dinner you'd managed to make with the rest of the ingredients that Joel and Tess' ration cards had bought you. You weren't proud of stealing, especially not after they'd saved your life when they could have easily left you to die, but it had been the only way you'd known to survive in the Boston QZ for the few months you'd been here.

In front of you, you've stretched out a map of the zone, which is covered in scribbles you've made based on whispers you've heard about who deals what in Boston. You've been poring over it for well over an hour, eyes rolling over the marks you've made, shading in some areas. Almost the entire area of the wharf belongs to a smuggler named Robert, who you can already tell you're not interested in stealing from, due to his slippery reputation; if there was one thing you'd learned, then it was that even the slipperiest of snakes could deliver the most lethal of bites.

While you'd been only half-present when you'd walked out of Joel's apartment early the next morning of your close call, shivering in the biting cold as you tried to attract as little attention as possible, you'd managed to memorise the street names, which had allowed you to mark out a probable zone in which Tess and Joel operated. You'd used a red pen; a reminder they were not to be fucked with anymore, especially not after you'd robbed them blind.

With a sigh, you push off of the chair you're sitting on, walking over to the small dresser by the front door. You reach into the drawer, before pulling out a watch.

Usually, you'd have pawned it for whatever you could've gotten, but something had felt strangely different, personal, almost, about this watch, from the well-worn scratches and the broken minute hand that didn't move, to the almost faded engraving of his initials, on the back of it. You turn it over in your hand, your eyes rolling over the metal.

JM. Joel Miller.

You put the watch back down with a sigh.

When Joel had first processed you'd stolen his watch, that it was actually gone and missing from his wrist, he'd almost trashed the kitchen. If it hadn't been for Tess choosing that moment to come through the front door, Joel is sure the dining table would've have taken a lethal blow. He'd had to explain to her, in barely controlled, furious, breaths, that things had gone exactly the way he had predicted they would. He hadn't hesitated to throw a self-righteous 'i-told-you-so' in her face, fully conscious of the fact it did nothing to help him bring his stolen belongings back. 

The first few days had been relentless; he'd looked over what felt like the entirety of the QZ, but you had stayed annoyingly invisible to him, and even Tess, despite her extensive connections, hadn't found a single soul who knew who you were. Joel had quickly realized that finding you turned out to be a lot harder than it initially looked since you appeared to have disappeared into thin air, and while he'd given up actively looking sometime last week, he still asked around about you any chance he got. He'd channelled his anger into other things, too, making a few extra runs and pointedly rebuffing Tess' offer to join, wanting to be alone.

"Do you mind not loitering in the middle of the street like this?" a voice pulls Joel out of his thoughts as looks up from where he'd been standing in the street waiting on someone, faced with a FEDRA soldier. His tone isn't hostile, nor is his demeanour as he loosely grips the gun slung over his shoulder and gives Joel is a nonplussed look, eyes flashing with slight irritation as Joel doesn't move, "Move along, dude, I don't have all day and we have a convoy coming through in a few minutes,"

"Sorry," Joel says after a second, clearing his throat as he steps backwards, eyes moving up towards the soldier. He can only see part of his face under the helmet, tufts of brown hair sticking out from under the helmet, blue eyes piercing but surprisingly warm. He can't be older than his mid-twenties, and he looks thoroughly bored with his life. Whether it's his look, or his voice, Joel can't shake the feeling he knows this kid.  

Then, his eyes fall on the soldier's name tag.

Pvt. S. Burke.

Joel's heart starts to thrum in his chest with trepidation as he realizes he does know this soldier, and the familiarity he'd felt had come from his voice. He'd heard it once before, well over a fortnight ago, in an exchange with you.

What had you called him? Samuel?

S. Burke.

Joel feels an overwhelming emotion of triumph overcome him as he gives the soldier a short smile. "I'll get out of your way,"

His voice isn't angry, or gruff like his characteristic tone, and maybe it has to do with the victory Joel tastes in his mouth as he turns and hurries down the street, corners of his mouth pulled into a smirk, meeting long forgotten. He knows it doesn't sound like a big victory, but if there's one thing Joel remembers clearly from that night, then it was your tone when you'd talked to the soldier. He'd quietly admired your confidence in the face of a man with a gun and a possibly itchy trigger finger, but had only later realized that this confidence, and your entire exchange with him for that matter, had been personal, private almost.

You'd known this soldier. You knew him, and therefore, he knew you.

Joel could barely contain his excitement as he hurried up the stairs of the building and inside, climbing the stairs with surprising agility and speed. This was the closest he'd gotten to you in a month, and as he steps through the door, he calls Tess' name.

"Tess," he grunts, closing the door behind him, "Tess, I fucking found her,"

"What?" her voice comes from the small bathroom, and when she steps out to give Joel a look, he notices her hair is wet, "Found who?"

"The thief," he explains, before rummaging through a few drawers, "Came across that soldier we met, the one she was sweet on," 

"So?" Tess asks, and Joel's head snaps up at her rather nonplussed tone, "You going to beat the information out of him?"

"If I have to," he says simply, finally finding what he's looking for in a map of the QZ and going to sit down at the kitchen table.

Tess scoffs, shaking her head. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say Joel, and we've known each other a while,"

Joel glares at her, frown etched onto his forehead. "What's your problem? She stole from us. . . she took my watch,"

Tess crosses her arms over her chest. "I know, Joel, but be realistic. . . she's probably already pawned it. Even if you did find and confront her about it, there's no way you'd get the watch back. . . and then what? You want to kill her?"

Joel feels a wave of anger overcome him at the thought of never getting his watch back, but he manages to temper it, his jaw clenching. "No,"

Tess shrugs in a knowing way. "Then what? Beat her within an inch of her life?"

"She took your shit, too,"

"I'm not saying we have to forgive her and fucking be her friends, Joel, just. . . she's smart, she's proven that, and she probably already knows who you are and where you live. . . I'm betting she has a lot of ears, and the minute she gets wind that you're coming after her, she'll disappear again,"

"So, what, you just want to wait?" Joel asks her, almost incredulously, and she shrugs.

"We'll ask around some more, quietly. . .maybe keep an eye on that soldier. Then, when we know everything we need to, we can go in and finish the job,"

Joel doesn't listen to Tess. Of course, he doesn't; he's too proud for that.

Instead, he follows your soldier. He spends almost an entire week stalking him, watching his every move; where he eats, where he sleeps, who he visits. The kid's nothing special, mellow almost, seemingly less aggressive or brutal than his fellow soldiers. Finally, after his sixth evening camping out in front of the guy's tiny apartment, just when Joel thinks to himself that he's wasting his time, he gets lucky.

It's a little past midnight, curfew having been hours ago, and Joel has been crouched in the same dark corner of the soldier's street for the past three. He watches as the solider turns the corner of the street, like he does every single day, and walks to the front door, pulling a set of keys from the pockets of his flac jacket. It's so mundane, it's almost boring, and just when Joel is ready to give up, he catches sight of someone stepping out of the shadows to the left of the door.

The soldier sees it too, and there's a moment in which he raises his gun at the figure, before his face clears in recognition and his arms drop.

"Oh, it's just you," he lets out, and the figure chuckles.

"Not happy to see me, handsome?"

Even though Joel can't see your face, he knows it's you. Everything feels familiar as memories from last month flood his brain; your voice, your demeanour, even the jeans you're wearing are the exact same.

"Not after you disappear on me for a whole week without a fucking word," the soldier says, his tone irritated, and you let out a breath as you turn your body, leaning against the wall, right next to the door.

"Sorry about that," you say, and Joel has to give it to you, you actually sound sorry.

"Infection hasn't killed you yet, then?" the soldier asks as he fiddles with the lock on the door, and you let out a weak chuckle, tucking your arms behind your back and leaning into the dim light of the street lamp in the adjacent street, revealing your features to Joel. Your face looks the same as before, except a for a blue-ish purple bruise blooming on your cheekbone. The bandage wrapped around your arm has been changed, but Joel notices it's still filthy, miscellaneous patches of blood blooming across the area where you'd been stabbed.

"No," you say pointedly, before you take another breath, sounding bashful, "That's actually why I'm here,"

"Because you need something," the soldier finishes in a matter-of-fact tone, "Why am I not surprised?"

"Samuel," you let out, voice almost deflated, "Come on. . . that isn't fair,"

He snorts in response, only shaking his head as the door opens, and you take that as your cue to push off from the wall.

"Alright," you sound defeated, "I guess I'll go, then,"

For a minute Joel thinks Samuel is going to let you leave, but you've barely taken two steps down the street when he speaks up.

"Just wait," he huffs, and he sounds irritated with himself as he tosses the heavy backpack he'd been carrying inside the door, as though he can't believe he's falling for this again, "What do you need?"

"Penicillin," you bring out, swallowing.

"You're still sick? I gave you a double dose last week," he lets out surprise, and now Joel can hear the concerned undertone of his voice, "I thought you'd said the infection had cleared,"

"It came back," you say with a shrug, "Fever kicked up last night, spent the whole fucking night in cold sweats,"

"You need something stronger," he concludes, and you raise your eyebrows.

"You got anything stronger?" you ask, and she shakes his head.

"No, they save that stuff under lock and key in the infirmary for real shit situations," he explains, and you deflate a little, nodding, "But I guess I can see what I can find. . . in the meantime–,"

Joel watches as he tosses you something, and you catch it with ease, even though you flinch when your arm moves suddenly.

"It's two more doses," Samuel explains, "Try and make them last until the end of the week, that way I can get you something else,"

There's a silence, before you take a step forward towards him and press your lisp to the apple of his cheek. "Thank you, Sam,"

"Why don't you come in?" he asks after a second, his eyes lingering on your face.

Joel hears the soldier's tone; it's wistful. . . intimate, an open invitation.

You don't take it. Even though it's dark, Joel can sense the shift in your expression.

"Sam," you say, and even though your voice doesn't sound necessarily unhappy, your undertone is somewhat uneasy as you take a small step back, "I can't, you know that,"

"It's been weeks," he says, and it almost sounds like he's complaining, before his shoulders square a little, "I don't do all of this shit for free, you know, you owe me something,"

"Are you really asking me that right now?" you let out, and Joel watches as you cross your arms over your chest and give him a look, "I'm not a whore, Samuel,"

"I never said you were," he comments defensively, before shrugging, "I'm just asking for a little something in return, too. . . and since you won't give me any information I can use about the rest of the smugglers in Boston–"

"I'm not a snitch, either, Sam," you say sharply, interrupting him, your shoulders straightening as Joel catches sight of part of your angry expression in the dim alley, "And screw you. . . this is the only choice I get? Sell my body or be a snitch so I can survive a goddamn infection? Real fucking nice of you,"

The tone of the conversation intrigues Joel. When he'd first seen your interaction, he had assumed exactly what Sam was alluding to; that you'd traded some unsavoury favors with him in order to operate in peace, and survive. It wasn't uncommon is the QZ, and he'd turned down several desperate women more than once in his time here.

Something was different, here, though; it felt like it went further than that, and you seemed to be much better acquainted than just a mere connection. 

"God, no, speedy–"

Speedy? Joel frowns, before guessing it must be some kind of nickname.

"­– fuck. . . I'm sorry, okay? I'm just tired from doing the night patrol all week, I didn't mean to back you into a corner, just–. . . forget about it,"

There's more silence as Joel watches your face change, before you let out a breath, defensive demeanour crumbling before his eyes as you chew your lip.

"Maybe I can come by tomorrow evening," you tell him, and the soldier tries hard to keep his reaction to this is check, "But I can't promise shit, Sam. . .things are just hectic, that's all, I have to be careful,"

"What happened?" he asks, standing a little straighter, grip on his gun tighter, "Are you in trouble?"

"No," you say, shaking your head, before grimacing, ". . . kind of. . . it's complicated, okay? I stole from the wrong people, and I'm pretty sure they're going to be onto me, sooner or later,"

"Who?" Sam presses, and Joel finds himself holding his breath.

He's sure you know their names– how could you not after having torn through the apartment –and he waits to hear them cross over your lips. They never do.

"Didn't I just say I wasn't a snitch?" you say instead, and Sam gives you a look.

"Doesn't mean shit if they've slit your throat in your sleep, speedy,"

"They won't," you say, and Joel notes with some satisfaction that you don't sound too sure of yourself.

 "Are you being careful, at least?" Sam asks after a minute, and you nod, giving him a furtive smile.

"Sure," you say, shrugging sarcastically, "About as careful as I can be, living in a post-apocalyptic society rife with corruption and run by an authoritarian military government branch. . . oh, and don't forget the guerrilla resistance that bombs cars on every turn. . . yeah. . . I'm being careful,"

Sam lets loose a chuckle, shaking his head as you give him a more genuine smile.

"I have to go," you tell him, before you take a few sudden steps forwards, and to Joel's surprise, you press another kiss to his cheek, "Thank you, Samuel,"

Then, you take a few steps back, turning on your heel, before you stop for a second, speaking over your shoulder. ". . .and if you ever try and pressure me into sex with you again, I'll chop your balls off in your sleep, you hear me?"

"I hear you," Sam returns seriously, even though his eyes sparkle with humor, and he watches as you disappear down the street.

He goes inside shortly after, and Joel waits another few minutes before stepping out of his hiding spot, stretching his legs for a short second before taking off down the alley after you.

Joel follows you for a couple of streets, but after a few of turns he loses you, much to his frustration. Just as he's standing on the corner of one of the smaller streets, cursing himself for his slowness, he hears a sound like a rustling, but before he can react he feels the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of his head.

"What the fuck are you doing in these parts, hm?" comes a rugged voice, and Joel realizes to his annoyance that he's been so focused on following you he hadn't noticed he'd walked into the wharf, which everyone knew was Robert's territory.

Joel knows that Robert is secretly shitting himself about Joel coming after him and would never openly threaten him, but he liked to hire young, hot-blooded thugs to execute his orders and do the runs in and out of the wharf, and they didn't care who you were; they just gave you a beating.  

"Easy," Joel lets out, putting his hands up as he turns around to face a boy who doesn't look older than 19, a sneer on his young face.

"Shut the fuck up," he hisses, before his eyes move to something behind Joel, and he hears more footsteps from behind him, "What do we do with him?"

Joel hears another noise behind him, but before he can react, he feels the heavy slam of a rifle butt against the base of his skull, and he passes out cold.

When Joel comes to, he's in an unfamiliar bed. He sits up suddenly, memories flooding back into his brain as his eyes take in his new surroundings. The bed is in a sort of makeshift bedroom, separated only by a flimsy, semi-translucent and yellowing partition.

He's alert almost immediately, fully dressed and shoes still on, as though somebody had just dumped him on the wool spread of the bed.

The apartment has strangely nice details; from the partition corners embroidered with fading pink flowers to the hand stitched details on the edges of the cream spread on the bed and the clean smell of the sheets. It's strangely comforting, an overwhelming feeling of home Joel doesn't think he's had since before the outbreak started. There's a light on in the room beyond the partition, and the floorboards creak as Joel gets to his feet, moving towards it and sidestepping it, unsheathing his knife, which is shockingly still on his person, for good measure.

The kitchen is relatively small, but open, which makes the living space looks larger than it actually is.

You're sitting at a large, battered kitchen table in the middle of the room, poring over what looks like a map.

"Was wondering when you'd wake up," you comment, eyes not moving from the map as your finger traces over the paper.

When he sees your face, Joel feels the hot spike of anger that's been building for well over a month pierce through his chest, and his jaw sets angrily.

"Where's my watch?" he seethes, and you finally look up at him, sighing. Then, you get up, chair grating, Joel holds up his knife to point at you. Your eyes fall on the blade, before you bring your hands up in surrender.

"Are you going to let me get it, or are you going to stab me before I get there?"

Joel says nothing, only lowering the knife very slightly as you move towards one of the dressers near the door, pulling open one of the drawers and taking out something wrapped in a strip of fabric.

"Here," you say, walking back over and handing it to him.

When Joel doesn't immediately take it, you roll your eyes, "I'm just giving you your watch back, dude, I'm not handing you anthrax,"

Slowly, Joel moves his blade to his other hand, before he takes the package from you, fingers brushing over yours.

He doesn't say thank you; why should he? You stole from him.

You sit back down as Joel unwraps the cloth to find his watch sitting there. It takes a minute for him to realize, brow creasing into a frown as he watches the minute hand move slowly­–

"What did you do to it?" he asks, and you look up from your map again, eyes boring into his as you shrug.

"I fixed it," you say simply, "It was broken,"

"I'm not blind," Joel snaps, and you let out a breath at his tone, irritation bleeding through.

"Jesus Christ," you let out, sighing as you look back down at your map, "Why did you ask me, then?"

Joel doesn't reply, and for a minute he focuses on putting the watch back on his wrist. He's missed its familiar weight and the reassuring feeling of the cool metal against his skin.

"What about the ration cards?" Joel asks expectantly, looking up as his hand falls back at his side, blade switching between them again.  

"I'm sorry," you tell him, looking up and leaning backwards into your chair with an apologetic look, "I used all of those. . . I couldn't work, and I had to eat,"

Another silence.

"What's wrong with you?" Joel asks, even though he knows exactly what's wrong, based on his earlier eavesdropping, "Getting stabbed not working out for you?"

"Apparently," you say, your tone clipped as you give a dry smile, and he lets out a huff.

"What happened?" he asks you after a second, "Who the fuck knocked me out?"

"One of Roberts' brutes, " you say, before giving a half scoff, shaking your head, "They really don't know understand the premise of conversation, do they? They just start swinging,"

Joel doesn't laugh, doesn't react, eyes boring into yours expectantly as he waits for you to elaborate.

"I heard the noise and came back," you say finally, shrugging, "I live close to the wharf, so I can always hear them beating the shit out of some poor soul every other Friday. . . sometimes I help them out,"

"Mother fucking Theresa, aren't ya?" Joel lets out, his tone sharp and sarcastic, and you flash him an annoyed look.

"Saved your ass, didn't I?" you rebuff him, voice challenging, "They would've given you much worse that a bump on your head,"

Joel wonders how you did it; from what he remembers before they kncoked him out, they hadn't been playing nice. So how had a smaller girl with an infected stab wound managed to kick both of their asses and drag Joel all the way back here?

"Maybe you should've let them," Joel growls, his fists clenching, "I'm not exactly your biggest fan right now,"

"Look," you say after a second, taking a breath, "You saved my ass the other night, okay? I owed you big time for that, and now I saved your ass, so as far as I'm concerned, we're even,"

Joel lets out a disbelieving scoff. "You still owe me 40 fucking cards, sweetheart,"

There it is again. That same nickname that had slipped past Joel's lips a few weeks ago breaches them again, and Joel wishes he'd have bitten his tongue. It was too familiar; it made his chest feel tight.

You're quiet for a minute, pursing your lips. "I can pay back half. . . but I don't earn enough in a whole month to make that back and still have enough to live on,"

"Does it look like I give a flying fuck?" Joel rears up, finally losing his cool as he takes a step forward towards you.

To his surprise, you flinch for a second, jerking back in your seat as your expression flashes with fear for a brief moment.

Joel freezes, eyes inspecting you as you clear your throat, squaring your shoulders in an attempt to cover it up. He's used to seeing a lot of people with that fear in their eyes, but usually it was Robert, or someone else that had he had a bone to pick with. For some reason, watching you visibly flinch at his stature, the momentary fear in your eyes, combined with the bruises decorating your young face, made Joel somewhat uneasy.

You are young. He'd noticed earlier in the alleyway, too, when the light had caught your skin. He feels it in the way you stand, in the way you talk; guarded, and certainly not naïve, but still a hint of that youthful, hot-blooded courage.

Joel had seen it in so many here in the QZ; especially on younger people around the start of the outbreak, but since then, mostly only on Fireflies, the rest's fire having been extinguished by the shock of their harsh reality.

But the courageous ones? Courage is what tended to get people killed around here these days.  

You let out another breath, pulling Joel out of his thoughts.  

"Fine, I'll figure something out. . . lift them off one of Robert's guys, or something,"

Joel is silent for another few seconds, before his eyes move to the bruise blooming on your cheek. He'd noticed it in the alleyway when he was eavesdropping, too, but it had been too dark to see it properly. It's big, stretching almost the entirety of your cheekbone and into your hairline, a dissonance of harsh purple and blue hues. You also have what looks like a fresh scab from a cut on your lip.

"They gave you those?"

You give a bitter smile. "They were jerking around some girl, on Saturday. . . I didn't think getting stabbed would make me so slow, but it did, and I fucked it up. . . you should see the size of the bruise on my ribs,"

You let out an almost amused breath, pursing your lips as you shake your head.

"Is that why your infection came back?"

The moment it's out of his mouth, Joel realizes he shouldn't have said it. He watches as your expression changes, and you sit back against the chair, crossing your arms as your face clears in realisation.

"I never told you I had an infection," you say, your eyes boring straight into Joel as he meets your eyes with a nonchalant shrug you don't buy.

"You got stabbed," he lies, and he thinks he sounds convincing enough, "With a disgusting knife no less, thanks for leaving that behind in my sink, by the way–"

"You're the one that pulled that out of me," you say pointedly, "I wasn't exactly conscious,"

"At which point I could have easily slit your throat with it," Joel says, and his tone is firm, but for some reason, it doesn't feel like a real threat.

"But you didn't," you say, eyes boring into his as you cross your arms over your chest. For some reason, Joel has to fight an urge for his eyes to travel down, to your chest, which your new pose only enhances. He almost chides himself for it, but his expression doesn't change as he continues to look in your face.  

"I would've left you to die, you would've bled out in an hour," he corrects, raising an eyebrow, "But Tess had other ideas,"

"So, she's the one I have to thank," you ask him, raising your own eyebrow, "I'll make sure to remember that,"

Joel doesn't answer, only lets out a small, sarcastic hum and a breath out through his nose. He thinks you've bought it, but you're still sitting there, arms crossed over your chest as your eyes bore unrelentlessly into his, as if trying to pull the truth out from behind them.

Then, your tongue rolls over your top teeth in annoyance as you shake your head slightly.

"How much did you hear? When you were eavesdropping in that alley?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," Joel denies, almost immediately, and you give a sarcastic purse of your lips.

"No?" you ask, raising your brows disbelievingly, your expression not unlike one of a chiding teacher, "How did you even find me?"

After a second of looking elsewhere, Joel looks right into your eyes. "Your solider boy has a big mouth,"

"You're fucking lying," you scoff almost straightaway, shaking your head, "That boy is anything but," 

"Well, believe it or not, he's the reason I found you," Joel doesn't relent, and he gives an infuriating shrug, "Maybe he's not as discreet as you think. . . that can be dangerous, for people like you,"

Joel enjoys the uneasy look that flashes in your eyes as you seem to think about it.

It's not nice of him, but Joel is still angry with you about the last time you two interacted, and he also knows doubting people you thought you could trust is arguably one of the worst feelings in the world.

"People like me?" you repeat, and he snorts, looking down at his watch.

"Thieves," he tells you, and you let out a scoff, shaking your head.

"That's rich, coming from a drug dealer," you return, and Joel's head snaps up, his expression thunderous.

"I'm not a drug dealer," he defends, and you frown, unimpressed.

"Yes, you are," you say obviously, eyes boring into his with challenge, "What would you call it?"

"I smuggle painkillers," Joel rectifies, shaking his head, "It's not like I'm pushing cocaine and heroin,"

You let out a scoff, eyes falling back on the map.

"Right, because there's a lot of that to go around these days," you say sarcastically, "Painkillers are still drugs, Joel. . . if the world hadn't gone to shit 18 years ago, the US would be knee-deep in one of the worst opioid crises known to man about now,"

The sound of his name falling over your lips makes Joel fight an urge to shiver. He doesn't know why it catches him so off guard, but the fact that it's his name– his first name, no less– after barely knowing you, makes something in his stomach churn.  

He hates it when people know things about him; he'd always been relatively private, even before the outbreak, but after Sarah died, and the world had ended, Joel had almost entirely shut off, and it had taken the people around him now years to pry him open again.

Yet here you were, a girl he'd met barely a month ago, who had stolen from him but also saved his ass, saying his name like you'd known each other for years. It makes him nervous.

He checks his watch again.

"Don't bother with the cards," he says finally, eyes coming back up to meet yours, "You can't pay me back if they beat you to death in the alleyway for trying to steal from them," 

"I don't try," you say sarcastically, your tone clipped, shoulder squaring as your smile drops, "I do,"  

Joel raises an eyebrow, eyes once again falling pointedly on the bruise on your cheek.

"Something tells me you aren't exactly in the best shape, already," he notes, ignoring your clear display of ego, enjoying the way it seems to get even more under your skin, "They'd kill you, and you're no use to me dead,"

With that, Joel picks up his backpack, which is lying by one of the table's feet, and steps past you towards the front door. Just when he reaches it, he stops, and you watch as he thrusts his hand into the backpack, pulling out a small bag with assorted strips of pills in it. After a rummage, he pulls out a strip of 6 red and yellow pills. He turns and tosses the strip your way, and it lands on the map you're studying with a resounding sound.

"Amoxicillin," he explains, as you pick it up and inspect it, "Stronger than the shit you got off your soldier,"

 Your eyes move to meet his, small, questioning frown etched into your brow.

"Consider it an investment," Joel says, voice gruff, "And I s'pose thank you for fixing my watch. . . do you know how to take them?"

"I'm not an idiot," you say matter-of-factly, and he gives a short grunt with his curt nod.

"Could've fooled me," he says, his tone one of bitter sarcasm, before he yanks the door open and disappears through it.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #the last of us #tlou #tlou hbo

[itwasthisorthemilitary]

May 11, 2024

Just shy of 3 months since I left Boston.

All of the volunteers in Panama Oeste have to start taking preventative malaria pills because it's getting more and more prolific in this region. This morning I got the 5 AM chiva into Chorrera to pick up my new pills. But today was with a surprise! Liv and I had been planning a super sneaky suprrise for Samuel. Sam's birthday is next week so Liv came up with a lovely little lie on why she HAD to come to Panama Oeste this weekend from Chiriqui. She boarded the midnight bus and met me at 6:15 this morning. We had a breakfast date as we waited for Sam to meet me in Chorrera. Sam and I had a routine day in Chorrera planned, new medications, wifi, cafe, ice, electricity. It was adorable seeing his face when he saw Liv was here. So I got to see two of my favorite people, I am very happy. They are currently on a little date while I do some work on my laptop in the cafe. Rumors that I might get to see Caitlin today are in the air as well, not getting my hopes up, and it's hard to communicate with her because of signal, but hopefully she's also making her way in for the new medication.

Skin has fully cleared up. Things at site are...simply what they are. As before, its less day to day and more an hour to hour frame of reference. Sometimes I feel optimistic, sometimes I feel miserable, almost always I feel exhausted. I typically do alright with the bugs, but scorpions are a different story. After my shower on Thursday night I saw about a 4" scorpion on my wall. I panicked and then smacked it with a frying pan. It wasn't enought to kill him so he fell to the floor and scurried under my shelf. Ain't no way I was about to look under that shelf. So then I kinda panicked. Why am I putting myself through this? I could be living somewhere where the odds of scoprions being in my pillow case is much closer to 0%. Also, I don't have electricity so all of this was unfolding with me holding a small, solar paneled lamp. I proceeded to completely strip my bed; sheets, pillowcases, taking the mattress off the frame, re-tucking in the bug net. The bed was safe. After I had reassembled my bed, the fucker crawled out from under the shelf. I proceeded to crunch him into a pulp with my $12 steel toed boots. He is still sitting there on the floor, I can't bear to move it, and I hope it serves as a warning to any other scoprions that find themselves in my room.

I found out that the director/teacher of the school wants me to paint a mural on one of the walls of the school. Probably either a painting of the world or the country, not sure yet. But I am headed to school on Monday to discuss more.

I also got a traditional pair of cutarras from a man in my town who makes them. I visited him on like my second day at site and he took measurements of my feet. Yesterday, he texted and said they were ready. I really love them and they fit perfectly. Not realllllly sure when I will wear them because with all the rain they're not the most practical.

Hola to everyone who is still reading this, love you <3

[celiastjamesoscar]

Hello lovely!

First off, this is incredible. I looooove Ghostface Sam. Especially when she's extra protective of R. Perfection.

Sam as her usual, canon self is already very protective but now as Ghostface, where her inhibition threshold is already lowered/non existent, her protectiveness is taking on a whole new level. Though, it's still not that different from canon Sam because she, too, would kill people and get rid of them in order to protect the people she loves. Sure, canon Sam wouldn't murder someone out of jealousy but she sure as hell would defend Tara or the twins with her life and beat up a fucker for assaulting them. It's really impressive how you can create a new version of Sam here but still keep her canon personality that we all know and love. The small details like Sam hiding her hands in the jacket is just chefs kiss.

And R!! I love her personality. All shy and reserved for everyone else but with Sam she can be herself, a funny, bold and sassy person. R knows Sam would never judge her for anything.

Ps. I sneaked out if class to read this because since I woke up I was so excited for this story

Pps. How cute is the scrapbook!! Sam is such a huge softie, I love her so much

I know I’ve said this before, BUT I LOVE YOUR REVIEWS SO FUCKING MUCH!!!

Everything that you said is chefs kiss. I try my best to add different personalities for Sam while also keeping her canon one. Like you pointed out how she hides her hands! I can’t remember who’s blog I saw it on, but I really agreed with what they said about how Sam hides them whenever she feels self conscious. Sam would definitely kill someone to protect her found family, especially after the events of Scream 6. I mean, we saw Sam wipe out 2/3 of a family in that movie in order to protect them, so she has no problem with killing to defend

Also, I personally feel like I could be myself around Sam and that she would judge me, so I add that into all my fics as well. There’s something that’s so comforting in her character and personality that makes me want to talk to her all night

I literally wrote some of this during one of my classes, so i completely understand sneaking out to read it!! I’m on my lunch break right now (thank god it’s two hours) and I plan to work somewhere on my next request!!

I want Sam to make me a scrapbook, it’s not fair

#bender chats #sam carpenter #scream #sam carpenter x reader

[creepydudesinthedesert]

Mad Max Fury Road: Drunk Commentary Edition

EDIT: I figure I might as well post this since, surprise!! I'm actually sober now so there's no chance of me very finishing this lol. But it was funny to read when I wrote it up like a year ago. Enjoy!

I’m starting after drinking 2 canned mojitos, and a glass of wine WITNESS ME!!!!!

- I watched this movie because a friend of mine wanted to get with a dude, and here i am, 6 years later and it’s still my favorite.

- It’s crazy having a boyfriend whose super into cars and telling him all the trivia for this movie lol

- Max NEED SOME MI:Lk after that car crash

- Guys i found a movie poste r for fury road at a thrift bookstore this year amd its thebest $30 ive ever soent

-someone tatoo my bloodbAG info on my back

-yO anyone remember that furiosa comic that reached NO ONES expectations??? idk about that guy but im built different i could write a better one

- THE CHASE SCENE

- CHARLIZE THERON WITH THE BRAND WALKING AWAY FROM THE CAMERA

- poetic cinema/im gay

- WE. ARE. WAR. BOYS.

- Everything about the i,mmortans reveal gives me straight up D****T***** Vibes and you all know why i am not taking questions or criticisms

- you know youer drunk when you accidentally open inspect element

- KEEP HER NAME OUT OF YOUR MOUTH

- bro im abbouto rise from the ashes from this world b/c im GONE

- That reminds me, when drinking, HYDRATE

- I DO RESENT ITS ABSENCE YOU DONT GOTTA RUB IT IN

- FUCKER

- THE LOOK. THE DETAIL

- Organic always felt the most aussie of of the cast

- The fact they al respect her decision for "heading east”

- Gaslight. Gatekeep. Girlboss.

- They dialogue between the brothers always got me because they seemed so normal. Maybe they actually had a good relationship together and rictus was actually mourned when it was revealed that immortan joe was dead.

- I did a paper on this movie my freshman year of college, yess i was a nerd, and yess I got a 100%

- ‘YOU CANNOT OWN A HUMAN BEING!”

- GASSLIGHT. GATEKEEP. GIRLBOSS

- ngl miss giddy you could’ve saved us a good 2 hours if you didnt miss

- #Killrapists

- NUX

- problematic fave turned wholesome fave

- “thas maigh whill!”

- “IM GONNE HISTORIC ON THE FURY ROAD”

- THE BEST SEQUENCE

- THE DRUMS

- THE GUITAR

- THE CARS

- DUN NA NANANA, DUN NA NANANA

- nux fangirling like me at the black veil brides concert last week

- I AM AWATED

- “...it’s a detour...”

- Im so gay

-oh my god i realized i havent seen this movie since majoring in russian language, I heard that whole exchange while not even looking at the tv

#mad max fury road #mmfr #furiosa #max rockatansky #nux #for anyone thats interested im actually 8 months clean! #life is good :)

[magicxc]

Hills and Valleys

Synopsis: Legend has it that Halloween is strictly for the scares. With ghouls and goblins, vampires and werewolves, witches and broomsticks, who could disagree?

However, all this friend group wanted was a little trick or treat. Sprinkle in a few party favors, loud music and a cabin in the woods, the myth was bound to come true.

Lurking around the corner is danger like never before, eager to bring this night to a bloody finish.

So join these friends as they fight to make it through a Hallween they’ll never forget.

Word Count: 3506

Warnings: murdaaaa, tha big reveal

Chapter 6 - Jasons POV

A/N: this is legit like my 5th attempt at uploading this damn fic. From the warnings to the word count to the moodboard to the story all the way down to the fucking tagsssss 😩 I am TIRED. Almost turned my phone into jello over Dumblr. So please, enjoy; cause tears def went into this.

Series Masterlist

“What’s with the scrutiny all of a sudden?” Emery challenged. “You know I could say the same for you Jason, the same for all of us really; cause where was anyone when our friends were fighting for their lives?” she sniffled. “All we have to do is sit here til sunrise and we can’t even do that.”

As annoying as I find Emery, she made a decent point. Where was I? Where was anyone and how did this manage to happen unheard? Do I actually believe Lorenzo did it? Not really. He’s lost arguably the two closest people in his friend group, cradling Stephanie in his arms for God knows how long. For a second I almost believed he’d break through the window if it meant he could reach out and hold Julianna much the same; his behaviour eerily composed, reminding me of the calm before the storm - and what a shit storm it’s turned out to be.

Serving in the military, I was taught to survive in extreme atmospheric conditions; training to fight in places as scorching as the desert and as icy as the snow. Our exercises also saw us in unsturdy places such as the choppy currents of the water, arms linked together as we floated on the surface for hours. The sky was no exception either, learning to parachute from altitudes so high the air was all but limited. It wasn’t my dream to fight for this country but, life happens. And while it did come with its perks, I wouldn’t recommend any sane person to join. I’ve scraped so many bodies off the battlefield and sent so many others to meet their maker, I’ve become somewhat desensitized to death - learning to keep calm during the most chaotic and life threatening moments because it’s only then that I was able to live to tell the tale. And that’s what I’ve been attempting since we all found ourselves locked in this place - surviving, lending out my experience to the team who quite frankly doesn't deserve it at this point. All I can do is stay calm long enough to see this night through.

“I think we should waterboard the fucker.”

And here the fuck we go. I’ve never pegged Lynn for such a firecracker but I get it. After all, this night is drawing all sorts of emotions from people: showing our true colors when the universe dangles something so priceless before us.

It's been said that about 1800 people have jumped from the golden gate bridge, yet only 35 have survived the fall. And each person that’s survived has explicitly stated that they regretted jumping halfway through the fall, realising, in the face of imminent danger, just how solvable all their problems seemed. Much like tonight, in what happened to be a party gone horribly wrong, recovering bodies littered around the house like candies during an easter egg hunt, only then do you realise how desperately you want to live. Many people are familiar with the term fight or flight, but what goes most overlooked is a secret third thing - fear. Fear so intense it freezes you to one spot like a deer in headlights, too afraid to move from the oncoming beams of tragedy. But another emotion fear pulls from us is survival, an emotion so fierce that you’d find yourself doing just about anything to have it; even going as far as to commit interrogation tactics of torture.

“Exactly which fucker are you referring to?” Emery questioned.

“Whoever the fucker is responsible for this mess.”

“Go ahead and point them out for us since you know every damn thing.”

They’re on their own with this one. I can't deal with the bickering. I'm used to organized and thought provoking responses in such situations; my irritation rising the more it sinks in just how wet they are behind the ears.

“Lorenzo, you’re one more insult away from me socking you in the face.”

“Whatever Lynn, what you should hit is the books you dumbass,” he retorts.

Throwing her shoe at him, it just barely misses his face; Emery stepping in to call them both childish.

“So help me God if you don’t get your shit together, I’m gonna whoop you like your parents should have.”

“Fuck you Lenny, at least my parents were active enough in my life not to let me get raised by the help.”

“Parent,” Lorenzo enunciated. “Had your dad been able to afford the help, maybe your mom would’ve stuck around you motherless bitch.”

Well shit.

“Jason, do something!”

“Right, uhhh all shoes in the middle of the floor,” I instructed.

“Asshole.”

I don’t know why Emery insists on calling me out. Everyone, despite tonight’s circumstances, in this room is responsible for their own actions. Yet she expects me to jump in the middle of their bullshit every time. I don't know what kind of savior complex they have going on, but I won’t be a part of it. I barely want to be with sugar at this point.

“Lenny you motherfucker, two parents plus the help and yet no one taught you what it means to have common decency; no wonder women can’t wait to get rid of you.”

“Well if it isn’t the whore of Babylon here to teach us a lesson about keeping partners. Tell you what, you teach me how to keep a woman and I’ll teach you how to get rid of the clap.”

“Sex shaming is not cool,” Emery criticized.

“And neither is half the things that's been flapping past Lynn's lying ass lips,” Lorenzo retorted. “If you’re gonna be biased, do so from the corner of the room, cause you’re at about arms length right now and that’s not good for you.

“Would you seriously hit me?” she ridiculed.

I would.

“Are you surprised Em, this is the same piece of shit who yanked Julez arm so hard, it left bruises.”

“You dramatic whore, no the fuck I did not.”

“And that was in front of an entire crowd, who knows what you’re capable of behind closed doors huh? Drowning? Slicing?”

“Sounds like you’re in the mood to find out.”

“Tell me their last words to you as you watched them fight for their lives you piece of shit.”

“YOU GUYS PLEASE.”

Oh my God.

“Shut your mouth Lynn.”

“Tell me every horrifying detail about what fucked you up so bad that you’d turn on your own friends in such a way.”

“I won't ask you again.”

“Steph probably begged you to finish her off didn’t she? Eager to get the hell away from you and your perverted advances.”

For a big guy, Lorenzo’s pretty damn swift. Maybe it’s because all those drinks are still sloshing around in my bloodstream but my cat like senses wasn’t quick enough to catch him.

Angrily lunging toward Lynn his hands are tightly wrapped around her throat, arms trembling from the forceful hold. Beads of sweat drip down his forehead, while spittled foam gathers at the corners of his mouth. Blinking away tears, thick veins line the surface of his neck, incoherent mumbling tumbling past his lips.

Sugar desperately beats at his arms, struggling for air he refuses to give her and my anger shoots through the roof, their foolishness pissing me off for the final time. It takes both me and Emery to tear Lorenzo away from sugar, his grip firm and unrelenting. For a second I feared that he actually intended to kill her. Once we finally manage to drag him away, it takes me putting my full weight on this man, using one of my hand to hand combat moves to lock him into place.

Pinned beneath me, I scream to Emery to grab anything strong enough to tie his arms together. She brings me back one of the kitchen towels and I roll us sideways so that she can wrap it around his hands.

“I - I can't do it, he won’t stop thrashing his arms.”

“For fucksake Emery TRY, there’s only so much I can do right now.

With lots of wiggling and flailing, Emery manages a decent enough knot for me to turn him over and reinforce it. Sugar finally catches her breath before storming into the kitchen.

We sit Lorenzo in a chair while Emery tries to coax him into comfort. Standing up, he head butts me in the face, my nose immediately leaking blood from the impact. My fist returns the favor, knocking him back into the chair. Emery harshly tugs on my elbow, begging me to stop, and it takes everything in me to do just that because this fight was about to turn real unfair, real quick.

Dragging my arm across my face, I look about the room for anything to tie down his legs to the chair, coming up with some loose cloth, which undoubtedly was a part of someone’s costume.

“Fuck all of you,” Lorenzo screams.

“No Lenny, fuck you,” sugar screeched, thumping back to the room; a pitcher full of water cradled between her hands.

“Woah, woah, woah LYNNLEY. Are you fucking serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“This is Lenny, the same Lenny we’ve known since middle school.”

“People change Em and I'm about to show you just how much.”

“Sugar, maybe we should-“

“Shut up, all of you.”

“I know there’s been a lot said tonight, some things in particular we can never take back,” Lorenzo sighed. “And I know tensions are high right now, but are they so high that you’d all sit there and watch me die.”

“Lorenzo, no one’s gonna kill anyone man.”

“It’s WATERBOARDING, you of all people should know that it can very well get fatal.”

“Enough of this.”

Grabbing a fistful of his hair, she pulls his head back, pouring enough water on him to drench his clothes, before being snatched away by Emery.

It's not nearly enough to kill him, but it does make for some discomfort, much like accidentally snorting a noseful of water once you dive inside a swimming pool. It burns but that's about it.

Coughing through his discomfort, I listen as sugar and Emery go back and forth over the severity of it all; and I briefly contemplate killing myself if it means that I won't have to deal with their nonsense. I honestly don't know if I can make it to sunrise like this and by the looks of it, neither will they.

Their bickering finally subsides, them agreeing only to question the man and nothing more. Of course Lorenzo detests it, that for no other reason than a hunch he’s guilty and lowkey he’s right. But then again, I'm not inserting myself into their madness. They’ve made it this far in this fucked up friend circle, they can make it the rest of the night.

“So lemme get this straight, you went upstairs to find cell signal and somehow found yourself next to a knife stricken Steph?”

“Lynn, ask your damn question.”

“How did you end up there and why?”

“My phone fell out of the window and I was looking for someone elses to use. It just so happened that Steph was the first person I found.”

“I think we should stop asking who may have done it, but why?” Emery proposed. “I feel like if we can figure out who had motive, we can narrow it down.”

“Well this is a pretty fucked up way to narrow things down. I'm literally tied to a chair.”

“That's because you choked me.”

“And I’ll do it again, you’ve been out of pocket since this whole thing started. How do we know you’re not the killer huh?

“Because I’m holding back from killing you now,” she shrieks.

Spitting, the thick glob lands directly on her chest, sugar all but emptying the contents of the pitcher onto his face; angrily clomping back into the kitchen to no doubt fill it again, but not before slapping him across the cheek.

Wet and stinging, that's quite the combination. I fear this has gone on long enough and it's only escalating. As much as I wanted to stay out of it, I think I better intervene.

Following sugar into the kitchen, I try to talk her out of this crazed state, her dazed pupils letting me know that she’s too far gone for reason. Pushing past me, she heads back into the living room where we see Emery struggling to untie the knots off Lorenzo, his violent coughing trying to dislodge the water that seeped into his lungs.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“The hell does it look like I'm doing Lynn, this is mad and it needs to stop now.”

“Not until I get some answers.”

“People who talk, talk after their first contact with water,” I bargained. “And he’s not talking.”

“All that means is we have to get him talking then.”

“OR, it means he didn’t do it. You pour a bucket of water over someone’s nose and they’ll tell you whatever you want to hear if it means you’ll stop.”

“And yet you did it anyway,” she glared.

“There was a time where I would’ve died for all of you. I found a family in you guys and it filled a void I didn’t even know I had. And in one night, one measly fucking night I lose it all,” Lorenzo whimpered. “My best friend gets murdered without us ever properly mending things between us. I had to watch the love of my life die in my arms. And now, my other friend is actively trying to kill me, disregarding our decade long friendship all in the name of anger.

“Lorenzo, you did this to yourself!”

“LYNN, how fucking cruel can you be?”

“It’s alright Em, I’ve been known to be a bit of an asshole, though I’d like to think I meant well,” he bitterly chuckled, snot trickling down his nose. “Do me a favor and survive this fucked up night, cause God only knows who Lynn will turn on next. Not to mention that fucker over there,” he says, head nodding toward me. “Ain't it a little odd how all of this starts happening the moment he shows up? Yet I'm the one you helped him strap down to a chair. They ask what would you do for a klondike bar, but you better start asking what would Lynn do for a piece of dick, cause apparently it’s kill for it.”

“Lorenzo, I'm actually on your side. The only reason you’re even tied to that chair is because you attacked two people in this room,” I defended.

“And what's the reason I'm being waterboarded huh? Who weaseled that thought in her mind? You say you fight for your country? Motherfucker you can't even fight for the people in this room, but you like what’s happening huh?

“Not at all man.”

“We get it, I'm a dumb hoe, but you’re about to be a dead one if you don’t fess up.”

“And then what? You’ll let me go free?”

“Jason, please help me untie him,” Emery pleaded.

“Em don’t you fucking dare.”

Lunging toward her, hands get tangled into hair and nails get scratched into skin before I can get between them. It takes more strength than I care to give to hold Emery back, both she and sugar throwing around insults.

“Lynn I swear, you’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Lorenzo taunted. “YOU ARE THE CUM SHOT YOUR MOTHER SHOULDVE SWALLOWED. It would’ve saved your dad a lifetime of headaches and your mother the embarassm-“

Lorenzo’s words get cut off by the splashing of water, his gurgling noises buried under the guzzling of the pitcher. Emery goes wild, hitting my chest repeatedly and I toss her to the ground, jetting over to the scene behind me. Slapping the pitcher from Lynn’s hands, it's on the verge of empty, nothing but a trickle left inside as it splatters to the floor.

Lorenzo’s body furiously thrashes around, his chest caved in and head hung over with water spluttering from his mouth in an attempt to rid it from his body.

“Shit, Lynnley what the fuck did you do,” I screamed.

Emery is struggling to undo the knots, but all she’s doing is pulling them tighter together. I race over and lean the chair forward, hoping for gravity to expel some of the water from his airway, his body jerking about minorly.

“Why are you just standing there, find something to cut him loose.”

Scrambling into the kitchen, I hear dishes clinking and slamming together before Lynn comes running out with a knife, slicing through the cloth as best she can. The kitchen towel, since it was the thickest, took the longest and by the time we got him out the chair and on the floor, his fits has ceased.

Getting into position, I lock my hands together and press down on his chest, 30 times just like we did in training.

“Emery, once I count to 30 I need you to tip his head back and blow two big breaths into his mouth okay.”

“And what do I do?”

“Stay the fuck over there, I doubt he’d want your help at this point,” Emery yelled.

We do five sets of 30 compressions. The CPR forces out some of the water but Lorenzo is still unconscious.

“Why isn’t it working?” Emery wails.

“Em-“

“Why are you stopping, keep going.”

“Stop.”

Pushing against my chest, Emery restarts CPR.

“The lungs are about 9 inches in height, that's a little under a foot.”

“Nobody cares, just fucking help me.”

“The pitcher that Lynn poured over his face looked to be about 64 ounces and she did it twice. That was enough water to fill his lungs three times over.”

“We can do it, I know we can,” she croaked.

“There's no amount of CPR that can expel that much water. And his lungs are so heavy they’re actively swelling as we speak.”

“We won’t know unless we try Jason, you get the mouth and I’ll get the chest.”

“Blowing air into his already expanding lungs won't help Emery.”

“Am I supposed to just watch him die then?” she chided. “Isn’t there a way to drain it?”

“I'm no doctor and neither do we have the tools or the sterile space to do that.”

“Fuck a sterile space!”

“Not only would you infect him but stabbing anything in his chest to ‘drain it’ will only make him bleed out. We would need a very specific and precise needle.”

“No, we can do it,” she answered, starting the compressions again.

The splattering of liquids on the floor lets me know that Lynn has just emptied the contents of her stomach, but I'm in no mood to comfort.

“The body works in 3’s. Three days without water, three weeks without food, and three minutes without air. It’s been about seven now.”

“Shut up.”

“Lorenzo’s lungs are so heavy they’ve probably detached from his windpipe. That, coupled with no oxygen to his brain…at least he was unconscious before it happened.

“Jason either you help me or you leave,” Emery threatened, fat teardrops rolling down her face in droves.

There’s five stages of grief and they’re at the first one. Back against the furniture, I hold my head in my hands, listening to sugars light whimpers and Emery's ragged breathing.

She tires herself out with compressions, fists flying to his chest, pleading for him to wake up. Hands clutched over her ears, sugar rocks back and forth, mumbling out apologies, expletives, and frustrations; guilt no doubt eating her alive.

Hands dropping to my pocket, I rummage around for anything I can chew on, ready to get out of here and never see these people again. Fingers slipping free with the peppermint goodness, I unwrap it and pop it in my mouth.

Some minutes pass by, how many I don't know and the night grows quiet. As tragic as it’s been for everyone, this minute's peace brings about a small sense of tranquility. There’s the occasional sniffle and I watch as the sky transitions from pitch black to a pale pink, the telltale sign of the sun about to rise.

“At least his parents will be home soon right?” sugar questions.

“Yep, right in time enough to see their only son sprawled out on the floor and his friends scattered across the property. So much for the new owners, their home just turned into a crime scene.”

“Do you have any more gum?” Emery asked, voice sore from crying.

Tossing it in her direction, she catches it, face upturned once she removes the wrapper.

“Eww, Jason what the fuck, who the hell buys brown gum? What kind of flavor even is this?”

“It's peppermint,” I answered, popping a bubble.

“Still weird, I haven’t seen this shit since-“

The words die on her tongue. She looks up to me, revelation fresh on her features, which slowly etches into panic, as a sinister grin makes its way onto mine.

#Emmy Writes #Emmy Tries #Halloween Kills #Halloween Series #Halloween #Hills and Valleys #Original Story and Characters #Horror #the big fucking reveal #did you guess it right? #have you known all along? #tell me your thoughts

[goddess-of-green]

Reviving this (6???) month old idea

(This ventured a little from the original concept but it's close enough. Have fun Nagito fuckers.)

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Camgirl!reader, NSFW, Komaeda is a SIMP, Solo!Komaeda, masturbation, use of pet names (honey), this takes place while they're in Hope's Peak so everyone is aged up

➤ Nagito was surprised, but he knew he probably shouldn't have been

➤ It was just his luck to encounter someone as beautiful and...talented such as yourself

➤ That wouldn't stop him from losing his composure though

➤ Here you were, right in front of him, a classmate of his. At Hope's Peak! He was going to get to see you every day! He thought he might faint when you came up to introduce yourself to him

➤ You had just happened to notice him in a corner by himself, and approached him

➤ But all he could think while you were telling him your name was I know. I know your name, I know who you are, I know what you look like with your clothes off... I know I know I know

➤ Still, Nagito was able to keep his cool remarkably well, the only sign of something amiss being the pink tint to his cheeks, which was easy for you to brush off...if you even noticed

➤ Maybe he was just shy, you would think to yourself, but he caught your interest

➤ You thought he seemed cute the second you laid eyes on him, and his timid demeanor only drew you in more

➤ But the whole time Nagito was with you those nasty thoughts plagued his mind

➤ He was one of your top donors after all, he never missed a show and how could he just eat lunch next to you after seeing the gorgeous faces you'd made with your legs parted just for him the night before?

➤ He felt like some sort of peeping tom, seeing things that were never meant for his eyes, and just pretending that he was an innocent friend of yours

➤ It was thoughts like those that sent him rushing off, murmuring something about needing to use the bathroom and taking his bag with him, angled not-so-secretly over his hips to hide his raging boner

➤ Nagito hated himself the most those days, when he pressed his back against a stall door and had to jerk himself off furiously to the thought of you

➤ It's not that he wanted to think of you! He just found it so hard to feel good if he wasn't thinking of your gorgeous body, or your pleasured face, or just how well you could take him, he could fuck you so good, maybe his luck would actually let him please you as well as you did him

➤ And he would feel awful as he came all over his hands and stomach to thoughts you, but it was always made better by the smile you'd shoot him when he finally returned to your side

➤ He spent hours up at night wondering if you could ever find it in your heart to look his way, but settled for fucking his hand to your moaning face through his phone screen

➤ The fraction of contentment he'd feel as you smiled and read his username aloud was all he could hope to receive

➤ "Ah, thank you so much for donating again, honey. Maybe I could give you a private show time?" The knowledge that the smile and wink you sent the camera were directed solely at him, was enough to have him shaking all over again, and he thought he'd break his fingers with how fast he typed a response

➤ "Please."

➤ You only giggled at the enthusiasm, sending kisses to all your viewers and wishing them goodnight as you logged off, and Nagito sighed in exhaustion and bliss, the afterglow of his orgasm and you're acknowledgement still lingering with him

➤ Then, something new happened

➤ Nagito glanced at his phone as a notification appeared, and practically jumped when he realized it was you

➤ "You have a DM request from y/n"

➤ With shaky fingers, he pressed "Accept" as quickly as the option appeared on screen, and waited with bated breath to see what you would say

➤ "You have a name, honey? I'd love to have one to say while I'm creaming ;)"

➤ Nagito flushed, thighs tensing as his cock started to get hard again. Did you really have such an effect on him?

➤ Nagito took a second to think, smiling at how beautiful his name would sound tumbling from your lips, especially as you met your peak on your own fingers, though that wouldn't stop him from imaging they were his, or maybe that he was so lucky as to press his face between your perfect thighs and pleasure you with tongue

➤ He bit his lip, no way, there was no he could tell you his actual name

➤ Because as gorgeous as you would look crying out just for him, he wouldn't trade that for getting to see you every day, and getting to eat lunch by your side, as pathetic as he may be

➤ Truly, if you knew how disgusting and selfish he was, there's no way you would ever want anything to do with him

➤ So he would just have to keep it to himself

➤ With shaky fingers, he typed out a response

➤ "You can call me Clover."

#danganronpa x reader #sdr2 x reader #super danganronpa 2 x reader #danganronpa 2 x reader #dr x reader #dr 2 x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #nagito x reader #nagito smut #nagito komaeda smut #nagito nsft #nagito komaeda nsft

[hogtiedwhore2]

Tumblr Hide and Seek

i thought that i would give the story telling a chance myself! i wrote this story with some of the interactions we have on here. hopefully you guys like! there are multiple parts to this story, which will be posted every day until it is over. im sorry in advance if you are not included in this story, i really wanted to include everyone, but i just ran out of spots!

Part 1 - Intro

It was pitch black under my hood. I had no idea where I was at. The last thing I remember is being taken off the street when a white van rolled up to me in the middle of the night. A couple guys popped out and grabbed me. In the van they held me down and shoved a rag in my mouth and taped my mouth shut. They followed it up by taping me up, and putting a black hood over my head. After a few hours of driving, the van came to a stop and the men yanked me out of the van, and made me walk. All I know from what I am hearing around me, I am inside of some sort of building. After what felt like forever the black hood was ripped off.

I looked around and saw I was standing in a line with 4 other girls, who were gagged and restrained similar to the way I was. There was a man walking up to each girl and taking their hood off. We all looked at each other, with fear and confusion in our eyes. After the man ripped the last hood off, he walked in front of us and joined a line of 6 guys. All staring at us like they were in line for the buffet table. One of the men stepped forward and addressed us.

“Hello sluts of tumblr. You may not recognize each other, but here we have @tunnellady , @boundkitti , @lucyvslucinda , @toribound , and hogtiedwhore.” We all looked at each other in confusion. The man continued, “Finally you all get to meet each other, and now you get to me, @isurftheworld . And here with me @themasterties , @the-english-bounder , @dirty-fucker-83 , @kiltedpatriot , and @cruelmaster1962 . Now why are you here? You see, for awhile now, you sluts have been on tumblr, writing out all these twisted fantasies about kidnapping you...humiliating you...enslaving you...so us guys got together and decided talk was not enough. We are making all your fantasies come true!” I looked around at the girls, who all started trying to plead through their gags. “Now, now, now...all this time you girls have been saying you want this! Maybe you should be careful what you wish for! So heres the deal, we are going to play a game. If you win, you get your freedom! If you don’t...your fantasies become a reality. It’s hide and seek! You see, we have rented out this building. We will all let you go, you all get 20 minutes to go hide. If you stay hidden after 3 hours, we will let you go. But whoever finds you, that’s your new owner. You all have watches on your wrists, so you can track the time yourself. Don’t think about escaping either, the doors are locked. You will just be wasting your time, and might cause you to be found. Any questions before we start?”

All the girls including myself began to try and speak up but our gags kept us from saying anything other then muffled sounds. “None? Great lets get started!” All the men walked up to us and started to let us out of our restraints. The girls just stood around and we tried our best to plead, even though we are still gagged. @isurftheworld held his watch up looking at all of us, “tick tock, tick tock.” We all just stared at each other for a moment, and we all took off in different directions. The game begins...

To Be Continued

#stories #isurftheworld #themasterties #cruelmaster1962 #dirtyfucker83 #kiltedpatriot #theenglishbounder #tunnellady #toribound #boundkitti #lucyvslucinda #hideandseek

[kariachi]

Okay, looking at the history of Alan's page on the wiki, look into age shit. Going to try to keep my "I was literally there" commentary to myself.

~~

First mention of his age comes on April 28 2010, claiming it was stated by McDuffie but with nothing backing the claim.

It then back and forths a bit between his age being listed as 10, being listed as in his teens, or not listed at all based essentially on 'you don't have proof he's that young' 'you don't have proof he's not' and presumably 'guys he's like an inch shorter than Ben and built like a teen' it seems, eventually being left on 'he's 10'.

On January 2 2011 McDuffie is asked if the wiki is accurate as far as Alan's age and answers with "No, he's 11". This claim isn't added to the wiki, it seems nobody was citing any sources at the time.

On January 15 2011 the wiki is altered to show Alan as being 14 in AF, though the same page also lists him as 11.

January 16 2011 sees the 11 removed and replaced with fifteen.

An January 20 2011 the page is again altered to list him as 10 in AF and remove the mention of his age from the main body of the page.

On June 20 2011 somebody alters the wiki to state that he's 12 during AF, again with no citation.

This is changed back on June 24 2011.

On October 8 2011 the page is again changed to state that Alan is 14 in AF.

The page stays this way, including through multiple edits by the seeming originator of the 'Alan is 10' concept, until July 6 2014, when his age is removed entirely from the page.

The next time we see his age listed is after a long stint of the page being partially broken, on November 23 2014, listing him as 14 in AF.

His age is then removed again on January 18 2015.

And it stays like that until February 13 2019, when his age in AF is listed as 10 again, this time at least with a damn citation. The first, by the way, up until that day nobody was citing shit.

And that's how shit remains to this day.

~~

Now, doing this for 2 reasons. One- to back up my claims that 'he's 10' is inaccurate, there's a reason it was changed in the first place after that first comment from McDuffie ended up staying up nearly three years. And these weren't inactive years either, there were plenty of people going in and editing shit. Two- to give me a time to start looking to see if I can find where McDuffie clarified his age- somewhere between Jan 2 and Jan 15, probably closer to the latter.

Probably I won't be able to find it, it's been ages since the forum was taken down, and surely if it hadn't been lost to time somebody would have tracked it down by now, but I have to try. It just, burns at me so damn much, I have to make as strong an attempt as I can.

So, here I am off to search...

~~

And back several hours later with nothing to show for my trawling of archives, and I did fucking trawl. I've got 80 tons of shellfish and not a sign of this damn post because there's a massive chunk gone between the thread page fuckers managed to find and the next one I could get my mitts on.

Also the fucking site this thread page can be found on. It has like 70-odd pages from the old McDuffie site saved, all of them random single pages. How did this happen? Who set this up? The Internet Archive has shit in small batches, but this shit is just individual pages with whole chunks unaccounted for between them. Fucking weird. If nothing else these fuckers need to get in touch with each other and share what they've got.

~~

In the end though, I think this is if nothing else a solid reminder to archive shit. And to cite your goddamn sources when you're editing a wiki! Seriously, how the fuck did it take over twenty years to get a single citation on Alan's page? If people had been doing that from the start we would have had far fewer problems because we could just go 'this is what was said'! But no, now we're here, with me having to submit to the fact everybody is going to take a sarcastic remark as gospel despite contradictory evidence on the fucking screen until all knowledge of this fandom fizzles away!

Sorry, sorry, was trying to stay off that soapbox.

But, as important if not more so than the citations on wikis thing is still, back shit up people. Archive crap if you can. The Internet Archive has a Firefox extension, you can literally set it to automatically archive pages you go to. Because if this whole situation brings anything into the spotlight, it should be the fact that it's real easy for information to be lost to time. One man died, and because so much wasn't backed up, hundreds of pages, we've lost entire huge chunks of WoG and worldbuilding that now exists only in the heads of the people who were there to read it.

'The internet is forever' only holds true if we put in the effort, because otherwise everything from fandom crap to news articles to instruction manuals can vanish in a poof of lost funds and lost attention. If we wanna know shit later, we've got to store it now.

#alan albright #i don't have the strength to go check for citations on other pages i can only hope and pray they didn't take *two fucking decades* like ala #we literally have over a month of missing information just between that page and the nearest available one and it is *painful* to me #because there is information in there #and i remember some of this information #but i can't *prove it* aside from pointing out that alan literally looks *nothing like* that young #especially when compared to children we know for damn sure are that age in the show

[jinwoosungs]

{ 41 }

seducing mr. perfect, levi ackerman style.

ceo.levi ackerman x secretary/assistant.fem.reader

modern au | soft smut | unedited | minors don’t interact !!!

by choosing to interact with this 18+ content, you have willingly consented to viewing something nsfw despite the warnings.

[ y/n ] [l/n]

we have reviewed your résumé and have an interest in interviewing you for the secretarial position at ackerman corporations. please arrive at the stated address 2:30pm sharp.

DRESS APPROPRIATELY.

l.a.

the ominous DRESS APPROPRIATELY statement found within your letter from ackerman corporations was what prompted you to leave out of the comfort of your cozy apartment and into the bustling shops the city had to offer.

you had every intention of wearing the usual blouse and stiff skirt to your interview, but figured it would be much better to update your look so as to not appear lazy or nonchalant when it came to your appearances. if your mother had taught you anything at all within your 24 years of existence, it would be that first impressions were what lasted.

and boy did you ever want to leave a good impression on ackerman corp’s own ceo.

ackerman was a company that embodied many different faucets. from owning hotels to pharmaceuticals, it was clear that anyone who was lucky enough to work at such a prestigious company would earn close to 6 figures a year.

and when your job hunting lead you to an open secretary position at ackerman corporations, you took the chance and submitted your picture and résumé to the company in hopes of getting the job. so when you received a fancy letter detailing some information about your future interview, you were both ecstatic and terrified.

you hit as many shops your wallet could handle, buying a few differing outfits here and there with plans of sending your mother a picture of each of them to see which one would suit you best for your interview.

after spending just a few hours searching for that perfect outfit, you were already drained. you needed your caffeine fix for the day, so with your various shopping bags in hand, you entered the nearest coffee shop.

immediately, you were greeted with the scent of sweet pastries coupled along with the enticing scent of coffee. this left your mouth watering as you tried to look past the long line of people to see what the shop had to offer.

the telltale jingling of the shop’s bells alerts you to an incoming customer, and you almost felt bad for whoever had just walked in. the line was a long one, and with just one cashier manning the cash register, it would take a while.

so imagine the shock on your face when this asshole walks in, like he fucking owns the place, and cuts directly to the front of the line. you figured the other customers would be pissed and call this jerk out for it, but no. instead they remained tight lipped and silent, even having the gall to step back as the fucker picked up his order.

“excuse me!” you spoke up right away, marching right up to the man who had the audacity to cut in front of you and all these other people. facing you with a cup of coffee in hand, you were suddenly met with a ruggedly handsome face as his thin brows lifted up at you in a questioning glance.

at first, your words were caught in your throat upon seeing how gorgeous this guy was. he had to be just a few years older than you, his face completely chiseled as you found yourself admiring his full lips and stormy grey eyes. what he lacked in height had been more than made up with the sheer amount of confidence he exuded. dressed in a suit specifically tailored for him, you felt small despite how you still stood a bit taller than him.

good looks and regalness aside, you were not going to allow this man to ruin everyone else’s day. “i believe it’s only common courtesy to wait at the back of the line, especially when you’re the one who came in dead last.”

he seemed amused at your statement, and you felt yourself get a bit angrier at how his grey eyes seem to light up, as if laughing at you like you were some joke. “is that so?”

the meek cashier kept staring at you and the man with wide eyes, as if fearing for your life when she tried to intervene, “uhm, miss, please don’t be rude. that man is-”

however, before she could finish, the man holds out a hand to her. “no, it’s fine. the young lady has a point, and she should say it.”

he takes in the bags in your hand and makes a snide remark, “i apologize for ruining the end to your splurging spree.”

was this man insinuating that you were some spoiled princess?! “i’ll have you know, i bought these clothes to wear for my interview tomorrow at ackerman corps, so why don’t you kindly back off and mind your own damn business?”

your outburst only serves to widen his smirk. it seemed like he had something he wanted to say, but ultimately decides against it. lifting his cup of coffee to you, he wishes you good luck and exits the cafe-

leaving you positively reeling with anger.

“miss, i think you need to understand. he-”

but you, being too pissed to care about treating yourself to a nice drink, left before hearing what the cashier had to say.

[ you ] : annie, i met the biggest asshole today!

[ you ] : and in less than 24 hours before my interview at ackerman corps!

[ annie ] : oh?

[ annie ] : do tell.

[ you ] : so like, i was just shopping for some new and fresh clothes to wear.

[ you ] : and was in dire need of a caffeine fix.

[ you ] : so i waited in line, like a good patron. and not even 5 minutes later, this asshole walks in and cuts in front of the line!

[ you ] : i was so pissed-

[ annie ] : and you called him out on it 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

[ annie ] : that’s so like you,,,,,, lolllll

[ annie ] : see, this is why you’re still single at 24

[ annie ] : it’s great that you don’t take bullshit behavior, but still, even i think you need you relax sometimes.

[ annie ] : i really don’t want another mikasa in our group, you know? ones enough 😅

[ you ] : aajsfkkskhdsu I JUST DONT UNDERSTAND WHY EVERYONE WAS SO NONCHALANT ABOUT THIS ASSHOLE CUTTING IN LINE??? like even the other customers were uncharacteristically silent the moment jerkface walked in.

[ annie ] : i mean, maybe he did own the place?

[ annie ] : shit, gotta go! armin’s texting me for our date,

[ annie ] : but hey, best of luck tomorrow!

you arrive at the towering skyscraper that housed ackerman corporation at exactly 2pm. you were too nervous to sleep or eat a light lunch, which was what brought you to the building thirty minutes earlier than anticipated.

you smoothed out the flowing skirt and ruffled blouse you and your mother had settled on as your interview outfit with your purse slung over your shoulder. the tip of your heels kept tapping against the smooth marble flooring as an employee had brought up toward the very top floor. you waited on a comfortable chair, feeling your heart beat faster with a nervous anticipation as you looked at the pair of double doors standing before you.

those tinted glass doors were the only thing keeping you from seeing your future boss.

after what felt like an eternity, the door opens revealing a cheerful woman with olive skin and messy brown hair thrown up in a ponytail. she wore a white lab coat, and constantly had to push up her thick glasses. when she finally sees you, she smiled and holds the door wide open for you. “you must be the new girl, please, come on in, levi is dying to meet you!”

your legs were shaky, yet still you found the strength to enter his office. the woman wishes you luck before exiting the area, leaving you completely alone with your soon-to-be boss if things go well.

you had the greeting on the tip of your tongue, holding out your hand for him to take when you manage to step closer to the desk settled in the middle of the spacious office. so when your eyes take in the familiar smirk and chiseled face coupled along with those stormy grey hues, you knew you were screwed.

“remember me?”

“fuck.”

the curse that came from your lips was unintentional, yet you meant every word.

maybe he owned the place after all?

you think back to annie’s text and how everything made sense now. like how no one said a word, or how that girl tried to explain to you just who this man was.

and you blatantly ignored it all-

which means you had to say goodbye to future 6 figure salaries and your dreams of owning a mansion.

“i’m so sorry, i never meant to, i mean-”

your face felt hot and you were unsure of what you could say to even fix this. surely, he was going to reject you on the spot? since there’s no way in hell-

“whatever you’re thinking, you’re mistaken. i quite like that fiery side you have, and wouldn’t mind having such a strong woman like you by my side.”

the way he worded your job acceptance has you reeling, and you tried desperately to calm your heart down. “e-excuse me?”

he ignores your question and stands from his seat. was he wearing platform shoes or something? something about him made him appear taller as he walked closer to you. standing just a few inches taller, you watch with wide eyes when he leans down. you half believed he was going to kiss you with how close he was being to you.

as you were close to shutting your eyes, you shiver when he whispers your name-

only to be rudely awakened when his thumb swiped against your bottom lip, wiping away the lipstick you had just applied hours ago.

“don’t wear lipstick if it isn’t going to be worn properly. i swear i could tell the skin around your lips were getting more of the color instead of your lips itself.”

you were absolutely stunned, feeling your heart abruptly slow down its beats as your anger slowly began to fuel once more. you could do little but silently watch him all while fuming.

taking out a handkerchief, he wipes away the lipstick stain and returns back to his desk. “you’re hired, you can start tomorrow. i’ll make sure to have hange give you the reports and my schedule to look through.”

biting down on your tongue, you turn away from him to touch at the spot where he has touched you. your lips felt warm, and you were trembling at the memory of his gaze. you swore he was about to kiss you-

levi calls out your name, and you had to spare him a second glance for fear of actually losing your job.

“y-yes?”

his gaze was apologetic and sincere, appearing much softer than before as he clears his throat. he was about to say something, but decides against it. opting instead to look at his paperwork, he tells you, “get some rest. i look forward to working with you y/n.”

you give him a stiff nod before admitting, “likewise.”

[email protected] to l/n.f/[email protected]

subject: sexual tension between you and levi???

okay, let me be clear with you. ever since you’ve started working for shorty three months ago, he’s been giving you nothing but bedroom eyes. i’ve never seen him so…i don’t know, so cheerful before?

it’s gotta be because he has you, his hot new personal assistant. let me tell you, he was so eager to hire you!

put the poor man out of his misery and sleep with him soon. i bet his fantasy is to fuck his hot assistant on top of his desk!

l/n.f/[email protected] to [email protected]

replied : sexual tension between you and levi???

HANGE PLEASE STOP I’M DYING. this can’t be what our work email is used for!!!

we could get fired for talking about this???

so please stop joking???

besides, all levi has done is give me copious reports to look over

made me type out excel spreadsheets,

and set up a few meetings here and there.

HE’S NOT INTO ME OKAY???

i cant count the hundreds of times levi has made me work overtime with him, i’m so exhausted. there’s no way in hell levi thinks of me that way.

even if he is devastatingly handsome-

nope. nevermind. pretend i never said that. it never happened. just drop it okay?

[email protected] to l/n.f/[email protected]

replied : sexual tension between you and levi???

work overtime, you say? let me tell you, i’ve been with levi’s pharmaceutics department for YEARS, and he’s never had a past assistant work with him overtime.

in fact, the last girl, petra, always clocked out at 8. she was never asked to stay back after hours.

yet only you get that privilege. hmm, intriguing indeed.

l/n.f/[email protected] to [email protected]

replied : sexual tension between you and levi???

…that’s because i’m more efficient than petra was. levi admitted her heart wasn’t in her work anymore once she got married and had a baby.

it’s nothing more than that i swear.

you were completely worn out, dropping the stack of reports you had gone over and reviewed on levi’s desk. slumped over the rich mahogany, you rest your head on the cold surface and looked at the time.

11:34pm

levi had made you work overtime, staying back long before the rest of the employees had clocked out for the night. once you finished your work, levi offered to make you some coffee before taking you home for the night.

despite how exhausted you felt, it was actually kind of nice being levi’s secretary and assistant. you got to see so many different sides to him-

not to mention, his looks were incredibly easy on the eyes, and you found yourself staring at him far longer than normal when you knew he wasn’t looking. he was a billionaire, but something about his rags to riches story drew you in.

he had a hard life, losing his mother at such a young age as he struggled to find his purpose in life. it wasn’t until he was taken in by his adoptive father that he was able to take over his small business and make it grow into the empire it was today.

he was barely 30 and had already accomplished so much, and you were proud of him for it.

thinking back to hange’s email, you felt embarrassed. hange had actually caught on to your crush on the successful ceo and was surely making fun of you for it. there was no way those emails held any semblance of truth to them, since levi always treated you with the utmost respect.

sure the workload was a lot sometimes, but truly you could handle it. it was especially worth it to see levi unwind a bit by taking off his tie and loosening a few buttons, giving you a view of his pale and beautifully sculpted chest.

a sound of someone clearing their throat breaks you out of your daydream as you saw levi standing with two steaming cups of coffee. he settles the drink to the side and shocks you with his next words.

“sit on my desk.”

hange’s email begins to swirl around your memories, making you dizzy when you stand back to your full height, holding on to the desk for support. “w-what?”

“you heard me, so don’t make me repeat myself.”

you gulp and follow his demands, jumping on to the desk with your legs crossed. your heart kept racing, nearly choking you with its palpitations as levi works on loosening his tie. he tosses the jacket away from him, leaving him in his crisp white shirt. not saying another word, he spreads your legs and begins to softly massage at your inner thighs.

the feeling of his hands against your skin makes you moan. just seeing such a powerful man kneeling before you has your mind reeling, yet levi retains his cool. the greys of his eyes were hidden due to how dilated they were, making you drown within those dark pools filled with lust and something else- an emotion that helped soften his hard gaze.

“tell me to stop,” he breathes out your name, lips gently caressing at you inner thighs as he nuzzled at your soft skin with the tip of his nose. “tell me to stop, please, or else i’ll lose myself.”

you swallow thick, hands delving themselves into his hair as you shoved his face between your thighs and into your damp panties, allowing your boss to take cover from within the confines of your skirt. “don’t you dare fucking stop.”

“as you wish.”

you felt levi move your panties to the side, revealing your soaking sex as he gently pumps a finger inside of you. the sensation was enough to make you cry out to him, lurching forward as you felt your legs automatically lock his head into place. his fingers and mouth did wonders on your form, playing your body with a skill that had you moaning.

the sounds of your pleasure was music to levi’s ears. he worked on eliciting more of those sweet sounds from you, adding his hot mouth into the mix as he sucked and prodded at your swollen clit. the sensation of his tongue fucking you sends you reeling as you felt yourself spilling into his hot mouth.

you were dazed, drowning in a pleasure filled haze as you fell back against his desk. with expert hands, levi rips open your blouse all while pulling down at your bra, revealing your aching breasts as he sucked on a hardened nipple.

you gasp, hands gripping at his hair once more when you breathlessly told him, “there was some truth to hange’s words, your fantasy is to fuck your assistant on top of your desk.”

“correction.” he bites down on your nipple, sending ripples of pleasure and pain to course through you, “my fantasy is to make love and worship only you on top of my desk.”

you feel him lift himself on top of you, pulling down his pants while fishing out a condom from his pockets. he curses a bit, trying to shove his boxers down to reveal his erection. he keeps his gaze on you when he rips open the foil with his mouth, revealing the ring of rubber to you briefly before placing it over his aching length.

he lifts one of your legs, tossing it over his shoulder as the angle allows your slick folds to meet with his covered cock, “h-how long have you felt this way?”

“since you first came into my office. i wanted nothing more than to kiss your messy lipstick away.”

with that final admission, he thrusts himself into you, causing you to toss your head back as you cried out his name. his pace was relentless and rapid, and you felt so good. never before had you been fucked so deeply before, you felt as though your body were pulling him in with a desperation.

“fuck, i cant last even two goddamn minutes with you, fuck…! come, come with me right now….!” he keeps on with his fast pace, this time adding his fingers to the mix when he pinches down against your swollen clit.

and that was all it took to take you and levi straight to heaven, your respective releases taking your breath away when levi kisses you deeply. he rides out your release, cock twitching as if he were desperate to coax out another release out of you-

which he succeeds with a passion.

it takes several minutes for you to come back down from your high. when you try to even out your breathing was when levi pulls out of you, tossing the used condom. ignoring the sweat dampening your skin, levi picks you up with ease and lays down on the couch settled in the corner of his office with you.

picking up his coat, he lays it over your naked body before laying on top of you. he presses reverent kisses all across your features, making you laugh as you cuddle close to him. “tell me, do you do this to all of your assistants?”

“fuck no.” he admits with a chuckle, lifting your chin so he could properly press a kiss against your lips, “ever since you scolded me at my own café, i was head over heels for you. never leave my side, that’s an order, got it?”

“who knew i would have such a bossy boyfriend?” you giggle, but followed along with his demands solely because you loved him so much.

just how lucky were you, to win a heart of such an amazing man?

a.n. - have you ever watched seducing mr. perfect? pls look it up on youtube and watch it, it's so perfect and cute ｡ﾟ(TヮT)ﾟ｡ i just watched that movie and was so inspired to write an au starring levi. it may be ooc, but damn was this fun to write ♡

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fluff #.stories

[zaddyazula]

gaiden ramble below cut - major, major spoiler warning (for the entire game)

i genuinely feel ill over gaiden but like in a good way. honestly can’t even remember the last time a game made me feel like that. i was having the same giddiness and excitement and pure fun i was having playing 0 which i think is why 0 has now been dethroned as my favourite yakuza game. IT TOOK 8 GAMES but 0 was finally dethroned.

before the list was this (so basically just this time yesterday to 2am this morning):

1 - yakuza 0

2 - yakuza kiwami 2

3 - yakuza kiwami

4 - yakuza 6

5 - yakuza 7/ like a dragon

6 - yakuza 5

7 - yakuza 3

8 - yakuza 4

but now gaiden is top of that list which is crazy. (didn’t include dead souls because i haven’t played it, but i have watched it, so if it was on this list, it would be between 3 and 4).

it was so nice not having turn based combat after 39 hours of 7 like i was hitting combos these fuckers didn’t know existed.

i really liked how it took place at the same time as ichiban’s story, that was really cool and it is so evil of sega for not having kashiwagi being at survive. another thing i found really interesting was how kiryu touched on yumi, kazama and kashiwagi. kashiwagi is mentioned like once in the chotddt akame mission (yumi is also mentioned) and kazama is mentioned in another akame mission. him still having the ring after 24 years is mad, and how that very last scene links in with 8 is cool.

KAZUMAJI 😭😭😭😭😭😭 that entire scene was tragic, i almost started sobbing then, there were tears in my eyes. the entire end of the game was really cool, and the final boss theme was crazyyyyyy. the scenes at the temple were my breaking point though. as soon as taichi started talking to the camera i just fucking lost it. kiryu crying like that broke my heart, and then the picture haruto drew took me out even more. the poor man.

kiryu is just so horribly tragic throughout the entire game. i really missed playing as him, but god almighty in the last two chapters it was just fucking miserable. i thought that i was gonna cry at it, but i didn’t realise how fucking depressing it was gonna get. my heart was breaking for him throughout the game but the last few scenes were traumatic.

i am still not over the ryuji fishing as well. i was desperate for him to come back i love him so much, but no!!!!!! going back to a previous point, i found it really interesting how kiryu spoke about his past life, particularly with ryuji. there is an entire akame mission about looking into leads about ryuji goda turning up, and kiryu’s reaction was very interesting to me.

i feel so horrible for him. he reminds me so much of snake, and that ended painfully enough. i am not looking forward to 8.

also hanawa is nakajima right??? that’s not just me? at first i joked about him looking like the guy from the kingsman but after he said those lines at the end of the game he really looks like nakajima who’s lost a bit of weight.

coming back to this quickly because they were so evil for using amazing grace in the credits. rgg i’m fighting you. you’re really gonna end the (most likely) last ever kiryu game with the same song you started the first ever game with????? 🥊💥🥊💥🥊💥💥 i’m not having that

i think that’s all of my thoughts, for now at least.

#rgg #yakuza #lad gaiden #lad gaiden spoilers #like a dragon gaiden #yakuza gaiden #yakuza gaiden spoilers #zad talks

[mykneeshurt]

Don’t fear the Reaper part five - Ghost x F!OC

After your steamy encounter with Ghost in the stalls, you’re jetted off to Mexico. Hot on the tail of Hassan in the city of Las Almas.

Warnings - COD typical violence, swearing, suggestive themes/mentions of smut, fluff

After your encounter with the Lieutenant you dried off as quickly as you physically could. Your skin singed from where he ran his thumb along your jaw. Gathering your items together you scurried back to your room, keeping your head down and eyes fixed on the floor. Once you found your room you fell into it, slamming the door behind you.

You dropped your items on the floor, releasing the built up air that festered within your lungs. What the actual fuck had just happened. You replayed the moment in your mind, the heat between you, how his breath tickled your skin. How the hands that have killed so many, felt so tender on your jaw. Hands that could easily break you, yet made you feel more alive. Desperately you tried to shake off this feeling, with little success.

Checking your phone you saw Soap had messaged you. Traitorous bastard. You’d be having a few words with him. ‘Laswell sending a plane, be here in 6 hours. Viva Mexico!’ Mexico? Fuck was down in Mexico. You shot a short text back, not unleashing your wrath just yet. Clutching your phone you watched the three dots dance as Soap composed his reply. ‘Yeah, teaming up with Colonel Alejandro Vargas. Lead on Hassan, Las Almas. Price found em in Amsterdam.’

Interesting. 6 hours to waste, you re-packed your go bag and decided to get some sleep. Christ knows when you’d get it in the next few days.

——

The bay door dropped when you’d finally landed in Las Almas. The scorching heat crashed into your body like a punch to the gut. You, Soap and Ghost exited the plane and were met with Alejandro and Rudolfo. They began with pleasantries and introductions.

‘Lieutenant? I hear they call you Ghost?’ Alejandro asked.

Soap decided to answer for him ‘I think he prefers to be called …’

‘That’ll do!’ Ghosted barked, shutting Soap down immediately. You giggled into your hand, earning the attention of Alejandro. ‘And what’s your name?’ He placed a kiss on your knuckles. Feeling slightly flustered you tucked your hair behind your ear. ‘Reaper is fine.’

‘Reaper huh. Guess you’ll show us how you earnt that eh?’ You smiled in response, this fucker was smooth. Handsome too.

You climbed into the jeep, sandwiched between Ghost and Soap. Alejandro drove you through the streets of Las Almas, telling you about El Sin Nombre, the cartel and their power over the people. Including the army.

Feeling Ghost tense next to you, you dropped your hand to the outside of your thigh. Delicately tracing your nails over his trousers, while you kept your eyes dead set ahead. His fingers twitched on his knees, a minuscule movement you nearly missed. You shifted in your seat, letting a quiet moan fall, loud enough for Ghost to hear. You wanted him to wonder what you’d sound like beneath him.

And that’s exactly what happened. Your quiet little moan had him fighting for control of his mind. His thoughts drifted to how you’d sound with his cock buried in your tight pussy. Your black hair wrapped around his hand as he thrust into you, your back arching, nails digging into his skin. He could feel his heart rate increase as you traced small patterns on his thigh. Fuck he wanted to teach you a lesson.

Alejandro pulled up at the edge of a small village and Ghost had never been so happy for a distraction. Never been so happy to kill someone, to remove his thoughts from the prospect of you.

———

You weaved your way through small streets, houses, once full of laughter and love, now void of any life. Soap and Alejandro took point, clearing the way for you and Ghost. Once you reached the target house Soap, Alejandro and one of his men pushed forward. Clearing it.

You and Ghost entered last as they went up the stairs, searching the lower floor for any sign of Hassan. As you rounded the corner into the kitchen Ghost grabbed your belt and pinned you against the wall, lowering his mouth to your ear. ‘I’m gonna fuckin ruin you’ it was a growl, a promise. As he made his declaration he dropped his hand from your belt to your clothed pussy, eliciting a gasp from you.

As quickly as he’d pinned you he’d left, sprinting up the stairs to meet the others. Leaving you choking on air, bewildered at his words. ‘Reaper?!’ Soap bellowed from the floor above. You shook yourself off and ran two steps at a time to your team. They’d found a Qurd flag in the bedroom, confirmation that Hassan had been there. Had being the operative word.

The sound of jeeps approaching the house pulled you away from the discussion. ‘You’re gonna have us go up against the Mexican army?!’ Soap shouted, you could hear the anxiety in his voice. ‘No, they’re the cartels army now’ Alejandro confirmed. Telling you to anchor down and wait for the smoke to clear. Bastards had riot shields, you took up post opposite Ghost, he flashed you a gaze. An emotion present that puzzled you, you weren’t quite sure what it was.

Soap managed to take a fair few out with some grenades but after they launched gas into the room it was time to bail. Alejandro led you through the mountains, the army hot on your tail. You all took out as many as you could, it was a blood bath. In the quiet calm in between the shots Alejandro finally realised why they called you Reaper. Deadly precision, the glint of enjoyment in your eyes, the small smirk when you ended a life. Seeing how much pleasure you got out of ripping someone’s soul from their body he began calling you ‘el Diablo.’

You revelled in your new nickname, ‘you hear that Soap? El Diablo. Fitting don’t you think?’ Soap only rolled his eyes knowing it was going feed your ego for months on end. Soap led you up a small valley in the rocky landscape around you, right into the more of the army. The five of you took care of them easily enough. Clambering over the bodies that were strewn before you, you finally emerged at some cliffs.

As you were side stepping across a particularly narrow ridge Rodriguez was taken out by a sniper. ‘Fuck fuck fuck, move Reaper let’s go!’ Soap called out as you made your way across. He reached out and grabbed your arm pulling you to safety. Thanking Soap he then helped you up the cliff face, scrambling to the top you followed Alejandro. Eventually you came to a cut off point ‘you’ve lead us to a dead end mate!’ Ghost shouted, he scanned around trying to find a way forward.

‘Jump!’ Alejandro ordered before he leapt from the cliff edge into the crystal clear water below. ‘Fuck sake’ Soap sighed before joining him, his mowhawk disappearing below the water. ‘Keep hold of your gun’ Ghost reminded you before nodding for you to proceed. Giving him a wink you ran and leapt into the air, falling into the water below. Ghost joined you not long after.

‘Let’s go! Take cover behind the rocks!’ Alejandro ordered, submerging himself in the tepid water. The army had dotted themselves along the shore line, trying their best to take shots at you. You managed to pick a few off as the river carried you downstream. It was relentless, shot after shot, near miss after near miss.

As you rounded the bend in the river a shit load of trucks loaded onto a bridge. A barrage of bullets rained down upon you. Slamming into a rock for cover you glanced up at Ghost, a flicker of panic in your eyes. A bullet chipped the top of the rock you were sheltering under. In an almost automatic movement Ghost brought your head into his chest and shielded it with his hands. He wrapped his arms around your head and neck, burying you within him.

You could hear his lungs frantically filling with air as he tried to regulate his breathing. You gripped onto his forearms, nails digging into his skin. Feeling as though all hope was lost comms finally crackled to life. It was Graves, confirming an air strike to take out the bridge. You’d never been so happy to hear an American accent. Ghost still held you as the explosions echoed in the distance, as the explosions ceased he released your head.

‘Alright?’ His dense chocolate eyes searched yours for any sign that you might be hurt. You placed your hand over his ‘I’m fine … Simon. I promise.’ Smiling at him time seemed to slow down, it felt like the two of you in this moment. The water kissed at your legs as it swarmed its way around you, the warmth of his hands cut into your skin. It felt like it was just the two of you wrapped up in one another, finally.

‘Car up ahead! Let’s go! Lieutenant, Diablo?!’ Alejandro’s voice soon brought you both crashing back to earth. The sharp sting of reality slapped you across the face. Snapping out of it you yanked your face from Ghosts grip. Flashing your eyes towards Soap he raised an eyebrow, you shot a glare back up at him. Mentally telling him to shut the fuck up.

Running to the jeep you piled in, Alejandro drove you to a small complex with a mansion at the end. Soap signalled to Graves in the sky, your guardian angel. Building by building you swept the complex, the four of you working like a well oiled machine. Smooth, seamless motions as you spread throughout the buildings like a deadly virus.

Once you approached the mansion you swept it, room by room, urging civilians to run to safety. Grave voice hummed through your earpiece ‘we have got a PID on Hassan, upper floor. How long till exfil?’

‘5 minutes’ Alejandro replied taking point on the staircase.

Ever since Ghost buried your head in his chest you noticed him standing a lot closer to you. Closer than normal. Protective almost. You allowed yourself to smile at the thought, it was a new feeling. His eyes always on you, assessing, checking, lingering.

Running across the balcony you zeroed in on the end goal, Hassan. Finally managing to corner him Soap zip tied his wrists as Ghost informed Graves of the successful capture. ‘Jackpot, I repeat jackpot! Captured Hassan alive.’

Rudy pulled up in the nick of time, Soap shoved Hassan into the vehicle before climbing in after him. You jumped into the boot of the jeep, holding on for dear life as Rudy drove through winding roads.

You approached a small village, feeling unsure of what was a head Soap radioed to Graves to check it out. Nothing more than a market town. Or so you thought. Some guy pulled a cart out into the middle of the road, Rudy crashed through it but not before an explosion took out the rear of the jeep. The jeep flipped which’s sent you flying, your head collided with the metal roof slicing your skin. ‘Fuuuuuuuck!’ You yelled, as the warm ruby liquid seeped into your eye.

‘Reaper?!’ Soap yelled, ‘you alright?!’ You frantically tried to stem the bleeding, whilst also trying to get out of the jeep away from the rain of bullets. ‘I can’t fuckin see! Cut my head, blood everywhere.’ Before you could even scramble out of the jeep two hands gripped your vest, pulling you out of the wreckage. ‘Ups a daisy’ a gruff voice sounded out, it was only when you were thrown over their back did you realise it was Ghost. He gripped your hips as he sprinted to the nearest building behind the others.

The rest made their way to the roof, Ghost slid you down his body and quickly unzipped the med pack strapped to his thigh. ‘Lemme flush your eye, hold still.’ He ripped open a pack of sterile water and squirted it into your eye, clearing the blood from your vision. ‘Got a thumpin headache’ you moaned, grasping his arm for balance. ‘Probably concussed, we’ll get you checked out back at base. Can you still use this?’ He tapped your gun. You nodded as he applied steri-strips to the gash on your forehead.

Feeling the plastic strips your groaned ‘feel like a fuckin unicorn.’ Ghost let out a humorous ‘hmph’ from his nose as he readjusted himself. ‘Come on Reaper, on me.’ He disappeared up the steps to the roof, the sounds of guns and explosions echoed around the concrete room.

Finally making your way topside it was carnage. Loud and chaotic. You overheard Hassan giving Soap some grief which made you laugh, as he replied to Graves, calling Hassan a prick. You slid yourself in next to Ghost and did the best you could with blurry vision and an overwhelming need to vomit. ‘Alright hen?!’ Soap screamed over the deafening noises. ‘Fuckin concussed I think. Feel like I’m gonna throw up!’ Soap pulled a face at you, ‘do that shit away from me, I’ll be puking too!’

You rolled your eyes, making a mental note to make puke near Soap as payback for ruining your moment with Ghost. A very welcome sound of helicopter blades drummed over the noises of guns. ‘Grab Hassan! Let’s get outta here!’ Alejandro yelled, fleeing down the stairs. Soap all but man handled Hassan into the helicopter, as Ghost helped you climb aboard.

You fell into the seat of the helicopter, your head was spinning, the nausea felt like it was becoming more intense. You buried your head in your hands trying to ground yourself. Maybe you just needed to be sick. But with no where to vomit into right now, you just focused on your breathing instead.

———

After landing safely back on the ground you once again found yourself cooped up in a jeep. In the boot. Graves had decided on a family trip to the desert so it seemed, to have a word with Hassan. Away from prying eyes. Whilst Graves, Soap and Shepard all interrogated Hassan you slipped away. Finally being able to release the contents of your stomach. Ghost having heard the spluttering came to check on you.

‘Wondered when you were gonna puke. Saw you struggling in the helo.’ He placed his hand on your back ‘get it up love, how you feeling?’ You stood bent over your knees, coughing and gagging into the sand below. ‘Erghhh, I feel like shit.’ The acid bit into your tongue slicing into your tastebuds. He pulled you to a standing position, tentatively swiping away the bile and saliva which had accumulated on your chin.

Hearing Graves raise his voice Ghost pulled you back towards the jeep. Shepard, Graves and Soap wanted to kill him. But Laswell made a good point, killing him would be a war crime. Something you couldn’t afford to do. You nudged Ghost, ‘what about his phone?’ He nodded in agreement relaying your words to Laswell. She managed to find where the next was going to be.

Tomorrow, 6pm.

——-

A/N - christ this was a long one. Tried to condense the first Mexico mission down as much as I could. Not sure if the pacing’s off. Oops.

Taglist 💕 - @sashadiurnal @iamnotyourmusebitch @bugwritesstuff

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #fan fic smut #simon riley #simon riley x oc #call of duty ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley #call of duty mwii #cod mw2 #ghost x female oc #fluff #some smut

[lucasttrpg]

I always found the 2e spell mechanics to be the best of all editions, it has changes in the core rules, it doesn't follow a pattern, some are unbalanced with chaotic effects and on top of that they are very well written. Despite being mini mechanics often foreign to the d20 roll system (yeah I know that 2e has THAC0, roll under skills etc), in very little texts the rules/mechanics are well explained, some obviously have excessive crunchiness/complications, but who am I to judge?

In this blog post I made a small text compilation of these spells and I will try to suggest examples on how I would use these mechanics in my own games.

I dedicated a few hours to this research, which is not very in-depth, and therefore I am completely open to suggestions and contributions. Also the mechanics I will explore and expand on here may or may not be used in some future game, but either way this can be used by anyone.

I won't compile all the spell text just the highlights, anyway the texts are easily found in a simple google search.

So without further ado, let's check it out:

Remove Curse

“The reverse of the spell is not permanent; the bestow curse lasts for one turn for every experience level of the wizard casting the spell. It causes one of the following effects (roll percentile dice):

Between 1 and 50 bestow curse lowers one ability of the subject to 3 (the DM determines which by random selection)

Between 51 and 75 bestow curse worsens the subject's attack rolls and saving throws by -4

Between 76 and 00 bestow curse makes the subject 50% likely per turn to drop whatever it is holding (or simply do nothing, in the case of creatures not using tools)

It is possible for a wizard to devise his own curse, and it should be similar in power to those given (the DM has final say).”

This is one of the simplest ones, but it is quite illustrative. I'm using the reverse spell system, here as an example, but a d% roll is not the logical thing to use in a d20 system, plus randomness (on a higher result of it  causes the target to drop an object WTF? ) I actually love it!

Let’s picture a minimalist game based on curses with effects on an expanded table of d%, with random and dangerous effects, but which over time become controllable, generating some autonomy to the curser, for example per level they can choose two effects numerically above or below of the result in this %(100) table.

Vision

“When a wizard wishes to gain supernatural guidance, he casts a vision spell, calling upon whatever power he desires aid from and asking a question that will be answered with a vision. Two six-sided dice are rolled. If they total 2 to 6, the power is annoyed and refuses to answer the question; instead, the power causes the wizard to perform some service (by an ultrapowerful geas or quest). If the dice total 7 to 9, the power is indifferent and gives some minor vision, though it may be unrelated to the question. If the dice total 10 or better, the power grants the vision.

The material component of the spell is the sacrifice of something valued by the spellcaster or by the power supplicated. The more precious the sacrifice, the better the chance of spell success. A very precious item grants a bonus of +1 to the dice roll, an extremely precious item adds +2, and a priceless item adds +3.”

This is the mother fucker PBTA’s core rule!!!

I guess it doesn't need more explanation, if you ever played PBTA games you will get it, I don’t know if Vicent was already thinking about this, but the resemblance is very clear, and I don't think he was wrong if it is really an inspiration. After all, this post is exactly about this.

Death spell

“When a death spell is cast, it snuffs out the life forces of creatures in the area of effect instantly and irrevocably. Such creatures cannot be raised or resurrected, but an individual slain in this manner might be brought back via a wish. The number of creatures that can be slain is a function of their Hit Dice. (See book for table ).

In other words, from the 4d20 roll subtract the number of creatures of less than 2 Hit Dice (these creatures die). If there are any remaining points from the 4d20 roll, subtract 2 for each creature of 2 to 4 Hit Dice (these creatures also die). If this still doesn't use up all the 4d20 roll, subtract 10 for each creature of 4+1 to 6+3 Hit Dice, and so on. Stop when all the creatures are dead, all the 4d20 roll is used up, or the remainder is less than half the CF of any remaining creatures. (If the remainder is one-half or more of the CF of a creature, that creature dies.)

For example, a mixed group of 20 goblins, eight gnolls, and four ogres, led by a hill giant, are caught in the area of a death spell. The 4d20 roll gives a total of 53 points; 20 of this eliminates the goblins (20 x 1 CF), 16 kills the gnolls (8 x 2 CF), and the remaining 17 kills two ogres (10 points to kill one ogre, and the remaining 7 points are enough to kill one more ogre). The other two ogres and the hill giant are unharmed.”

This one is almost completely compiled. First of all: “or the remainder is less than half the CF of any remaining creatures. (If the remainder is one-half or more of the CF of a creature, that creature dies.)” is garbage, a mistake, let’s ignore it. But how about this for a hit point system or even for a mass combat rule, with little short change this can be done. On example: 

The PC has a pool of vitality, resisting light, medium and severe damage. Light damage would have a degree of soak 1:1, medium 2:1 and severe 3:1. Where the blow "landed" a table of consequences, obviously with different degrees of severity, is rolled. If all the points from the pool are over the PC is obviously dead. Example of the example: The PC has a pool of 6 light, 3 medium and 2 severe wounds. One hit deals 15 points of damage. All light wounds are exhausted (1:1, 15-6=9), 9 points remain; 6 points are absorbed by medium wounds (the 3X2=6 and 9-6=3), leaving 3 points. These 3 points cost a major wound (1:3), a major wound table must be rolled.

This can all be further extrapolated to mass combat, where units would have different absorb proportions and even dice damage/attack rolls. If anyone wants me to exemplify better, just comment that I could do it.

Liveoak

“The liveoak spell can be cast upon a healthy tree of small, medium, or large size, according to desire and availability. A triggering phrase of up to maximum of one word per level of the spellcaster is then placed upon the targeted oak. For instance, "Attack any persons who come near without first saying sacred mistletoe" is an 11-word trigger phrase that could be used by a caster of 11th level or higher casting the spell.”

Imo, this is the best one! How about a one word per level magic system? Genius! Choose wisely the words, cautious negotiation with GM and mainly very dangerous consequences at low levels. What I’m thinking about is an almost free form system where the magic user chooses a power (or several) such as an elemental power as “fire”, and then has one word to describe the effect per level. 

Conclusions

These are examples and some points highlighted in the post. A close friend is intent on reading more spells together and theorizing about, I'm excited, so more related posts may come. As always and as previously mentioned, I am completely open to suggestions and contributions, I already advance that this is just the beginning and that there is still a lot of material there to be explored.

Thanks for reading this far!

#osr #indie ttrpg #dnd party #dnd #game design #mork borg #tabletop rpg #dungeons and dragons #ttrpg #ttrpg design

[dark-drawssss]

the idea of every Doomguy being together and causing chaos sounds like a fun AU idea. but I've seen you include only 4 of em, and I'm pretty sure that 'arenaguy' is suppost to be Doomguys much younger self, but I could have my lore knowledge wrong. do you intend on maybe adding more of them? like Phobos (character), technically not Doomguy but he's still cool. or John Grim from the movie, or ROE and TLM guy's from Doom 3's expansions, or even Stan from DooM rpg2. not having Joan Dark is fine tho

lol thanks, and yeah I do want to include more. Also the ArenaGuy IS the same person as the Doom Slayer (before the events of the first Doom game happened), but I only found out that later one since before that I thought that he's basically an alternatively ver of him (same way that Doom Marine/Doom3Guy is alt ver of him, but they're still different as people). Now, onto the actual question:

Phobos - tbh, I didn't even knew that he was an actual character and whenever I saw him I just thought that he was recolored ver of Doom (ArenaGuy's name in Quake 3) and that it might've been an inside thing between Quake fans. I do feel bad for him, and his lack of trust and more personality traits make him hard to fit in to the AU, but I could come up with something (sadly, it would prob be on my Insta story since I talk about the AU a lot there, sorry :c). John Grim - Yes I did watch both of the movies (wouldn't recommend but it's not too terrible) and I do like John (he's the only reason I even cared about his-somewhat-bitchy-sister staying alive), but I don't think he deserves the nickname that is "DoomGuy" (at least yet), needs to work on his demon killing. So for now he's an "eh" on whenever I think of adding him. ROEguy - Oh this fucker.... I'm sorry but he fucking sucks: shows no remorse for killing his friends, taking souls because he needs to show down time for a bit, survives only because of the plot armor, seems like an bigger asshole than he shows, and the worst of all, he stole Doom Marine's kill! The only positives I can give about him is that he shows a tinybit more personality than the Doom3Guy, by actually being interested in the Marian history and smiling. However his interest is something I didn't know about until reading about it, and him smiling is either smirking in that one scene (cocky bi-a-ch) or smiling to his friends (because he has friends, while the Marine was new and didn't know anybody). If anyone else likes him that's fine, at least his pants are kinda cool I guess. TLMguy - At least ROEguy HAS a personality and characteristics, this mf doesn't even show his face and I couldn't tell you anything about his character even if you held a rocket launcher in front of my head. Not to mention that you really expect me to believe he made it through all that alone when they and their team got their asses kicked by Imp's 6 hours after the invasion just began (not to mention the ending messing with the "Doom Marine is the only survivor", but I hc that their ship got shot down by demons because they could warn people on earth about Betruger's whole plan). Safe to say, neither of these two are close to even dreaming of being "Doom" Stan Blazkowicz - Sorry but I'm not familiar with Doom RPG yet so I'm unsure, but I am praying that he's a good "DoomGuy". And Joan Dark - She's a bitch and another "strong female character" that shows slightly more emotions than them, but still either bland or an asshole. Sad to say that so far, Crash isn't having another girl join the gang.

#doom #doom 2016 #doom slayer #doom eternal #doomguy #doom 3 #id software #doom gang au #doom gang #doom au #anon ask #ask #anonymous #doom movie #doom rpg #quake 3 arena #quake 3 phobos #quake phobos #phobos #doom guy #quake doom #doom marine #shipping doom slayer with doom3guy is still narcissism #pls don't ship it #doom lore

[royalsunshinehotel]

i have a request for Hassan if you’re taking them!! maybe it’s been a long ass day (as it always is in the crock pot), and he needs a bit of “stress relief” wink wink,,, basically just kinda rough and possessive,,, already on the floor thinking about it tbh😳

10:49PM (Sheriff Hassan x Fem!reader, 18+)

A/N: I looked up some halal sodas and Shasta was the first one that came up. Love me some Shasta. If this is incorrect, please let me know.

The schedule in Crockett was something Hassan had yet to get used to. As the Sheriff, his day would start at 4:00AM, and wrap up at 9:00PM, depending on if there'd been a kitten stuck in a tree that day or not. Not that he'd be trusted with that responsibility.

It was a massive culture shock coming from New York. Harsher than he'd like to admit. Being a native to the city, the sounds had become a part of his life, and he missed the noise.

It was stressful, and he felt shame for being stressed about how quiet Crockett was. That was supposed to be a good thing, and here he was, anxious that he couldn't hear a fire truck from 12 blocks away.

But, like most things in his life, there wasn't much to be done.

And it's not like the hours were bad. Hassan didn't mind a late night, but the general store was open until 11PM. This left whoever was working, alone for about two hours.

Now he knew that Morty, the owner of the store, and Annie Flynn were capable of handling themselves.

And then there's you.

Lovely, gracious, and alone for two hours. He didn't know you well enough to feel comfortable judging if you could "handle yourself" or not, but the idea of you walking home that late made his skin crawl. Even in a small town, there's always something hiding under a rock, waiting for a chance to strike. There's always something hiding in the dark, he thinks.

He thought about you a lot.

After praying with Ali, and making sure his son was set for bed, he headed out.

His commute is exactly a 6 minute drive, and he wonders as he sits in the car, if he's hiding in the dark. If he's the thing you should worry about.

Hassan's shoves the thought down, because of fucking course not. This is exactly why he couldn't stand the quiet, because you could hear yourself think, and he didn't want to do too much of that these days.

So, being the good detective he was, he looked over the facts

He thinks about how you greet him with a full smile every morning, and the small talk he's come to look forward to. You were one of the only people who did, and he was grateful.

"How are you?"

"Good, and you?"

"Ah, not so bad."

One of those days he was going to beat you to the punch and say "how are you?" first, but something told him you wouldn't accept that.

And there was that one time he walked into his office a few minutes late. Beverly Keane had stormed out of the general store, and Hassan waited a little longer in his car to avoid the town’s least favorite.

When he got in through the front door, he inhaled sharply. You were clearly in distress, eating some sour straws, sitting on the floor in the corner. The tears on your face spoke for themselves, as you mumbled, “How are you?” same as always.

;pAnnie came around, looking uncharacteristically ruffled.

“What happened?” He snapped, maybe a little too harshly. Annie bent down to sit with you, urging you to drink your water in the way only mothers do.

"oh, Bev was just being Bev, and things got a little heated." She tried to dismiss, voice an octave too high for it to be “Bev being Bev.”

“Fucking..xenophobic… cunt…fucker” You mumbled as you sipped on your water.

“What?” He asked, not sure he’d heard you right. Annie shooed him away, and he went, letting you recover from Beverly Keane at your own time unsupervised.

And the last piece of evidence he’d acquired was thin, circumstantial at best.

When Hassan first moved into his new office, the fridge from the previous, now deceased occupant had been filled with soda.

Not just any soda. Sprite, and Shasta.

Now Hassan hadn’t had soda in years, but he found it a little bit odd that two of the few Halal brands of soda were ready and waiting for him in his workplace.

He dismissed it then, it’s just a coincidence.

Except he’d been wrong, it was you.

The tall man blinks, and frees himself from that train of thought, remembering what exactly he was there to do.

The yellow lights of the general store were still blazing against the cold blue of the night, and he could see you resting against the cash register, reading your book.

Stop staring, he told himself, before taking a breath, and getting out of his car. He’s not going to think about the way you perked up when you saw him. He was probably imagining it anyway.

“Hey!” You greeted, just as chipper as you’d been that morning. He nods to you as a greeting, and gets to the point.

“How about a french exit?” You blink, he sounds breathless, which wasn’t a tone you’d heard on him before.

“What would the town think if I shirk my duties?” You bat your eyes in an attempt to

“They’ll say anyone buying candy past 10pm is a degenerate,” replies Hassan, completely deadpan. You snort.

“Maybe they’ll make an ordinance about it!” You exclaim, not putting it past Beverly Keane to do such a thing.

The two of you laugh for a moment, when Hassan gets to his point.

“Seriously, how about I drive you home?”

The mere thought of the two of you alone in his car sent a lovely prickle down your spine.

“Yeah…Yeah I’ll lock up, I'll just be a minute.” Hassan smiles at you, and waits on the porch. You scramble to lock everything and turn off all the lights while not making a sound he could detect from outside.

Taking a deep breath, you open the front door to the general store, and lock it behind you, walking in sync with Hassan, letting him open his car door for you. He waits an extra second to make sure your long sweater doesn’t get caught in the door, before shutting it behind you.

You start to hear your heart pound in your ears, as Hassan comes around and gets in the driver's seat.

“10 whole minutes early, how do you feel?”

“Like the law is a bad influence,” you snipe back, feeling a smile bubble to the surface.

“They blame me for the bad weather, I’ll take this too.” He jokes.

“Where do you live?” Asks Hassan, trying to seem calm, but he’s watching every move you make like he’s trying to memorize it.

“Yellow house on Apricot Drive. You’ve passed it before.” Hassan froze for a moment, thinking about how it must have looked. But it wasn’t as if he waited outside your house to see you, he just noticed that was somewhere you lived. It was something he was aware of. A fact.

“It’s a small town ” You shrug it off, letting him breathe again.

“Right.”

Hassan has a small smile on his face while he starts the car, driving a little bit slower than he normally would.

The ride itself is silent, and you have to be proud of yourself that you didn’t reach over and sink your teeth into him. Everything in this car is just so Hassan, how could you sit here and act normal?

“So, how are you adjusting?” You start, trying to ignore the fact that this car was so him. Clean, organized, and somehow comfortable and warm. There’s a scent in the air that you couldn’t quite place, but it was sweet somehow.

“Six months is a long time.” You continue, trying to keep your typical tone, as if you weren’t overwhelmed.

“It’s…alright.” He replies, wondering if you notice exactly how tightly he’s gripping the wheel.

“Yeah, at least we have fish though.”

“I hate fish,” hums your driver, completely deadpan.

You break into a cackle, “oh my god! What are you doing here?” You can clearly see a flash of teeth in the dark

Hassan only sighs, before taking the final turn onto your street, pulling up to the curb and turning off the car. You’re not sure how long the two of you sit there, in a comfortable silence you can only find after 8pm.

“We need to talk more.” You state, eyes on your hands.

“We do.”

“I like talking to you.”

“Same here, really.”

“Hassan?”

“Hm?”

“Would you like some coffee?” You question, tone light.

Your body doesn’t react quick enough, but Hassan’s hand is warm against your cheek, tilting your face towards his.

Things seem to move in slow motion, as you feel a soft brush of his lips against yours, the brief scratch of his beard making goosebumps break out under your sweater.

And just as quickly as it happened, he’s pulled away.

“I…I’m-” He tries, dark eyes round, as if he was stunned at what he’d just done.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” You breathe, heart pounding in your ears.

Hassan isn’t quite sure where his mind went, but he follows you out of the car, up the stairs to your home. It looks prettier up close, he thinks.

You unlock your house, and Hassan exhales the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

The house is lovely, just like you, just like he pictured. And he’s here.

You take your shoes off, he follows suit. You take off your sweater, and Hassan takes off his jacket.

If he looks too closely at your shoulders, it might make him lightheaded, and he couldn’t do that right now.

He follows you to your kitchen, as you put a pod into your keurig, he hovers on the other end, leaning against a counter. You hover by the coffee maker, before turning around slowly and taking each other in.

He likes looking at you, he always has. You're looking right back, air in the kitchen starting to buzz.

You could collapse under the weight of his stare, and yet you don’t move.

“So.” He says.

“So.”

The keurig starts to hum, and you clear your throat, “Must be stressful, being here, dealing with everyone.”

“It can be, yeah.” says Hassan, softly.

You run a hand over his broad chest, to rest over his heart, “bet you could use some…relief.” Were you doing it? Were you actually going to say it?

“Oh really?” Hassan hoped to every higher power that he was able to keep his face neutral, and not express what he was actually feeling.

“Someone to take all that tension out on,” you continue, taking a step towards him.

“Are you sure about that?” He growls, making you shiver.

In a moment he’s got his hands around your waist, your back to his chest.

He’s stronger than you, taller than you, and you're trapped. You let out a small whimper, wriggling weakly.

“You wanna be my toy? Something I can play with to work out all this stress?” he snarls into your ear ,”Say it.”

You give him nothing, breathing in through your nose, and out through your mouth.

“Don’t be coy with me now, tell me how you feel.” You feel Hassan push his face into your hair, inhaling deeply, while he waits.

“I’d like to be your toy. Or your anything…” You answer honestly.

“You wanna be mine? Want me to stake my fucking claim?” Hassan moves his face into the crook of your neck, the scratch of his beard masks the faint tug of his teeth.

“Yes please.” You stick out your bottom lip, trying to sound pitiful, and he laughs faintly.

“Okay honey, okay.” Hassan grips your waist tighter, just for a moment, and you want to melt into him.

“I sleep over in there”, you whisper, pointing down a short hallway to your bedroom. You’d jump on him if your couch had been a little longer, but your bed was a better bet for his comfort.

He’s right behind you, taking wide steps, not letting his hand stray from your back. You turn around, and get on your tiptoes to put your mouth back on his, and you keep him there.

Until you hear a low growl, “Do you like this dress?” asks Hassan, not taking his mouth from yours for more than a second.

“Yes.” You squeak, and Hassan hums in appreciation, his hands wandering down to the hem of your dress, tugging it up over your head. You shiver, falling right back into his mouth, your favorite dress tossed off to the side.

“Do you like these tights?” He questions, his hands roaming down and squeezing the globes of your ass.

“No.” You practically whisper, holding Hassan’s gaze as he tears your tights, almost in half, but not quite.

“I like these.” He rumbles, running large hands over your chest, pausing to unclasp your bra.

Hassan knew that his poker face failed him, and you saw his expression flicker. His dark, hungry eyes lit up the moment he saw your chest. He hovers for a moment, running his thumbs over your peaks, as you bite down on your lower lip.

Hassan runs his hands down,

“Lean back.” orders Hassan, and you do, shivering with anticipation. Your eyes go to your ceiling, reflecting on the various times you’d fucked yourself to the idea of him, for a moment, you wish you could tell him, but his mouth is on your clit so quickly, the thoughts melt away.

“Fuck,” you shout, as the Sheriff doesn’t waste time, licking and sucking in his own rhythm, quick, but not quick enough.

The sounds are obscene, and he moves your hand to hold on to his peppered hair. You looked so pretty with your eyes screwed shut, absolutely soaked for him.

“Fucking sweet,” You hear, muffled between your thighs.

You huff, as he knew exactly what he was doing. The pattern he’d established was lovely, but it was getting you to an edge. You were walking a tightrope and he wouldn’t let you fall.

Typical.

“Daddy ‘M-” You are cut off as you feel him hook a finger inside your wet heat. He groans against your clit, “Tightly wound. Alright.” He almost laughs as he works you loose, you’re still walking the tightrope.

“Hold on baby, open up for me.” He tries to comfort you, toying with that one spongy spot that made you see stars. Hassan’s thick fingers would reach it, press it, but never for long enough. He’s cruel.

“I’m gonna c-” you try, but Hassan’s not completely evil, he presses down on your stomach, and enjoys the show.

You twist, only truly aware of Hassan’s hands digging into your thighs, keeping you in place.

Things seem dim, distant for a moment, before Hassan crawls up for a kiss. He hovers above you for a moment while your breathing steadies.

He’s watching closely, before putting your head on his arm, turning you only to your side. The Sheriff pushes your hair out of your eyes, and you could feel yourself clench down around nothing.

Fuck.

You’re boneless, he’s panting, and everything is beautiful.

But it’s not enough. With all of your strength, you sit up.

“Fair’s fair.” You try, wobbly, as you try to reach down for his belt, your mouth wet. Your face twists into a pout as Hassan catches your wrists in his hands.

“Later, I’m gonna fuck you now.” He replies bluntly, pushing his face into your palms. The scratch of his beard in your hands almost distracts you from the words.

“Oh,” You’re struck with a pleasant chill, remembering bed with a gorgeous man who looked as if he wanted to swallow you whole.

“Yeah, oh.” He mocks lightly, giving you a soft kiss.

“Can you take this off?” You give him the biggest puppy dog eyes, tugging at his denim shirt.

“What’s the magic word?” He teases, watching you intently.

“Please, daddy.” Hassan hopes you don’t notice how his breath catches. You do, but what’s there to say?

“Daddy, huh?” He grins, getting up off the bed to take off his

“Shut up.” You smack his shoulder playfully, watching Hassan shrug out of his white undershirt.

Fuck, he’s hypnotizing, you could stare at him all day. You’re in a stupor, until he undoes his belt and frees his erection.

“Hassan-” it’s too big, it won’t fit.

But the words don’t come, his mouth is on yours, and everything feels so certain. You let out a small whine, feeling him poke at your folds. His body weight keeps you pinned as you wriggle and squirm in his grasp. “Don’t run, you can take it.” He’s got you pinned with seemingly no effort. Tears spring to your eyes as he steadily spears himself into you. Your vision blurs as Hassan takes you over.

“God, you fit me just right.” You hear faintly in your ear, as you focus on breathing. You scramble to make a sentence, a coherent thought, anything, but nothing comes to mind. It’s just the two of you. He’s still, and you’ll thank every higher power for that.

But at the worst possible time, a thought comes. Your hand roams over your breast, pinching it down to your stomach.

“I-I can feel you here!” You exclaim, dumbly putting your hand on your lower belly, pointing out a lump. It’s him.

“Fuck.” He snaps, as you blink at him, vacant. Hassan shifts for a moment, putting one leg over his shoulder, and the other follows suit.

And he begins.

His pace is steady, but hard enough to be considered unforgiving. It’s all a haze to you, the lump in your stomach, the slapping of skin, Hassan giving your ass a smack every time your eyes would roll.

“Can’t believe you’ve been such a slut. This whole time.” The words should sting but they don’t, not when he says them.

“I’m-” Hassan’s pace stutters, as you feel a bolt of lightning strike through you, you’re not sure if you're real anymore. You clench down around him suddenly, taking him down with you. He pushes his face into your neck, panting, and there’s never been a sound more lovely.

You register his heat just a moment after he falls apart on top of you, a lovely, liquid heat, hitting deeper than anyone had before.

The sheriff’s words are faint, “Good job baby,” you’re too weak to squirm away, as you pulse. “Milk this cock like it's yours, that’s it.” Hassan takes the opportunity to bite a mark into your smooth neck, earning a squeak.

The haze settles, only slightly, as you swear you could hear two hearts beating. The blankets, pushed off your bed, meant he was your only warmth.

A metaphor for your stupid small-town existence.

The feral feeling of his chest, bare against yours, made you feel as if you should simply put him back, but someone needs to be able to speak for that to happen.

“I think Daddy’s pussy is all filled up, do you feel it?” You feel down between your legs, face heating at the absolute mess he’d made of you.

“Yes, Daddy.” I want to stay like this.

He smiles, pressing a kiss into your shoulder, “good girl.”

“Does my toy need to rest now?” His voice is smooth as honey in your ear, hands everywhere, settling on your chest, squeezing, pinching at your nipples.

It’s almost too much.

“Yes, please.” You eek out, eyelids getting heavy. Your body is humming, but at the last second Hassan grabs your jaw and pulls your face close to his own.

“If if I catch wind of you fucking anyone else, there will be hell to pay. This is my fucking pussy understand?” You whine as a response, “I get to use this and this, only me.”

Only me.

Your partner traces down in between your legs, tapping on your sensitive clit twice, relishing how it made your whole body twitch.

But it’s not enough, he collects his cum on his thick fingers, and pushes it back into you. It takes you a moment to react as he does it again.

Hassan smiles as you let out a pathetic little cry, eyes getting watery. You couldn’t squirm away if you wanted to. Hassan could do whatever he wanted with you, and your cock-drunk mind decides that you're fine with that.

Suddenly it’s cold.

You don’t have the energy to open your eyes fully, but something was wrong. He can’t pull away! He can’t leave!

But he’s back, quickly, taking a warm towel between your legs, pressing on his beard burn, just to make you twitch.

And he’s back in bed, long arms pulling you back into him.

He’s staying, he’s staying the night.

Your body instinctively grinds back into his, making his breath catch as you persist.

“Miss me already, hm?” You feel a warm hand rest itself on your thigh.

“Mhmm.” You nod.

“Wanna keep me warm, baby?” The question sounded so sweet and sincere, you almost would have forgotten he’d just taken you apart moments ago.

“Yes, please.”

And Hassan doesn’t waste time.

You let out a filthy moan as Hassan parts your legs slightly, and pushes himself back inside you. Blunt, deep, warm. He hums a little bit, getting to feel exactly how he stretched you out, as he grips you, feeling you start to squirm with sensitivity. That would just be too bad.

Toy’s don’t get sensitive, they’re made to be used. Over and over.

“It’s your pussy daddy. Whenever you want.” In your mind, you dream about Hassan playing with your body while you sleep, if he wants, but you can’t get that across. Your vocabulary is now extremely limited. But how lovely would it be, to be woken up by his unrelenting force.

“You shouldn't say things like that, I might get greedy.” Hassan attempted to sound calm like he wasn’t going to dream of keeping you in bed, holding your hips against his and fucking you until you forgot the year. You’re so pretty in this dream, starry-eyed, and limp, letting him play with you however he wanted.

Maybe tomorrow, he’d have to ask first.

As a well-earned sleep took you, Hassan was left alone with his thoughts, he’d think about before he sleeps is how he didn’t have a leg to stand on. He’s a father, a widow, a disgraced NYPD detective, what did he have that you could want?

Could he ask you to go steady? Do people still do that?

Before your mind had been cleared, you wanted to tell him that tonight was enough. Whatever this evening was didn’t have to go any farther than he wanted it to.

But it’s alright, you two have time.

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