#this is basically the equivalent of shooting myself in the foot

[tillandbed-travelingvlog]

Bill and Ted on Mount Greylock? (a real mountain in Massachusetts but also from the Greylock Tapes analog horror series)

I'm not sending them to Assachusetts sorry

#not a vlog #this is basically the equivalent of shooting myself in the foot #wicked smaaht tho #lobstah #etc etc

[rubykgrant]

so. Rooster teeth is gone now. Thoughts?

That's both kind of a shock, but also unfortunately not surprising. I haven't really been "in the loop" regarding Rooster Teeth as a whole thing like other people online (I literally never knew anything they did outside of RVB 10+ years ago, except for hearing people vaguely talk about RWBY and Gen:Lock, and even then, I only really saw RVB to begin with because a friend had borrowed the DVDs from their older bro, who had borrowed them from a friend of his). I only randomly remembered RVB was a thing a couple years ago, and then it took over my brain. THEN, one of the more recent incidents of how RT mistreats employees was brought up, and while a lot of people were (sadly) used to hearing about that, I was not aware of previous situations, and it honestly made me very upset. I wrote a whole thing about that, which nobody "important" really saw, because I'm not important myself, but this new situation makes me feel more of the same...

It is awful that so many problems went on for so long, a LOT of people got hurt through working there over the years. They all deserved to be treated better. Being in a bad situation like that can mess up your whole life. That kind of thing also hurts how people work, and surprise-surprise, that hurts WHERE they work. You can't mistreat employees over and over, then turn around and give the fans the equivalent of a slap in the face when it comes to letting them actually enjoy the content, and expect everything to just work out OK. I am genuinely sad that yet another thing is getting shut down; it happens so often, with different studios/creative teams, and it would be nice to actually see a group recognize what their problems have been, make an actual effort to IMPROVE, and continue to exist. I hope all the creative people involved who have been working hard don't just get thrown on the wayside, but it is so difficult to find any stability in the entire entertainment business world right now. There were a LOT of problems at RT regarding how employees were treated, and that includes so MANY people, but there is also a vast amount of problems at just about every creative workplace (and this has been going on for more than a decade). Almost nothing survives, except a handful of companies who basically just "eat" up smaller ones, and have the money to fail or lose money over and over again, and not worry. Who cares if they shut down 10 other studios and end 50 projects that were almost finished? They still have their money. It is also just honestly WEIRD how many different companies keep making the same mistakes with how they offer content to the fans (limiting availability, not even letting people buy the stuff they want to buy, etc. RT has gotten a lot of hate for recent stuff with their online videos, but availability is a whole problem with all kinds of media; Disney won't let you watch it's own movies, Nintendo won't let you play it's own games; it's STUPID), and then being surprised it isn't working. Stop shooting yourselves in the foot. Stop doubling-down on the same nonsense. It isn't WORKING.

Again, it would have been nice to see a negative situation actually be IMPROVED. Maybe that is naively hopeful of me, but I'm also not exactly surprised. I'm just sorry so many people worked on so many different projects, with all their passion, talent, and effort, got mistreated, and it is now all being thrown away. It is just plain sad that so much can go wrong for entirely too many years, and then it just ends without anything being fixed. "Well it sucked, but now it's dead"- it didn't HAVE to suck, and it didn't HAVE to die. I wish it had been better from the beginning, and I wish that things could have gone better throughout. I hope all the creative people are able to keep living their lives and find themselves in workplaces where they can be safe (for their own emotional/mental health, and in terms of making enough money to actually live).

#ask #answer #anon #rooster teeth

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 20 | S.R.)

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |

Summary: Reader lies to Spencer.

A/N: Please read the content warnings for this one if you have basically any triggers, lol. This is a very heavy chapter - it is the penultimate climax of the story. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Angst (NSFW) Content Warning: 🚨 IMPORTANT – READ BEFORE READING🚨 This episode covers a number of very dark topics, and should be approached at a time when you have support systems available. Potential triggering topics include: sexual assault, violations of consent, suicide, self-harm, pregnancy/termination, infertility, domestic dispute, fighting, and underage drinking, sex w/ blanket consent Word Count: 11K

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

Rossi’s house was every bit as extravagant as I had expected. I had come in honestly hoping to be slightly disappointed so I could mock him for it, but, as always, he had to force his appearance to be as unnecessarily elegant as possible.

That being said, I was a little surprised to find that most everyone gathered in one spot - the kitchen. It was only to be expected, considering it was usually the happiest room in the home. That certainly remained true for Rossi. But they were also all gathered there because that was where the wine was – wine that I was not allowed to drink.

Rossi didn’t have a problem with it… Spencer did. Because of course he did. And while I politely declined when Rossi offered me some, anyway, I found another offer a little more tempting. Which explains why I found myself clutching Derek’s flask and draining half the contents quickly enough to remind him that I was, in fact, in college.

And if anyone were to ask, I would simply tell them that we were hanging out in the hall outside the bathroom to have a very deep and secret heart-to-heart about our shared love for a certain mop headed genius. It would have been the perfect cover to use on pretty much everyone except…

“Ahem.”

The sound of Spencer’s throat clearing behind me was enough to cause me to choke, and I quickly tossed the closed flask back to an already giggling Derek as I shouted, “Fuck!” I didn’t even turn around when his hand snaked around my hip. Instead, I just groaned.

“The narc’s here,” I whispered to Derek, but he knew better than to answer.

“The narc?” Spencer balked, much to his friend’s delight.

“It was fun while it lasted,” Derek offered in consolation, taking a swig out of the flask and earning a very defensive glare from my boyfriend. In fact, Spencer seemed downright pissed, which wasn’t what I had been expecting when I agreed.

Oops. What’s the male equivalent of a cat fight?

“Morgan, didn’t you lecture me about her drinking underage a few months ago?” he snapped, grabbing the flask from a more than willing Derek. Spencer sniffed the contents and immediately recoiled, tossing it back again.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he mumbled, shooting a glance down to see me sort of just making heart eyes at the sight of my boyfriend being a stupid level of jealous that I'd been caught in the hallway with another boy.

“How does that make it better? That makes it patently worse,” he argued. Derek might have responded to it, too, if I hadn’t latched myself onto Spencer’s side.

“You’re so cute when you get all stupid and possessive,” I drawled, burying my face in his shoulder in what I think was supposed to be a playful kiss, but actually just ended up being a muffled laugh.

“That,” Derek chuckled, pointing to me teetering back and forth on my heels at Spencer’s side, “That is my cue to leave.” With one final wink, he whispered, “Don’t be too hard on him, Princess.”

Spencer’s angry sigh and entirely stiff posture should have served as my warning, but it was just funny to me at the time.

“They all think I’m the boss of us,” I giggled. “Me! The boss!”

“You’re drunk.” His tone dropped the second Derek was out of earshot, and on intimidation alone, he managed to back me against the wall.

“So is everyone but you. They won’t even notice,” I mumbled, although the more the hallway started to spin, the less I believed that. I'd never been very good at math or shots, and this was a pretty horrible miscalculation of just how much of my tolerance I’d lost.

“You really couldn’t wait a few more months? Or at least until we got home?”

He was chastising me, and I just wasn’t there to hear it. I probably could have figured it out if I’d tried, but it all sounded like sexy nonsense at the time. Walking my fingers down his chest, I paused at his belly before hooking them in his pants and pulling his hips against mine.

“I’m allowed to drink if my daddy says so,” I purred.

Spencer didn’t find my taunt as charming as I’d hoped, and before I knew it his hand was roughly pressed over my jaw. He tilted my head back to look him in the eyes, and I wondered if he could smell the whiskey on my breath.

“Well, I didn’t,” he growled.

I never said I was a perfect person, or even a smart one. And when I was drinking and Spencer whipped out his Daddy voice, I don’t know what he really expected me to do. But apparently, trying to grab his dick through his pants was the wrong move. He snatched my hand away quickly, slamming it against the wall before he continued his little impromptu lecture.

“I’m not rewarding you for this. We’re going home.”

“That’s not a very scary threat,” I deadpanned, throwing my body weight back against the wall.

That lasted about four seconds before he pulled me back to my feet and leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “Just wait, little girl. Just you wait until I get my fucking hands on you.”

I was going to make a snarky joke, to remind him that his hands were surely and firmly already on me, but I never got the chance. We were both too distracted by the very loud and very high pitched squeal of Penelope as she rounded the corner.

“Ah! I saw nothing!” she shouted, covering her face with her hands and refusing to remove them.

“Yeah, because we aren’t doing anything,” I laughed. But then, being the slightly cruel brat that I was, I stuck my tongue out at Spencer before tacking on a completely unnecessary, “anymore.”

“We weren’t doing anything before either!” he squeaked back. He wasn’t using his Daddy voice anymore. So swiftly, so easily, he’d been knocked from his higher footing.

Penelope took the words to heart, but only enough to slowly lower her fingers and peek between them. With a shaky voice and an awkward laugh, she started to rant. “Oh. It’s fine. I’m cool. We’re all cool. We don’t have to talk about that thing from the first time I met you ever again. Because we said we’d never talk about it again, do you remember that?”

“I do remember that,” I answered with a very sarcastic tone and a nod.

“And I just brought it up again, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” I whispered, “Yes, you did.”

“I’m so sorry. Spencer, Hotch is looking for you,” she rushed, turning to the beet-red boy at my side. “Okay, that’s it. Take your time, because I’m cool and not at all mortified.” She was basically already gone before she'd even finished talking, taking off in the direction she'd come from while downing the drink in her hand.

With a loose, clumsy wave I shouted back, “Bye, Penelope.”

“Mortified is a good word. An accurate word,” Spencer huffed as he wiped a hand over his face. His bashfulness, while cute, was not as exciting as the pre-Penelope behavior.  

Running my hands underneath his blazer and up his back, I pressed my chest against his. “Gosh, Dr. Reid. You need to be more appropriate in such a public setting.”

The words, while meant to get him riled up, did more to frustrate me. My drunken mind was more than happy to revert to the metro, and before I knew it, my daydreams were filled with images of Spencer stuffing me into the tiniest closet he could find and having his way with me.

“Oh, I’m the one lacking manners?” Spencer chuckled as he apparently read my very lewd thoughts. He pried my arms off of him and pulled them back to rest at my sides before pressing a strangely chaste kiss on my forehead. “Go get your stuff. I’m going to go talk to Hotch and I’ll meet you by the door.”

Before he disappeared around the corner, he shot me one last warning glance and ordered, “Do not mingle!”

“Don’t worry, I will!” I yelled back.

Once he was gone, it was my job to figure out how to make my body work again. Luckily, it wasn’t the first time I’d had too much to drink in a room filled with drunk adults. Granted, they usually weren’t all cops, but, whatever.

Turns out, it somehow made it easier. I managed to grab my things off the counter without alerting anyone except Penelope, who quickly turned back around with a blush. She probably figured I was gonna go blow him in the bathroom or something. I’d have been offended if the thought hadn’t literally just crossed my mind. I made it all the way to the door before I heard it. Back through the halls, a few of the group had separated to talk about how much harder it had been to see Hotch and JJ. It was nothing, just a little bug spreading through daycares like wildfire. That wasn’t what upset me, though.

No, the thoughts running through my head were more than just a passing thought of kids sick with a cold. I looked up at the walls of the entryway to Rossi’s home and saw intricate moulding and nothingness. I saw the exquisite, pristine rug underneath my feet, and I thought about how lonely it felt.

I was standing in a house that should have felt happy, filled with friends and family and love. There was no doubt that everyone who was there wanted to be there, and probably had nowhere else they’d rather be. But the tall ceilings and thousands of square feet felt so goddamn empty.

It isn’t the building, I heard a tiny, terrified voice call out from inside my own conscience.

It’s you. You’re empty.

I had to leave. I had to get out of the house. I had to hear the silence so that the nothingness would feel more appropriate and less noticeable. I couldn’t let them see me, because if they saw me, they would know. They would know that I was nothing but a husk of the girl they used to know. Without even thinking, I threw the door open, stumbling forward and almost falling flat on my face as I misjudged the small step down to the patio.

“Fuck!” I muttered, the world rocking around me with a stubborn persistence. If it weren’t for the frankly freezing temperature, I was sure I would have been sick. To make matters worse, there was a person quickly approaching.  

“Hey, are you and Spence leaving already?”

It was JJ. Thank god, it was JJ. Probably the only person who wouldn’t make fun of me for being a mess on Rossi’s steps after only a few shots of whatever Morgan was drinking.

“Oh. Hey, JJ. Yeah. He’s…” I turned to my side, half expecting Spencer to be there to answer for me. But he wasn’t, so I ended up just pointing to the closed door before slurring, “he’s doing a thing.”

She was, per usual, very kind when faced with my buffoonery, and just laughed as she shook her head. “A thing. Sounds like him.”

I honestly thought that would be the end of it. It was a good, easy segue into a farewell. She already knew we were leaving, and she knew Spencer well enough to know that he wouldn’t leave me alone for long.

And I think she almost did leave. She almost walked right past me and into the warmth and comfort of a home filled with family and friends. But she didn’t. She stopped and asked me the one question I was really hoping she wouldn’t.

“Are you alright?”

I didn’t want her to ask because I knew that I wouldn’t be able to lie to her. Even if I could have managed it, she would have seen right through me in a second. Not only would it have been an exercise in futility, but she would also know that I thought it was worth it to try to lie.

So, I was honest… quite possibly too honest.

“No, not really. But it’s a lot and I’m kind of drunk, so…”

The mom eyes appeared so quickly, with JJ’s body turning entirely away from the door and over to me. “Not usually a good combination, but an understandable one,” she softly replied, wrapping her arms around herself to make up for the fact that she was sacrificing her comfort in many different ways to talk to me, instead.  

She was probably just being nice— staying with me until Spencer could come take over the babysitting of the drunk twenty year old, but I wasn’t exactly thinking critically at the time. Which is only part of the reason why I blurted out the only thing on my mind; the thing that had been haunting me for longer than I wanted to admit even to myself, much less another person.

“Has Spencer ever talked to you about kids?”

The air, still freezing, also fell uncomfortably silent.

“Oh…” she mumbled under her breath, clearly unsure of how to handle that particular minefield of a topic. Especially with her best friend’s girlfriend, who also happened to be drunk. I almost told her to forget about it, but then she looked up at me with a powerful resolve. “Yeah, he has. Why?”

I thought about my next words more carefully, although you wouldn’t have been able to tell considering how much I stuttered.

“Do you think… Do you think he’d be happy if… I can’t have them?” I asked, wringing my hands together over my stomach. “Like, not just happy today, but like ten years from now?” I could hear how desperate I sounded, but I needed someone to hear the words playing on loop in my mind. Absolutely frantic and with tears pooling in my eyes, I asked, “Do you think he’d still love me if I can’t give him kids?”

“(Y/n), slow down. It’s okay!” JJ urged, lunging forward to cup my cheeks and gently wipe away any stray tears. “Don’t cry! You’ll ruin your make up and it looks like you spent a lot of time on it.”

I had to laugh because not only was it my exact brand of humor, she said it with such a serious face that I had to wonder if it was genuinely her biggest concern. Of course, I knew it wasn’t. In her usual JJ way, she just knew the easiest way to cheer me up was with a laugh.

“Yeah, there’s like $80 on my face, it’s really not worth it to cry,” I agreed, sniffling softly when she finally pulled away her hands. At least I could blame that part on the cold.

“Exactly. And if you cry, then I’ll cry, and then I’ll also ruin my make up, and we’ll just be $150 down the drain with nothing to show for it,” she joked with a tired roll of her eyes and a shrug.  

Together, we laughed, finding a pocket of warmth in a world that often felt too cold. Behind JJ’s eyes though, I saw an empathy I wasn’t expecting. That small, instinctual part of my brain tugged at my heart, telling me that there was an unspoken bond forming. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t know why. I had a feeling that it was one of those secrets you just didn’t ask about, so I let it go.

“Thanks. It’s a stupid thought anyway,” I sighed, shuffling my feet and knocking my heels against the somehow spotless patio. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, so why stress about it, right?”

But then JJ said something I wasn’t expecting. Something that I actually really, really needed to hear.  

“I don’t know, I think you’re allowed to be worried. It’s normal to feel scared.”

The sentence hit me like a freight train carrying lead and cement. At first, my brain refused to comprehend it at all. I struggled to repeat the idea, not because I was drunk but because it sounded so wrong. I had wanted it to be true so badly, and here she was, telling me it was okay.

Sensing my simultaneous trepidation and revelation, JJ cringed a bit when she said, “But I think it is a good idea to talk to Spence about it instead of me. Because, to be honest, I’ve also had one too many glasses to be helpful.”

That time when I laughed, it was full-hearted and involved every muscle in my body. “God, I love you, Jennifer,” I said through the noise.

She just shook her head, clearly enjoying the drastic mood swing she’d had a great part in. “I love you, too,” she whispered, running her hand over my shoulder and arm to pull me into a small half-hug. And that was how Spencer found us, giggling and sniffling on Rossi’s porch.

“Hey, are you ready to— Oh! Hey JJ,” he stopped, taking a very hesitant step forward in the hope that we wouldn’t both start crying on the spot. Drunk girls had a tendency to do that. “W-What are you guys doing out here?”

She let me go first, shoving her hand, still damp with my tears, into her pockets with a secretive smile. “Girl talk.”

“That usually doesn’t bode well for me,” Spencer answered with an awkward, nervous laugh. He didn’t make a move to grab me yet, probably too scared to step between the two of us. I was too busy giggling at the thought of his mind cycling through all the possible secrets I might have spilled in my uninhibited state.

I was tipsy, but I wasn’t that drunk.

JJ pulled two fingers over her mouth in a cheeky motion as she whispered, “My lips are sealed.”

“An even worse sign,” Spencer winced, turning to finally wrap his arm around me. He must have noticed the chill on my skin, because seconds later he had me practically wrapped in his coat. “I should just cut my losses and get her out of here, huh?”

“Shut up, old man,” I slurred, cuddling closer to his body heat despite my protests. Even in the darkness, I watched the heat bloom in his face at the nickname. By far, the worst part about the situation was the fact that I couldn’t kiss him, because I just knew he would be so warm, and I was really starting to get cold. I suspect that’s why he started to whisk me away, unceremoniously shushing me as JJ cleared her throat and raised her hand in a wave.  

Before we got too far, though, I heard her speak again. “Oh! (Y/n), your questions!”

“What about them?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder and nearly falling to the ground as a result.

JJ looked at me, and then back to Spencer, whose arm was wrapped possessively around me. She smiled a pure, toothy grin that filled her face, causing that weird feeling in my gut to flare up again. She saw something in that moment that I wasn’t sure I’d ever really understand, but her voice started to crack just enough to notice when she called out, “The answer is yes. To all of them.”

 —————————————————

 The ride back to Spencer’s place was uneventful, though I tried very hard to make it interesting. After the fourth time he'd swatted away my hand and threatened to throw me in the back, I gave in to his demand to behave. I blamed my compliance on the alcohol, although it was probably more so a result of total exhaustion.

The respite from socialization was apparently what I needed to be able to function again, because as soon as we pulled into his apartment parking lot, I was awake.

... Awake enough to try and maul him in the hallway. But, in his sober stubbornness, he continued to evade my advances all the way until his front door clicked shut behind us. His hands on my hips had never felt like such a victory before.

“Did you enjoy wreaking havoc all night?” he whispered, slowly leading us towards his room. I couldn’t see where I was going, but I didn’t need to. Even without an eidetic memory, my body cherished this path and the memories it always led to. I trusted him to catch me if I stumbled. Which, I definitely did.

“I’m the cutest devil you’ll ever see,” I slurred.

“At least you admit it,” Spencer laughed. I couldn’t tell if it was at my words or the fact that I was failing terribly at trying to unbutton his shirt. My drunk self was not a skilled multitasker.

Once I felt the bed against the back of my thighs, I hopped on top of the covers before he could even try to help me up. It was muscle memory. We’d been there before.

“I’m feeling more fallen angel tonight,” I sighed, sliding against the comforter until I found his pillow.

Naturally, Spencer saw the way I gravitated to his side. He smiled as he removed his shirt that I’d left mostly intact. “By all means, feel free to stay that way.”

I probably should have taken off my dress, or my shoes, but I didn’t. The world sort of felt like a wave pool on a sunny day, and I was worried that if I paid too much attention to what was going on around me, I'd think about something I really didn’t want to think about.

I couldn’t remember what it was.

But then Spencer’s hands were gliding up and down my calves, and I shuddered at the contact. He took his time removing my shoes before coming up to join me on all fours. I wondered if he could taste the whiskey on my tongue when he kissed me. Did it remind him of the circumstances that had brought us together? Did it remind him of his hangover and sins?

Did he think of monsters when he kissed me?

My hands were tangled in his hair, pulling lightly to try to keep him there. And when he pulled away, I tried to fight him. I tried to follow him, scared that once the kiss was over, I’d start remembering things I probably should have tried to forget.

He must have seen the denial in my eyes, because he hesitated. His hand came up to lightly grab my wrist and lead my hand that had a death grip on his hair down to his face. “Are you too drunk? Should we stop?”

Throwing my head back with a groan, I tried not to hate him for actually caring about me again. “If you stop right now, I’m going to actually scream,” I droned. It got me a laugh, at least.

“That doesn’t comfort me in the slightest.”

Once I opened my eyes, I found myself wishing I hadn’t. It wasn’t that I saw hesitancy or fear in Spencer’s eyes – on the contrary, it was the lack of anything bad at all that bothered me. I looked into his eyes and saw nothing but a sincere, pure adoration that I couldn’t argue with.

I chose to ignore it, instead. I couldn’t remember why it made my stomach hurt.

“Are you going to make me do a sobriety test?” I giggled, letting my hands travel down his shoulders and chest. I wasn’t in as much of a rush as I had been earlier. I wanted to take my time remembering what it felt like to be pinned under him and surrounded by his embrace.

“I’m positive that you’ve practiced those while drunk,” he playfully replied while trying to hide the way goosebumps followed my fingers as they trailed down to more interesting territory.  

“Yeah, I can say the alphabet backwards and everything.”

It was meant as a joke, but Spencer apparently had some doubts. With a scrunched up smile, he laughed back as he asked, “Really?”

The fact that he believed I was capable of something like that might have been flattering if it hadn't been based on his incredibly flawed perception of my propensity to lawbreaking. But since it was based on ideas of immorality rather than intelligence, it just made me mad.

Smacking him lightly on the chest, I both pouted and laughed as I snapped back, “No, of course not, asshole!”

Spencer just grinned, giving a delayed wince at the offensive contact before he sat up again. I didn’t realize why at first, but as he slowly started to coax me into turning around, I remembered that I was, in fact, still fully dressed. I figured it was either his way of saying that I’d won, or just an excuse to take off the dress so I might actually go to sleep. I was fine with either.

“I was drunk the first night we met, if you’ve forgotten,” I mumbled, rolling onto my side of the bed and moving my hair so that he wouldn’t catch any in the zipper.

“I definitely haven’t forgotten that night.”

The nostalgia in his voice was both comforting and painful. We’d always joked about that night, though. It wasn’t an insult at all.

“No? Do you think about it often?” I replied playfully, forcing myself not to think too hard about whether he wished I was still the girl he'd met that day.

Spencer made it easy to forget, with his hand starting to draw the zipper down while he leaned forward to whisper in my ear, “I think about it all the time.” My breath hitched in my throat at the way his voice warped into a rough, raspy tone. “You almost made me believe that you were just some shy, innocent little girl.”

This time when he got me to turn back over, there was nothing gentle about it. His hands were clearly craving the kind of violence they got to use last time. I wanted to feel them again.

“We can make a new memory if you want,” I panted, looking up at him with wanton eyes and my dress loose enough to expose parts of my breasts to him.

“Fuck,” he muttered at the sight below him. He pressed his erection against my hip as he ran a hand over my cheek. “Tell me the rules.”

“I tell you to stop if I need to,” I carefully enunciated.

“Good girl,” he moaned, starting to rock against me. Struggling to pull my dress off himself, he pleaded in a slightly pitiful manner, “Can I…?”

I helped him, desperate to feel his skin against mine. I didn’t even think about what it meant for my dress to be gone. It wasn’t until Spencer’s mouth dropped to my chest so enthusiastically that I realized that he’d failed to stop and kiss my lips first.

With both hands on my breasts, he lavished each pebbled peak with his fingers and tongue. He hadn’t ever mentioned the fact that he’d missed me shirtless, but it was painfully obvious in the way his lips trailed along my body. It was obvious in the rumbling of his moans against my skin and the way his hands roughly kneaded the soft tissue.

I was forced to remember why I hadn’t let him see me topless.

I felt naked. Not because of the exposed skin, but because I couldn’t warp reality with lace or cotton anymore. My marred stomach might not have made a physical barrier, but it still made him feel so far away. It was a paralyzing kind of realization, and I felt myself retreat so quickly that it hurt.

Thankfully, it was Spencer who was kissing me. If it had been anyone else, I think I would have just laid there, terrified and small and alone. But I couldn’t do that with him.

“Spencer?” I quietly called, and he immediately stopped, his eyes meeting mine with all the attention a girl could ever ask for. I smiled, and the sensation almost felt foreign.

“Come kiss me here instead,” I said with a little giggle, tapping my lips to bring him back to where I wanted him. And he came to me so quickly, his mouth crashing onto mine in seconds and his hands tangling in my hair.

I had forgotten so quickly how easy it was to get lost in him. Thanks to the alcohol, my mind wasn’t able to stick with any thought for longer than a few seconds. Mixing that with Spencer’s hands and mouth, I was never going to be able to think in more than a few words at a time. And I shouldn’t have needed to, right? It was just sex. We’d done it many times before, and it had never been a disappointment. But there was a nagging feeling in the back of mind — some instinctual warning that told me I was doing something wrong.

I wanted him, so what could be wrong about that? There was nothing painful or unappreciated in the way he lined himself up at my entrance, and I certainly made that much clear. It was hard to even hear him over the sound of my own moans, and my nails dug into his shoulder as I guided him into me with my hips.

“I love you,” I cried, wrapping my legs around his waist and digging my heels into the back of his thighs.

“I love you so much, little girl,” he whispered against my lips, his forehead resting against mine.

For a moment, it was okay. The feeling subsided long enough for me to enjoy the fact that Spencer, the man I loved, loved me back. I thought about how long it had taken us to get to this point, and how I never wanted to lose it again. I held onto him for dear life, rocking my hips to meet his and bringing his mouth down to mine.

It was okay, until he spoke again.

“You’re such a good girl,” he groaned into my mouth, “even when you’re being bad you just want to be useful.”

Useful.

The word had come back to haunt me several times in the recent weeks. I hadn’t said anything about it because I couldn’t understand why it bothered me so much. There was no reason for me to be upset. He was just saying what I usually liked to hear.

So why did it hurt?

And I realized then, that the reason that experience felt so horrible wasn’t because of me at all. It was because it was Spencer. It was Spencer, the man I loved. There he was, trying to love me and comfort me and hold me and I…

In a rush of emotions and memories and repressed regrets, I was forced to face the fact that I had made a terrible mistake. The kind of mistake that if I didn’t do something about it in that exact, immediate moment, would become a disaster. The kind of disaster that meant he might never want to touch me again. The kind that would make him hate me. The kind that would make him leave and I couldn’t blame him for.

I had made a mistake.

“Wait, wait, Spencer, stop!” I slurred, my hands that had been holding him close seconds earlier shoving him off of me with the little force I was capable of. It didn’t take much, though, considering how fast he jumped back.

Frantic and terrified, he grabbed my face and tried to inspect my eyes that were avoiding him. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t look at him. “No, I just really need to stop,” I muttered, my breath picking up even more as I slid away from him, “Can I just— Can you just give me a minute?”

My hands slid over my chest, trying to hide the shame I felt inside to no avail. Spencer only made it worse in the way he quickly grabbed clothing, covering me in his shirt before he dressed himself. He even took the time to find me pants and help me in them, quietly and carefully. Like a doll.

I was going to be sick.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me,” he croaked brokenly while he curled up at my side, trying to wrap his arms around me before he realized I was shrinking away from his touch. He was so confused. He had no reason to know what was going on, but I could see on his face that he was desperately trying to figure it out.

“Does this have something to do with what you were talking to JJ about?”

An interesting question. I didn’t know the answer.

“Yes. No? Maybe. I guess?” I ran a hand over my face that landed on my throbbing temple. The lack of tears on my face almost surprised me. I probably should have been crying, but I wasn’t. In a way, it felt like I had no tears left to give. When I turned to him, bile rose in my throat and I was afraid that I might choke on it if I didn’t get the words out faster. I just had to tell him. He needed to know.

“Listen, I lied to you. And I need to say something.”

I had just gotten my breathing under control, just in time for his to go erratic. His pulse was visible in his throat as he swallowed. “Lied to me? About what?”

“I…” The world was rocking, and I couldn’t tell if it was because of the alcohol or my brain trying to comprehend my own self-destructive stupidity. I knew which one I was going to blame, though. “Fuck, I didn’t think I was this drunk.”

“What did you lie to me about?” he repeated, his hands gripping handfuls of the sheet in hopes of stopping the rest of his body from trembling.

“Well, I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you.”

It was the most useless clarification, and it did absolutely nothing to appease his concern. The longer the words stayed stuck and muddled in my mouth, the more devastated he seemed. In hindsight, I would realize all the millions of awful reasons his mind must have been feeding him in the absence of the truth.

“Please, whatever it is, just tell me,” Spencer begged with a hesitant, shaky hand coming to rest on top of mine. He wasn’t looking at me anymore. Instead, we both looked down at our hands. It was a mercy and a disservice. I just had to tell him, but I couldn’t convince myself to do it without looking him in the eyes. That didn’t mean I wasn’t grateful that he didn’t look back, though. Because once the words were said, there would be no going back from them.

He was going to hate me.

“I… stopped taking my birth control,” I whispered in a voice that felt so foreign. “Like, a while ago.”

Spencer’s jaw steeled, his eyes widening and shooting up to me with the same speed he used to jump off the bed. Despite my efforts to grab him, to stop him from leaving me, he was five feet away in a matter of seconds.

“What?!” he shouted. It was the loudest I’d ever heard him. Even the echoes felt deafening, and my hands covered my ears with a wince.

“Shit! That was loud!” I whined in a pathetic attempt to make him feel bad for me. I didn’t deserve it, but I think it worked. Because the next time he spoke, it was at a more manageable volume.

“What do you mean you stopped taking your birth control?! When?!”

“Stop yelling at me.” I pulled my knees to my chest and ignored the pain in my stomach when I did so. It felt well deserved.

“You aren’t joking, either. Why didn’t you tell me this?” Spencer continued, his hands raking through his hair while he started to pace the room.

Nothing about it felt real. I felt like I was stuck in one of my million recurring nightmares. I just wanted to wake up, to be somewhere other than in a room too small for the bass in his voice. I only barely saw him when he finally approached me. He still stayed a few feet away, but he met my eyes that stared vacantly at the wall ahead of me.  

“Answer me!”

Whether it was the order that broke me or the pain in his voice, all of my resolve and apathy shattered at once.

“You’ve always said you wanted to get me pregnant!” I screamed back, digging my nails into my skin in the hope of finding feeling there.

“Not like this! Not right now!” he scoffed. The sound would have hurt more if he hadn't stepped closer to me when he made it.

“Why not?!” I tried to sound angry, but all I heard was the plea beneath the words.

I just want to be useful. Please let me be useful.

“Are you serious?” Spencer’s disbelief was present in every ounce of his existence. His hands were alternating between fists and flat palms, his voice cracking and wavering in pitch. “What has gotten into you? You know that you can’t have a child right now.”

I bit down on my tongue in one final attempt to keep the scary words inside. But he couldn’t feel the way his words felt just like bullets and scar tissue that would never fully heal again.

“You almost died! Do you—“ he choked, but powered through his body’s attempt to stop the thought. “Do you understand the danger that would put you in?”

“I know, alright?! I know!” The words were loud and hoarse, and I covered my own ears to hopefully drown out the sound of failure on my own tongue. “I know I can’t have a fucking kid right now!”

“Then what are you doing?!”

I don’t know. Please, help me.

He waited for my answer, but it stayed trapped in my head. When I started to rock in place, my hands still clamped over my ears and the tears I swore I didn’t have starting to fall, he sighed.  

“Get up, we’re going to the store.”

“Why?” I spat, sinking further into my spot in a purely selfish manner.

“Get up,” he said again, this time reaching out for my hand.

But I didn’t want to touch him. I didn’t want him to touch me like this. I was scared that if I did what he wanted, then the fight would be over. And if the fight ended, then what would be left? Was this all just some elaborate ruse to get me in his car so that he could drive me home and leave me there?

His hand touched mine so softly, with so much patience and love that it burned. Why wasn’t he angrier? He should be.

“No!” I screamed, smacking his hand away from me. Although I knew it didn’t hurt, I saw him wince at the contact. His lips flattened as he looked at the stupid sobbing girl on his bed.  

Then he left. He turned on his heel, and with less patience that time, grumbled the explanation he'd refused to give before. “We’re going to the store and getting levonorgestrel so that you don’t make the stupidest mistake of your life.”

It wasn’t the words that got me to move, but the fact that he was quickly leaving the room. I scrambled after him recklessly, crashing into just about every stationary object in the way. The shock had hit me so hard that I forgot I was still drunk.

“Is it really that awful to imagine having a future with me?” I sobbed, chasing after him just to crash into him when he stopped.

He still caught me, but I couldn’t tell you why.

“You know that’s not what this is about.” He sounded so tired, but he kept going. He kept fighting with me even though I could see in his eyes that it was the last thing he wanted to do. “I love you, (y/n)! But you’re acting like… like a child!”

“Fuck you,” I seethed, pushing myself away from him.

I was scared that if I didn’t force our bodies apart, I would have fallen to pieces in his arms again. And I knew he would try to put me back together again. He would try to help me because that’s what he always did. But sometimes things are just completely, irrevocably broken. Sometimes there was simply no fixing it.

Good luck convincing Spencer of that.

“I don’t need this shit and I don’t need to go to the store,” I muttered under my breath as I made my way back into the bedroom to locate my purse that I’d so gracefully thrown on the floor.

“(Y/n), just because the chances of pregnancy are low doesn’t mean they are nonexistent, and I’m not going to be the reason you throw your life away! You said yourself you aren’t ready to be a housewife!” I heard him rambling from the other room. Eventually, he followed the sounds of plastic packaging and rustling paper.

“Shut up,” I groaned, finally getting the tiny pill free and successfully shoving it in my mouth before I managed to drop it. “Just leave me alone, Spencer.”

Obviously, it wasn’t going to work. After all, I was in his apartment, and currently sitting cross legged in the middle of his bedroom and trying to dry swallow a pill that tasted a lot like every mistake I’d ever made.

“When did you buy that? And why do you have it with you?” He didn’t sound angry at all anymore. He didn’t even particularly sound annoyed or confused, just… exhausted.

“You’re welcome for saving you the drive.”

Of all the things he could have done, he chose the one I expected the least. He came to me, and carefully lowered himself to the ground in front of me. At first, that was all he did. He just sat across from me with puppy dog eyes and an awkward posture.

“Look at me,” he called gently.

“I don’t want to.”

He sighed, waiting another second to catch his breath and let the earlier emotions settle in the air. “You had that in your purse. Why?” he asked as he reached forward to grab the remnants of the torn up box and confirm that it was what he thought it was. Once he was satisfied, he just sounded even more broken. “You’ve clearly thought about it enough to plan ahead, but apparently I wasn’t important enough to have a say in any of these decisions.”

The pain that was forming in my stomach hurt worse than the AR-15.

“Were you just… Just planning on making those decisions without even telling me?” He was on the verge of tears, though he tried his very best to hide it.  It might’ve worked if I'd been both drunk and an idiot, but unfortunately the adrenaline was combatting the alcohol pretty well at that point.

With both hands covering his face, I could still see the way his jaw tensed between the words. “It would be my child, too,” he forced out, “You don’t— You don’t get to make those decisions without me. T-That’s not fair.”

The sounds were so pitiful, and I wanted to feel anything but what I felt. I wanted to feel angry or sad again, but I couldn’t. All I felt was hate; the most powerful, soul crushing self-loathing imaginable.

I didn’t want to be the reason he cried. I wanted it to stop, but I didn’t know how. I couldn’t control myself. I just kept rubbing salt in the wound so he would leave. So that I could hate him for leaving me instead of hating myself for making him.

“There’s no kid. I would’ve taken it either way.”

That succeeded in getting a response.

“Then what was the point of any of this?!” he fumed, dropping his hands to gestured to the state of us, dressed in pajamas and tears. “If you really believe that, then why tell me? Why risk it at all?!”

“I don’t know.”

“I deserve a better answer than that. That’s bullshit and you know it,” he demanded with an accusing finger.

But I didn’t know that it was bullshit. Really, it was the truth. I didn’t know why I was doing this. All I knew was that if I stopped, if I was just honest with him, I would have to face a reality I wasn’t ready for.

“I deserve the truth,” he said as his hand fell, unable to stay up under the weight of the feeling behind it.

I looked at him and I saw my mistakes in the form of tears trickling down his cheeks and a tremble in his lips. I saw a man who deserved nothing but the greatest love, begging me to give him something to work with. He wasn’t asking me for the world — he just wanted me to talk. To say something so that he could understand why I wanted him to hate me.

I didn’t have an answer. Not one that either of us would believe, anyway.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Spencer.” My lips moved without my permission, and my legs quickly followed the traitorous pursuit.

“What does that mean?” he begged me as he followed me. He followed me like he always did, with that suffocating hopefulness that we could make it.

But what if I couldn’t? What if this was it for me? What if, in my desperate desire to push him away, I was saving him from a miserable life with me?

I was trying to save him.

“It means…” I paused, turning to look him in the eyes so that he might finally hear what he needed to in my answer. “It means you should’ve picked a different 20 year old to fuck.”

His jaw finally relaxed, dropping open with a broken breath.

And I think he saw it. I think he saw the way I meant the words from the bottom of my soul. He heard me tell him that he should regret me while I tried to walk away, and he knew that I meant it.

“I’m leaving.” The words surprised me when I heard them in my own voice, but I followed them, nonetheless. I barreled towards the door with bare feet and my keys in my hand.

“Where are you going? You can’t leave like this.” His statements were logical, but that only served to further piss me off.

“You can’t tell me what to do. I’m not your property!”

That wasn’t why I was angry. We both knew that wasn’t why. The real reason, the truth behind the reckless self-destruction was approaching too fast and I couldn’t slow it down. Nothing could stop it from rushing down the predetermined path that we stood on, and I was begging him to get off the tracks.  

“If you leave right now, you’re going to fucking kill yourself!”

And then it happened. Practically foaming at the mouth with the unhinged rage that had been boiling underneath my skin for too long, I finally managed to let the words go.

“Maybe that’s the fucking point!”

Silence had never been so loud. It had never been that heavy.

“Have you ever stopped to consider that, Spencer?” I laughed because there was no reason in my mind not to. It all seemed so terribly obvious and we’d been skirting around it for so long. Why were we pretending like this was news? Like we hadn’t heard the horns and seen the headlights approaching?

“Please stop.” It was said like a plea but meant as an order. But I never listened to directions and he already knew that.

“I’m not your problem just because you were unfortunate enough to fall in love with me,” I continued, finding a freedom in being able to finally say what I’d been thinking all along. “Put me out of my fucking misery, Spencer. Just let me go.”

“Stop!” he shouted, pulling fistfuls of his hair as his chest heaved with deep, rasping breaths. I’d heard that voice from him before, but only once. The memories were locked away in the part of my brain that I swore to leave locked up.

I was back in the bank. I could feel his hands slipping in blood on my stomach and pressing into my cheeks. I was in the ambulance again. His hands were so warm that they burned, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask him to leave. I'd had one foot in the grave then. I felt like I was still there, teetering over the edge with nothing but Spencer’s frantic breathing and desperate begging keeping me from jumping in.

“Stop saying that!” Spencer ordered, his hands letting go just enough to come back down on his head with some force. I jumped at the contact and wondered when I'd started feeling his pain, too.  I wondered when we'd found ourselves back in his apartment again.

“Y-You aren’t going to die!” He continued. It didn’t have the force of an order or the pathetic breaking of a cry. It was just a statement he was trying to will into existence. An attempt to ward off memories that reminded him he was capable of losing me. He had already almost lost me once. In a way, it was this same scenario.

It was just that he wasn’t losing me quickly from a gunshot wound. No, I was bleeding out in an entirely different way.

“You can’t— I can’t lose you. I can’t do it again,” he sobbed, falling to his knees and not caring at all about the bruises that would follow. The sight of him collapsing in on himself was terrifying, and I realized for the first time the true consequences of my actions. I couldn’t pretend that I was trying to save him anymore. I couldn’t listen to the congested, barely comprehensible ramblings of a man begging me not to want to die and act like I was thinking of him at all.

I was being selfish. How very much like me.

“Please, anything but that. You can hate me forever, but please don’t…” The words trailed off, and I felt compelled to answer them. I needed something to release the knot in my chest and allow my lungs to fill again.

“I don’t hate you, Spencer. I could never hate you.” The words were infuriating in their honesty, but he needed to hear them. He needed to know that none of this was his fault, that he’d done nothing wrong other than meet me.

I couldn’t leave him like that. He deserved so much better than me, but that was all that I had. So, I climbed down next to him, reaching out to him and hoping that he would hold me back.

To my surprise, he did. His hands grabbed mine like they were a lifeline, bringing them to his lips wet with tears. And although he was silent, I could hear the way he prayed that they wouldn’t fade away from him again.

“I-I… I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell you. I’m supposed to be the adult here, I’m supposed to know how to fix these things, but I have no idea what I’m doing, (y/n).”

It was an admission Spencer didn’t often make. The complete helplessness and inability to fix the puzzle before him didn’t just hurt because it was painful to watch, it was also just another reminder of his limits.

One time he had promised me that he wouldn’t let anything hurt me. I should have told him that it was a stupid promise to make then. I should have showed him the skeletons in my closet and the mess in my hands.

But it didn’t matter anymore. He had already seen it, and it was too late. I’d made too many mistakes, and I had to face them. I couldn’t run away anymore. That meant listening to Spencer, pouring his heart out to me and clutching my hands like they would turn to nothing in front of him.

“You’re falling apart and you won’t talk to me. I don’t know how to make this stop hurting. I don’t know how to help you. Sometimes you’re so happy but other times I can see it in your eyes…”

Our eyes met, unguarded, for the first time in what felt like hours but was actually probably only a few minutes. We looked into each other’s eyes and tried to read each other’s minds. I didn’t know what he saw, but I heard the way it struck him.

“Do you… Do you want to leave me?” he asked.

And I realized then, that was what my behavior was leading up to. That was what my mind was racing towards, without ever considering whether it was what was best for me. Because I wasn’t thinking about what was best for me, or what I wanted, or what I should want. All I cared about was the same concern Spencer had for me— I didn’t want him to throw his life away just to be with me.

“Is that what you want?” I asked.

Spencer heard something in my question that brought life back to his eyes. I wished that I could hear his thoughts because he always seemed so much farther ahead. Like he could see the immediate future and knew what would follow.

Then again, maybe I was just idealizing him. I had a tendency to do that. He wasn’t a superhero. He was just a man, trying his best in a world that never really let him rest. I certainly didn’t help with that.

“No. No, that’s not what I want at all,” he said, his hands finding the courage to let go of mine and slide up my arms. He cupped my face with such an urgency and relief that it almost felt the same as before I had uttered those terrifying words. “I told you I want to marry you and I wasn’t kidding.”

It only took a few words for any progress and vulnerability to be obliterated. Four words. That’s all it took.

I want to marry you.

A white picket fence is what I’d promised him. I'd painted a vivid image of us with two children that were just like him. A normal, domestic life is what I’d said.

I hadn't known. I'd made a mistake. I had lied.

“Stop fucking saying that!” I wished the fight would leave my body and let my weary muscles rest, but it kept coming back. Sure as the sun rises in the morning, I couldn’t let go of the hatred. It had to go somewhere, and Spencer continued to be the stupid, stubborn man putting himself in front of me without any defenses.

I don’t think he was expecting that, though. He jumped back at the sound, his hands bracing his fall as I flailed to get away from him. I didn’t have the energy or coordination to stand, so I just let myself fall to pieces on the floor in front of him.

“Stop telling me about this future you have planned for us b-because I’m a useless, idiotic fuck up, and it’s freaking me the fuck out!”

Naturally, the only thing that could incense Spencer more than violating his trust was, apparently, talking badly about myself. Because as soon as he heard the words, he was wound up just the same.

“What are you so afraid of?!”

Without thinking about the words, implications, or consequences, I gave him the answer he fought for. I gave it to him because I couldn’t hold it any longer. I gave it to him and hoped that it would grant me the closure he sought, too.

“That I won’t ever be able to give you a baby and you’re going to fucking leave me!”

Spencer, in all his shock and disbelief, could only utter back a single, exasperated, “…What?” The way the word fell out of his mouth almost sounded like a laugh, the side of his lips curling into an almost imperceptible smile.

“I’m scared that when I stop being useful to you, you’re going to leave me like everyone else,” I explained, my voice as small as I felt in that moment.

But Spencer, in his uncanny ability to predict the future, was trying not to smile. Don’t get me wrong — he wasn’t laughing at me, and the words certainly brought him no joy. But there was something else buried beneath the suffering.

“Come here,” he requested with a sad, small grin and a wave of his hand. When he saw the hesitance on my face, he beckoned me closer again with more feeling. “I want to talk to you. Come here.”

So I came. I came as close to him as I could. And as I practically sat in his lap, I remembered how much easier it was to breathe when he held me, and how much lighter the tears felt when he wiped them a way.

“Why do you think I’m going to leave you?” he asked through a chuckle, like the very notion was so unbelievable that it couldn’t be uttered as anything other than a joke.

“Y-You want kids,” I mumbled, looking down at our t-shirts wet with tears. I played with the hem of his to remind myself that we were both still there. And although Spencer sympathized, he didn’t seem too keen on me looking away at that particular moment. With a gentle finger under my chin, he guided my eyes back to his.

“Okay. So do you, right?”

“Well, yeah…” I paused and pursed my lips and bit down on the bottom one. I waited until he raised his eyebrows in a challenge before I explained. “But what if I can’t have any?”

Spencer’s face scrunched up with his shoulders in a dismissive shrug, “There are other ways to have kids. I’m not worried about that at all.”

Just like that, he’d waved away my fears of inadequacy and failure like they were smoke from an already snuffed out candle. He made it so clear so quickly that biology wasn’t the thing that mattered. That it wasn’t my genetics or physical traits that made him want to share a literal life with me.

Spencer didn’t need me to have his children; he just wanted me to raise some with him.

“Why are you worried about that? Did something happen?” he pressed forward, unsatisfied with the idea that I might still be carrying some heaviness without his assistance.

“The doctor told me that I might not ever be able to have my own kids and I just...”

I should have known better than to doubt the insistence of his greedy hands. They would never let a burden belong solely to me. And I… didn’t want to bear the weight alone anymore, either. The dam was broken, and my heart came rushing out into his waiting arms.

“I’m so tired of it, Spencer. I’m tired of this stupid shit stealing my life away from me. You’ve been taking care of me for months, a-and the way you look at me sometimes-- I can see it on your face. I can feel the way it hurts you just to look at me.”

That hurt flashed in his eyes right then but faded with a swiftness I hadn’t seen in a long time. He didn’t want me to see it yet. One fight at a time, I heard him think. When this shifted load balanced between us again, we could figure the rest out.

First, we had to settle this. It had to end.

“If I can’t give you children, and I can’t... I can’t make you happy then—“

“Stop,” he demanded, his finger coming up to cover my lips. There was no argument to be made at his protest. With a deathly seriousness veiled with bowed brows and a lip that still trembled, Spencer whispered to me, “You can feel however you want to, but you don’t get to decide how I feel.”

Tears welled in both of our eyes, threatening to fall with the other. But they didn’t, they stayed pooled at our lashes and drowned us in visions of haloed lights and blurry reflections.

“I am so happy with you. No matter what. Every second of every day. Do you understand me?”

The only answer I had the strength to give was my surrender. Collapsing forward into his arms, I buried my face into his shoulder. I reveled in the warmth of his chest and the strength of his hands on my back. I felt his heartbeat against my cheek as the deep, joyful breaths he took in came out as relieved laughter.

“I love you, (y/n).”

He must have heard, or at least felt, my soft groan in response, because he peeled me off of him with a smirk. “What’s wrong now?” he asked in an equally tired whine.

“You only use my name when you’re angry or sad,” I grumbled through a pout. It only felt a little silly, to joke about something so stupid minutes after screaming our hearts at each other. We were just so tired, and the finish line was in sight. We just wanted to cross it together, and preferably with less tears involved.

Spencer didn’t say any of that, but I felt it, nonetheless. It was clear in the way he pushed my hair from my face before running his fingers down my jaw. “I use your name when I’m worried,” he corrected. “And you scared me tonight. I’m sorry that you’ve been feeling this way.”

We were toeing the line back into heavy emotions, and I shook my head to ask him not to take me back there tonight. But I couldn’t blame him at the same time. He’d so gracefully handled all of my fears and rage; he deserved a chance to voice his own. They’d fallen so far behind in the race towards the truth.

“I understand you were scared to tell me, but...” he stopped, trying to find a way to explain it without hurting my feelings. He really was too nice to me.

“I know. It was stupid. I feel terrible,” I finished for him. Once my face hit his shoulder again, I closed my eyes. “I’m sorry, Spencer,” I said with almost all of the energy I had left. He stroked soothing patterns over my back, and after a moment I realized that we’d started to rock. I wasn’t sure if it was for his benefit or mine.

“I appreciate your apology, but please promise me that you’ll talk to someone about this,” he humbly requested, his words muffled in my hair.

“Isn’t that what I’m doing right now?”

It was almost a joke. Spencer wasn’t going to let it go, though. “Don’t try to be clever with me, little girl. I need you to talk to someone who knows how to help you,” he playfully scolded.

Through a yawn and a chuckle, I pressed on in my attempt to end the night on a horrible joke. “Isn’t that your whole job?”

“Yeah, I guess it is sometimes, huh?” he agreed halfheartedly. Really, he was only trying to give me a little bit of a win. We both knew his job wasn’t very good at helping people before the fact. It was just another poor attempt at avoiding healing. I had been holding on to that anger so tightly that there wasn’t room for us in the space that was left.

“But I think you also know I can’t be that person for you,” Spencer eloquently said, cradling my head as it started to rock with each motion.

“Yeah, I know,” I sighed, “I promise.”

I’m not sure how long we stayed like that, but no matter what, it wouldn’t have lasted long enough. The rhythm of his heart evened out over time, settling into the lullaby I needed to finally find some rest. But realistically, we couldn’t sleep there. Spencer was kind enough to practically carry me back into the bed we had shared when this all started, although this time he laid beside me.

From there, he helped tuck me in and pressed a chaste kiss to my forehead. My eyes were closed, but the smile that spread over my cheeks was enough of a signal that I was still awake.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

My bloodshot eyes opened at his call, and I found love staring back at me. I knew he could see my eyes bouncing back and forth as I tried to see all of it at once in his eyes, and I didn’t care. Even when he kissed me, neither of us closed them.

“We don’t have to worry about anything,” he said as our mouths broke apart. His thumb swept over my cheeks to all the places I knew he was thinking about kissing. There was a very poor attempt to hide his smile at the thought of the future, but I appreciated the effort he put in.

“When you’re ready to try to have kids, I’ll be right there with you,” he said.

It was clear that Spencer really wanted it to be a meaningful sentiment, but I was still a little bitter at his failure to laugh at my previous terrible jokes. So when I saw the opportunity, I took it swiftly and with no regrets.

“I sure hope so, or else I don’t think it’ll work,” I muttered through the side of my mouth before turning onto my back.  

Spencer’s first carefree giggle of the night was my prize, and I couldn’t have loved it any more. “That’s my little girl,” he cooed, curling up against my side and wrapping a possessive arm over my chest.

Just before my eyes fluttered shut, I saw movement below my face. I kept them open long enough to see his pinky presented to me and a knowing look in his eyes. “Everything will be alright as long as we have each other,” Spencer offered.

And despite our bad history with promises, I had no reasons left to doubt that one. 

—————————————————

| Part 21 |

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid series #h2m #spencer reid self insert #angst #smut

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH46

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 46: Star Death Reality Show (XXIX)

All of the blood in Qi Leren’s body had solidified, and every cell was screaming silently, "No, don't, don't be it"! But this useless prayer could not help their current dangerous situation.

The sound from the vent became clearer and clearer, and it came out through the metal shutters. Qi Leren suddenly woke up from the stiffness that was like being thrown into a freezer, pointed to the door, and shouted, "Open the door! Fast!"

Dr. Lu was closest to the door, and rushed to open it. As a result, as soon as he raised his leg, his left foot stumbled over his right foot, and he fell hard on his face. Du Yue reacted quickly and rushed to the door to unlock it urgently. However, Leviathan had opened the metal shutter in the vent, and its tentacles wrapped in tinfoil stretched out from the black tunnel.

Qi Leren fired three shots at the tentacles. Two shots missed and one shot hit, but like last time, with an ordinary gun’s offensive power, it was impossible to break through the octopus’s shell.

The monster fell down from above like a pool of mud and expanded to a size larger than before. Its mass had exceeded that of a human, and after it fell, those branching tentacles spread across the ground like dead roots, motionless.

Qi Leren retreated slowly, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the door. Dr. Lu was struggling to get up from the ground while Du Yue was sweating as he struggled to unlock the door, because it had been Qi Leren who had locked the door just now, and Du Yue was unfamiliar with this type of lock.

No, I can't get out yet. I have to stall for time... But it would be difficult to stall by fighting. The best way is...

Qi Leren shouted: "Du Yue, use your skill!"

By the time the two rookies reacted, Qi Leren had been chased by the octopus and didn’t hesitate to jump into the vent!

"Stop, don’t move! There’s a kind of charge up!" Du Yue quickly launched this bug-like skill card [Protagonist Halo]!

[Protagonist Halo: When you use this skill card, you instantly become the center of attention, the protagonist of the story, and the fearless saviour! You, with the frightening aura of a king, can easily move people’s hearts, but you can always keep your last breath when you are beaten by a powerful enemy, because the enemy can’t help but explain his motives and modus operandi to you (although there may not be enough time). This skill lasts for one minute, with a cooldown time of three hours. During the start of the skill, persuasiveness increases by 20% and some people’s IQ decreases by 20%. You will not die if attacked. After all, you are the protagonist of this one minute.]

With He Yi’s brain, Leviathan was like any boss who had been faced with the lead character. It had forgotten who it was, where it was, and what it was going to do. It just stood there and listened to this guy who was 1.9 meters tall and 18 years old and could barely act as the teen protagonist. He shouted at it with a cracking voice, and sincerely advised it to abide by human laws and surrender itself quickly.

Ah, there was an invisible and intangible mysterious aura on this human being, which made everyone who saw him believe that this was the legendary protagonist! Although it was very angry, it still had to listen to the protagonist's words!

If it wasn't for its lack of vocal cords, it would probably explain its criminal motives and criminal record. Qi Leren took this opportunity to rush to the door, grabbing Dr. Lu with one hand and unlocking it nervously with the other.

This lock should be like this, wrong, so like this, wrong, how is it unlocked?

Under the Protagonist Halo, Qi Leren, whose IQ had plummeted by 20%, went crazy. It took half a minute to unlock the door and kick Dr. Lu out: "Run!"

Dr. Lu clutched his kicked ass and ran away in three steps.

The most delicious one had escaped the danger. Now there were less than 20 seconds left. Qi Leren shouldered the rocket launcher up off the ground and grabbed Du Yue to drag him out. Watching the "protagonist" run away, the monster finally woke up from the unexplained state of wonder, and the huge mouthparts hidden beneath its tentacles let out a sharp cry, rushing to catch up!

This speed was too fast! Qi Leren kicked Du Yue out with another foot, braced himself against the door, and aimed the rocket launcher at Leviathan, but it was too late. The monster had already jumped in front of him, and its tentacles suddenly stretched. He was dragged to the ground by his feet!

As soon as Qi Leren's hands loosened, the rocket launcher on his shoulder immediately smashed down and landed on his instep, causing a tingle of pain, and his left arm was swallowed by Leviathan's sharp-toothed maw!

"Qianbei!" Du Yue cried, looking back to pull Qi Leren out.

At this time, it was too late to save, and even if he loaded the file, he couldn't go back to the time before his left hand was injured. However, Qi Leren still saved. He felt the pain as if his arm was stuck in a meat grinder, everything below his elbow being ground by countless tiny teeth.

But this was also an opportunity. Qi Leren, who almost fainted in pain, used his quick wits, and a miniature bomb from his item bar appeared directly in his left hand—that is, in the belly of the octopus. Only six minutes were left before his privacy time ran out!

This explosion was even more devastating because it happened directly in Leviathan's body! This terrible explosion made the inside of its body turn inside out, and the brain hidden in it was more fragile than any internal organs. After the explosion, the human brain was useless.

Qi Leren's situation was not much better. The heat and impact of the explosion came out of Leviathan's mouthparts towards him, slamming him against the wall and breaking his neck. He died on the spot and was resurrected at the save point.

Du Yue, who witnessed the death of his senior, was still dumbfounded. Qi Leren had already judged the current situation—he couldn't continue to play! To say nothing of his left hand that was basically wasted, he would die in a few minutes if he didn’t stop the bleeding. Leviathan, though badly hurt, obviously did not lose its fighting power, and even became more violent!

At the moment when Qi Leren resurrected, it had already become like a giant spinning top, spinning wildly on the ground and rushing towards them!

Qi Leren, who suffered from the pain, relied entirely on willpower and kicked Du Yue out the door with one foot. After he slipped out of the door, he threw it closed. The sound of heavy objects hitting the door sounded behind him. Leviathan's bloated and heavy body hit the door directly, but it didn't open the door.

Because its brain had been destroyed in the explosion just now.

One destroyed hand, but he lowered the enemy’s IQ. This round was not a loss!

Damn, you shouldn't have forgotten to shoot He Yi's head before, otherwise, how could you play so badly?!

Because of the severe pain from the intense trauma just now, Qi Leren's right hand covered the elbow of his left arm. The part below the elbow has landed in Leviathan's stomach. The blood was spraying out like a broken faucet, reaching half a metre away. The ground was as horrible as a murder scene!

Du Yue looked at Qi Leren at a loss: "Qianbei, your hand is gone! What should we do! It's bleeding!"

Qi Leren glanced at his privacy time of only five minutes. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay awake. If he passed out now, with Du Yue's rookie first aid knowledge, he might really fall to the fate of bleeding to death. At this crucial moment, I have to rely on myself. Qi Leren took out the first-aid supplies that Chen Baiqi had once enthusiastically recommended from his item bar, and gritted his teeth: "Help me hold it."

Du Yue held his arm and listened to the thumping sound behind him. He helped Qi Leren to tie the rubber hose with trepidation. Qi Leren pulled hard and tied it around the middle position of his upper arm. The wound finally stopped bleeding crazily, but it still couldn't be stopped altogether.

Qi Leren remembered that Chen Baiqi had once said that if no measures were taken within three minutes, this kind of limb injury was basically equivalent to signing a death certificate. If there is no teammate who can treat it, take a soldering iron or flamethrower and burn it against the wound. Only when the blood vessels cauterize to necrosis would it stop the massive bleeding.

"Go, Dr. Lu certainly didn't go far, and time is running out," Qi Leren said, suffering from dizziness and severe pain, and hurried in the direction Dr. Lu had run away. Along the way, he was still thinking. He had had a fight with the big boss, and was injured and dying. He also ran away with the protagonist. It was like a life mentor of the leading role who was going to croak.

Bah, it's so unlucky!

Before running far, Qi Leren heard Dr. Lu’s voice: "You ran too far!"

Qi Leren and Du Yue stopped, looked intently, and Dr. Lu, who had opened the [Free WIFI] skill card, was squatted in the corner without any presence, shouting at them. Looking at Qi Leren's injury, he was shocked: "What's wrong with you, don't move, don't move, I'll give you quick first aid! Oh come on, this injury is too heavy!"

"There’s still four minutes left," Qi Leren reported the time, in too much pain to speak.

Dr. Lu immediately used "Doctor’s Orders". In the milky light, the continuously bleeding wound miraculously stopped. Although the amputated limb could not grow back, the wound healed quickly and new skin covered it. It was completely healed.

Dr. Lu was also shocked: "This effect is too good... Am I so powerful? Am I really a genius nurse?"

Du Yue said faintly on the side: "You’ve never had such a good effect in treating my injuries..."

"No, no, no, this must be because your IQ is not enough to affect the performance of 'Doctor’s Orders'. The skill card says that the more impressive the patient is, the better!" Dr. Lu said convincingly.

"But your treatment for others isn’t this good," Du Yue refused to accept it and refused to admit it was an IQ problem.

"Right, why is that?" Dr. Lu was also confused.

Just then, the pain that made him feel close to blacking out finally faded away. Qi Leren untied the rubber hose which left a bruise on his arm. He stared at the healed amputated limb on his elbow for more than ten seconds, and then he came back from the state of high tension just now.

Although he had died before, thanks to S/L Data, he has always completed the tasks with intact hands and feet every time, and this was the first time that he has lost a hand directly. He thought he would be disgracefully frightened, but because of these two rookies, he looked much calmer.

"Don't worry, there are people in the Twilight Township who can do limb regeneration. I know them. If you go back and pay a few survival days, you can grow it back." When Dr. Lu saw Qi Leren staring at the amputated hand, he thought he was sad, so he comforted him.

"Is it expensive?" As a poor player who has consumed a lot of survival days in the process of competing with Su He, this was what Qi Leren is most concerned about.

"It's okay, I remember it was just over a hundred days," Dr. Lu said.

Qi Leren, who had only seventeen days to live, didn't want to speak.

Du Yue was not rich either. He said gloomily, "That’s a lot, I only have thirty days..."

There was no harm without comparison, and Qi Leren suddenly felt that he was impoverished...

"It’s nothing, if you don’t have enough, I’ll pay for you. I usually charge for treating others. Healers are quite scarce, so I’ve earned a lot. Right now I have about two hundred survival days!" Dr. Lu said generously.

More than two hundred days… More than two hundred days… More than two hundred days…

Du Yue would be silent when hearing this number, and Qi Leren would cry when hearing it.

-----

Editor’s Notes: For anyone (me) who has forgotten the exact details, here’s the description for Doctor’s Orders:

[Doctor’s Orders] (Non-Binding Skill Card): The ability to work miracles comes with a price – a price for your patients. There will be no mercy given to those who do not deserve. Allows the holder to heal all who meet the following requirements: attractive, not a Virgo and an IQ over 100. The number of requirements met will determine the effectiveness of the treatment. Skill cooldown: 2 hours. (translated by Sigma)

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

[calpalsworld]

Whatever happened to that venture bros essay?

I totally didn't suddenly hate it and become permanently afraid to look at the document, and start questioning "why does anyone even need to hear a 20 minute rant about an upsetting character," and "why should *I* allow myself to focus on an upsetting character," and realize it would probably be controversial because I take a huge shit on Doc Hammer and Christopher McCollough (wow I didn't know he voiced in Five Nights at Freddys).

But here is basically my essay from memory since I'm too literally afraid to open the dang document, like its gonna release a creepypasta on me or something:

TW: Venture Bros, discussion of pedophile character -- literally the worst thing ever, also abuse, yknow, the usual venture bros stuff. -___-

Intro: Every character in Vbros is a trope but with nuance. Except for. Him. Hatred. The biggest mistake.

Hatred actually has a great introduction scene! (not... that scene. the scene where he first arches rusty.) Great establishment!

[Summary of literally everything hatred has done]

Conclusion of summary: the only plot-important moment Hatred literally ever acted out was blowing up the cocoon in the end of Season 5, which he totally half-assed, and had nothing to do with him personally!

Hatred should literally just be scrapped abut he could've worked well as: A.) Just a foot fetishist like the original concept! Haha foot fetish funny! His racist caricature girlfriend is still really disgusting though! Please get rid of her! B.) The rivialry between him and the Monarch was really promising! It would've been great if they were both villains, but actually seemed more like each other's arches. They're opposites and I loved that! So, yes please! Give us Monarch beating the shit out of pedophile daily!

Making Hatred the Venture body guard was literally the worst thing they ever could've done with him!

Unless they wanted to emphasize the horrors of abuse. Because its fucking horrifying how he is so abusive and Rusty does nothing! And that is the only use Hatred has to the plot: Horror!

[Explains how Hatred is an abusive piece of shit and how its horrifying that some fans think hes FUNNY and NICE. I don't know. Maybe my standards are just too high because I don't like pedophiles who threaten kids lives and make them cry!]

Hatred literally has such a lame dynamic with every character! The Monarch: they barely ever interact ever again! Dean and Hank: they are uncomfortable around him (at least until later seasons)! Rusty: doesn't play off of his personality at all even though they are constantly around each other and get along... and.... 21? ....................

The rivalry between 21 and Hatred makes little sense, is out of nowhere, and only probably exists because the writers saw two guys they can make fun of (fat, boobs, nerd, pedophile), (terrible to see them make a pedophile joke and then a fat joke next to each other like theyre normal and equivalent. i hate this show) and said, ohhh~!! HaHAHAHA... they FIGHT...!!! funnnieee!!!! :))))))) (my unfair hate towards the writers pops out here for some reason) yeah this was stupid of me. its not that deep.

THEN I INTRODUCE THE WHOLE QUOTE THIS ESSAY WAS INSPIRED BY BUT........... I........ somehow can’t find the quote anymore? It was from the Art Book and basically said: they played around with the idea of 21 being the Venture Body guard in season 4 but then realized they couldn't because 21 was busy going through his bimbofication arc.

Goes On A Rant About 21:

Overanalyzes like 20 million scenes to prove 21 is queer-coded neurodivergent mentally ill pro-aborition pro-drug dude who hates pedophiles and would make a great dad and CRACKTHEORY:

21 actually forms a pointless rivalry with Hatred because he wants to protect Dean and Hank from him and no one can tell me otherwise. CANON.

So basically, 21 as the body guard would've solved all the shows problems. He would make Dean and Hank happy kids who are not abused. And being around Dean and Hank would make 21 happier too! But then everything would be happy and there would be no plot. so. : / fuck.

GOING BACK TO HATRED:

Okay so like I said, his purpose is to make the show horrific.

But actually! The writers SUDDENLY decide to make him an incompetent dumb uncle figure who can't even shoot a gun straight and is constantly made fun of in weird ways by every character and for some reason has boobs and is overemotional as a joke! (and I brought up like 20 million scenes to support this even though its obvious)

So actually the purpose of Hatred is to be a terrible joke.

(And then I make some controversial comments about how I enjoy/appreciate some things the writers do, but I also hate them. But no one wants to hear me hate on them! so Ill just skip over that).

In conclusion:

Hatred is a bad joke.

But also here is an important quote that shows the writers find hatred sympathetic OH MY GOD ARE YOU KIDDING I HATE--

i still love venture bros though and am excited for the movie ^_^

#hjfasjgh idk what to tag this i gotta go hopefully this makes sense

[aplpaca]

rambling about jacanas from the last post here bc i was gonna put it in the tags on that post but it got way too long to fit,,

so like jacanas are one of the few bird species that has a polyandrous mating system, meaning that the female mates with multiple males, who then raise a nest of chicks.  this is opposed to polygyny, the system most nonmonogamous birds exhibit. in polygyny, the male mates with multiple females, who do more of the “work” the chicks (in some species the male helps raise the young but has a lesser role, in some species hes not involved in raising the young).

and something thats common in species with polygynous mating systems (such as red wing blackbirds) is for females to have extra-pair mates.  in extra pair-matings, the female will have one male that she nests with, but will “sneak” onto other males territories to mate with the one there, and then come back to her nest mate’s territory. and like as far as i know, male jacanas dont do an equivalent of that? or if they do it hasnt been studied

so thatd be something interesting to look at - whether extra-pair matings are a thing in polyandrous systems and what factors could be contribiting to that. itd also prob be interesting to look at the paternity of nests.  cause the female does mate with the male whos nest she lays eggs in, but she also mates with a bunch of other males.  and unless they have some mechanism to segregate eggs by who fertilized them (which would be highly complicated and also , she’s just laying them at random in different nests.  which means, like in polygynous systems, theres a pretty high chance that several, if not all, of the chicks a male raises arent his biological offspring.

and like, in a lot of polygynous species, males have developed behaviors to try to prevent their females from getting extra pair matings.  bc raising a nest of kids that arent yours does not help you spread your genes, natural selection favors behaviors that would prevent that.  so like some of these species’ males have evolved to try to prevent the female from leaving their territory, or to put less effort into caring for young if they think the female left the nest too much (and therefore is likely to have “cheated”).  these kind of behaviors maximize their chance of raising their own offspring while putting other males’ offspring at a disadvantage.

but that kind of thing wouldnt happen in jacanas.  because the females lay the eggs, theres a 100% chance of the offspring being theirs.  even if a male were to go mate with an additional female, her mating success would be unaffected.  so there would be no evolutionary pressure for the females to become “restrictive” about their males’ behaviors.

but what about the males mating success? wouldnt it still be beneficial for him to give advantage to his own offspring over others?  theoretically yes, but he doesnt exactly have a way to do that when his offspring have just as much a chance of being in his own nest as someone elses.  he cant stop the female from having her harem, so he would have to “develop” a way to distinguish his own offspring from others. so if a male could tell his young apart from others, he could favor the chicks in his nest that happen to be his biological offspring.  and this might be an advantage for a certain amount of time. 

however, once the behavior/ability spread to any significant portion of the population, it would likely end up backfiring and wiping itself out. because while a male would be able to favor their own offspring, so would others. and unlike in a polygynous system, the eggs are consistently placed at random (as opposed to it being more likely that some of the eggs are yours with some others thrown in). so when the young of a male 1 (who can distinguish and favor his own young) get put in the nest of male 2 (who also has the ability), male 1′s young then end up at a disadvantage.  and if a male happens to not be related to any of the young in his nest, his reproductive success is now 0 because the other males wont care for his offspring.  now apply that across a whole community and youve got drastically reduced offspring success for everyone.  this would likely weed out the selective males before they became a majority in the population.  at the very lest it would probably prevent them from becoming more than a small minority. so basically, because females distribute their eggs randomly, male jacanas’ reproductive success is better served by all males caring for all the young in their nest equally than it would be by attempting to favor their biological offspring.  

ima end here bc i should be editing a paper thats due tonight but also,,,the evolution of this system would be super interesting to look into.  my guess would be some kind of kin selection thing in its evolutionary history? like maybe there could have been a polyandrous system where females mated with males that were all related to each other. so itd be male siblings taking care of each others young, which would increase both their direct and indirect reproductive success.  and then random mating could have become a thing later on after the “take care of your whole nest and dont distinguish” was standard.  and then, becuase it was still beneficial to take care of your whole nest, that trait stayed.  except instead of being reinforced by “i am directly raising my offspring and other offspring related to me” its reinforced by “not complying with this would be shooting myself in the foot”.

hell yeah     

#long post #birds #ecology #biology #jacanas are cool #also birds in general are just super interesting from a behavioral ecology perspective #i put a read more after the 4th paragraph so if it doesnt do that then thats tumblrs fault

[waveridden]

FIC: the high noon age of time

None of them know what AuDy actually is, but on a pirate ship with a water nymph-slash-mermaid prince, a famous poet, and a guy who can literally control the ocean, they’re probably the least weird one here. Or, actually, maybe Mako is. At least Mako has a recognizable species.

(Or: the one where the Chime are pirates. 2.4k, gen but Cass/Mako if you squint. content warnings apply for minor sword/gun violence, but no major injuries.)

AUcember || read on Ao3

#

“Okay,” Cass says. “let’s go over it one more time.”

Mako groans as loudly as he possibly can, leaning back in his chair till it’s tipped back on its back legs. “Literally what else is there to go over, Cass, oh my god. ”

Cass ignores him, because they’re cruel and inconsiderate. “We get on the ship. We steal the supplies. We get off the ship.”

“You need to define ‘we,’” AuDy says, which is colossally unhelpful. Mako glares balefully at them, which they ignore, because they’re also cruel and inconsiderate. “Am I staying on the Kingdom Come?”

“You’re steering our ship. Aria and I are fighting. Mako-” Cass’s eyes cut over to him, and then narrow. “What are you doing?”

Mako pauses in fiddling with the collar of his jacket. “Maybe I wanna be comfortable when I’m plundering a ship, you ever think about that? Just because we’re pirates-”

“Privateers,” says Aria.

“Just because we’re privateers,” he corrects himself, because if Aria is the only person being nice to him than he’s going to be nice back, “doesn’t mean we have to be, like, ugly or uncomfortable or whatever. I’m gonna wear my cool jacket and make sure that the ships don’t drift too far apart. I know what I’m doing, because it’s the same thing we do every single time we have to plunder a ship.”

“I don’t know how I feel about the word plunder,” Aria says thoughtfully. “Like, if we’re stealing medicine and supplies for people who need them-”

“Aren’t we still stealing them from people who need them?”

“Everyone needs medicine, Mako.”

“Not everyone,” says AuDy. Mako forgets sometimes that Audy is some weird magical water-wood… sprite… thing, especially now that they’ve started wearing cool coats that cover most of their body.

He tilts his head. “If we got fertilizer-”

“Mako,” Cass says, in a tone of voice that normally means that he needs to shut up. None of them know what AuDy actually is, but on a pirate ship with a water nymph-slash-mermaid prince, a famous poet, and a guy who can literally control the ocean, they’re probably the least weird one here. Or, actually, maybe Mako is. At least Mako has a recognizable species.

Mako lifts his hands in surrender for half a second, before returning to fiddle with his collar. “My point is, we’re using the same plan we always use, and I don’t know why we need a fifteen minute meeting to go over the same plan every single time.”

“Sometimes there are variations,” Aria points out. “Sometimes I use a whip. Sometimes I use a sword instead.”

“Ah,” AuDy says. “Critical differences that are worth my time.”

AuDy has been learning sarcasm. Mako is very, very proud of them.

Cass pinches the bridge of their nose. “Maybe I just want to remind you guys that we’re about to commit a robbery, did you think about that?”

“Wow,” Aria says. “No, you’re right, Cass, I totally forgot what privateering is all about.” She twirls her hair around one finger, a gesture that’s completely at odds with the stony glare she’s currently shooting at them.

“I feel like this is a bad omen,” Mako says to nobody in particular. “Hey, Aria, are you gonna use the whip or the sword this time?”

“Ask Cass, see what they think.”

Cass goes quiet, for just a beat too long. Mako’s eyes widen. “Do you actually have an answer?”

“I am trying to make sure we get out of this in one piece,” Cass says, sounding pained. “But you know what? You’re right. Nothing has ever gone so wrong we couldn’t fix it.”

Mako feels guilty for a fraction of a moment, because Cass actually looks pretty strained over this. And they have, like, actual military experience that they’re wasting on trying to keep a crew of pirates (they’re definitely pirates, no matter what Aria says) from capsizing a boat or something. But at the same time, nothing has gone wrong yet, other than that one time Mako got shot, or that other time that both he and Aria got shot. And they were fine after that, so he really doesn’t know what Cass is so worried about.

AuDy gets to their feet. “I am going to ensure that we’re on course,” they say. “It’s a good plan, Cass.”

Cass sighs, and the guilty fraction of a moment becomes a couple of full, guilty moments. “Thanks, AuDy.”

“I never said it wasn’t a good plan,” Mako protests. “My whole point is that it works!”

Aria nudges his calf with her foot. “You couldn’t come up with a better plan.”

“I absolutely could,” Mako says. “I’ll just capsize their boat, and we’ll get a net. Foolproof. Fool-fucking-proof.”

Cass sighs loudly, which is their equivalent of a laugh when they’re stressed. Mako will take it.

  #

  Their classic Kingdom Come four-phase plan goes perfectly, at least for phase one: get up close to the boat they’re trying to rob.

Mako’s gotten pretty good at that part. The first few times he tried to get the ship close to another ship, there were collisions, and a lot of things got drenched. He might be trained to manipulate the ocean and the wind, but there’s a lot of nuance shit that you can’t learn any way other than making mistakes. And he definitely, definitely made mistakes.

But phase one goes pretty well, and so does phase two for that matter: AuDy holds the boat steady as Cass, Aria, and Mako all board the second ship. Mako doesn’t remember what the name is, but he knows that it’s basically the S.S. This Medicine Is For Rich People Who Can Afford Better Medicine Anyways, so he has no qualms about taking that medicine for people who actually need it.

The ship is pretty small, with only a few crew members above deck to see Aria. Nobody recognizes her this time, which is too bad; it’s always pretty funny when people realize a famous poet is about to rob them blind. Instead, she just props her hands on her hips and grins. “So where’s your cargo hold?”

And that marks phase three: the giant sword fight, which Mako mostly tries to avoid. They even have a system for this: Cass heads for the cargo hold, Aria tries to keep people busy, and Mako pushes people over with breezes and saltwater spray so that neither of them get ambushed. Plus, AuDy has a cannon on the ship, which they’ve only ever needed to use once, but it’s nice to have a backup plan.

“Hey, Mako,” Aria calls at one point. Mako shoots a jet of ocean water at a guy who’s heading towards her and turns to see her lifting up a fancy gold watch. “You want it?”

“Throw it here?”

Aria tosses the watch, and Mako catches it with just a little help from the breeze. She makes a face. “Show-off,” she says, before spinning around and slashing a woman across the chest, sword swinging in a glittering arc.

“You can’t call me a show-off and then do that,” Mako says, because what the fuck. He examines the watch - looks like real gold, no family engraving, all good signs. “Yeah, dibs on this one. Thanks, Ar.”

“You and your fucking souvenirs,” Cass huffs from behind him. When Mako turns, their arms are loaded with crates. “Can I get some help?”

Aria immediately slams the hilt of her sword into someone’s chest, going from pleasure to business in the blink of an eye. “Get across the gangplank, I’ll be right behind.”

Cass grunts their approval and heads towards the gangplank. Mako glances around - everyone on the ship’s crew is either unconscious or watching them without moving, which seems like a good moment for the Chime to make their exit.

He follows Aria to the cargo hold. “Need a hand?”

Aria pauses in lifting up crates. “How many was Cass carrying, did you see?”

“I don’t know, these ones are pretty small.” Mako squints down at the crates. “Like… twelve?”

“Bull fucking shit, they were carrying twelve.” She rolls her eyes and picks up a stack of three, which is about what Cass actually had earlier. “Put that last one on top, come on, I want them to wonder how I picked up four.”

Mako immediately picks up the fourth crate - not huge, and also not terribly heavy - and settles it on top of Aria’s pile of crates. He can barely make eye contact with her, but he can still tell that she’s grinning at hi. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

He follows Aria out of the cargo hold as she makes her way to the gangplank, where Cass is settling their crates on the deck of the Kingdom Come. They arch an eyebrow over at Mako and Aria. “Ready to go?”

“Me and my four crates are ready,” Aria says loudly as she steps onto the gangplank. “Four crates that I picked up by myself-”

“Did you have Mako help you?”

Mako snickers, which he has to hide as a cough so Aria doesn’t kill him. He jerks his head to one side and goes to cough loudly, and then freezes.

One of the crew members is getting to their feet, and holding a pistol. There’s a split second where Mako thinks this guy is an idiot, because he’s not aiming for Mako, or even for Aria and Cass. But then he follows the direction of the gun. And even though he can’t see the helm of the Kingdom Come from where he’s standing, he’s willing to bet that guy has a pretty good shot at AuDy.

Mako’s heart pounds in his ears. He doesn’t have time to think, he just searches for the feeling of wind in the air and thinks push.

Which is, admittedly, not the best thing he could’ve thought.

A gale picks up immediately, blustering between the two boats. He can hear Aria shout as she stumbles forward, thankfully onto the Kingdom Come and not into the ocean. The gun goes off, but the guy is falling onto his back so the shot goes wide into the air. And the Kingdom Come starts sailing away, which presumably means that AuDy hasn’t been shot. Mako breathes a sigh of relief; that was fucking close.

“Mako,” Cass shouts suddenly. “ Mako- ”

“ What, ” Mako shouts back, because Christ, he did it, nobody got shot, can they please calm down-

And then he realizes that the Kingdom Come is sailing away. Without him on it.

“Oh, shit,” Mako says. The gangplank falls into the ocean with a loud splash. Aria and Cass are staring at him in horror, and their faces are getting smaller, because Mako isn’t on the fucking boat. “Oh, my god-”

“Do something!” Aria yells.

Mako immediately reaches out and tries to tug a breeze towards him, but nothing comes, because he’s panicking and he can’t breathe so why would he be able to control the wind? And the pirates around him - actual pirates, not pirate-privateers the way that the Chime are - are starting to get to their feet. And there’s no way off the boat.

Well, there’s one way off the boat.

“Hey,” Mako shouts. “I’m going to do something stupid, okay?”

He can’t be sure, but it looks like Cass clutches at Aria’s arm. Mako kind of wants to roll his eyes, but he thinks he’d be panicking just as hard if it were one of them drifting away.

Mako takes a deep breath, bounces on the balls of his feet, and sprints for the edge of the ship. He thinks he hears someone shout something, but he can’t tell, because he’s already leaping into the ocean.

It’s cold, because of course it’s cold, and Mako starts sinking before his survival instincts kick in. He’s never been a strong swimmer, something that Cass has given him plenty of shit for, but it’s never been super relevant before this moment, where it’s literally sink or swim.

He takes a minute to orient himself in the water before he tries actually swimming. It’s more of an awkward paddle, because Cass might’ve actually had a point about knowing to swim, but he’s making headway when he hears a loud splash.

“Please don’t be pirates,” Mako says aloud. “I don’t need that right now.”

And then suddenly there’s an arm around his back. Mako yelps before he looks down and sees a familiar brown hand pressed up against his chest. He lets out a breath. “Cass.”

“You know,” Cass says, voice strained even though they’re clearly trying to be conversational, “maybe you have a point about my plans not working.”

“Uh, maybe you have a point about me needing to listen,” Mako says, because he’s so relieved about not dying that he kind of has to be nice to Cass. “Are you going to, like, throw me back on the boat? Because that seems kind of hard.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Aria’s getting a ladder. Keep swimming, we’re almost there.”

“I am swimming!”

Cass is mostly behind Mako, so he can’t see the look they’re giving him, but he can still imagine it. “This is what you call swimming?”

“It’s what I call trying.”

“Terrific.”

“Hey, I saved AuDy’s life!” Mako protests. “And we got the stuff, nobody got shot, it went great!”

“We need to change your standards for great,” Cass mutters. But they’re almost at the Kingdom Come, and Mako can see the bottom of the ladder in front of them. “Think you can get us out of here?”

“As soon as I’m on the ship, we’re gone.”

“As long as you actually make it on the ship,” Cass says. “Don’t do that again, by the way.”

Mako paddles forward enough to grab the bottom rung of the ladder, and then turns to glare at Cass. “It wasn’t on purpose!”

“Great,” Cass says. They look tired and relieved, all at once. “Still don’t do it again, though, okay?”

“I won’t,” Mako promises breezily. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

“Great,” Cass says again, but they mean it this time. Mako can tell.

#friends at the table #counter/weight #fatt fic #waveridden.fic #aucember19 #i'm not tagging characters there's no point #ANYWAYS i love pirates #it's such a fucking VIBE yknow

[troutpopulation]

On Borrowed Time - MTMTE Megatron x Reader

•

Synopsis: With the verdict of the trial looming over head, and the fact that humans don't live that long, you decide there isn't any time to lose, and to make things official with Megatron while you still have the chance.

(contains original poetry written with love, and conjunx ritus! :^D )

Notes: kaixo i wanna marry Megatron and nothing will stop me. also if you didn't catch it the title is a play on political/philosophical treatises being often called "On ______".

While Megatron was at a meeting, you had hit the bar. It was one of your favorite spots on the ship, right next to windowsill down the hall. You sat atop the counter, listening to Rewind and Chromedome spin you a tale about Prowl. They brought up that their story happened around the time they'd just gone through with conjunx ritus. You perked up at the unfamiliar term. Conjunx Endura you were familiar with,however, you had never heard of the former.

“Uh, sorry, alien here. What's Conjunx Ritus?” You piped up, awkwardly raising a hand.

“It’s the steps bots take to become conjunx endurae.” Chromedome replied, his partner nodding in agreement. Ok. Robot marriage proposals.

“There are acts to it, four actually. Act of Intimacy, Act of Disclosure, Act of Profference, and then the Act of Devotion.” Rewind added. Cybertronian culture and customs were fascinating, you had always thought that, but the nature of this sparked a particular interest. You tentatively took the risk of pressing a little further.

“Okay, so Intimacy, what is that? I mean I know what that is to humans but, uh…” You trailed off, face burning. You felt awfully gauche for asking, but it was a valid question. What was intimate to a human might be different than what was intimate to a cybertronian.

“Prolonged contact. It is what you make of it.” Chromedome tilted his helm down to his and Rewind’s interlocked fingers.

  “And Act of Disclosure is basically sharing something about yourself; something personal that usually doesn’t paint you in the best light. Profference is a meaningful gift, and the last part, Devotion, is done by the bot the initiator is courting.” Rewind took the wheel on the explanation. You wondered who had initiated their rite. Rewind’s lively personality made sense for him to take the reigns in things, but you could see Chromedome be more willing to open his heart to him. “If they accept the rite, then they perform an act of selflessness. Something that really shows the other they love them.”

“I see, thanks you two.” You nodded earnestly and for the rest of the story, couldn’t help but fidget. The second they finished, you made haste in excusing yourself. You didn’t tell them, but were going to speak to Megatron asap.

“You know they’re going to-”

“Yeah, I know. I figured it was better that they asked us than, I don’t know, Whirl or something.”

Megatron and you had been a thing for a while now, and there was… a lot to be said about that. Not that you cared anyways, you knew what you were getting yourself into, and you had no regrets. Life, you had figured, was too short for regrets. You with your miniscule human lifespan, couldn't afford to be held back by any shame or fear. Your only option was to shoot your shot. Which you did, and we're planning to do once more.

Megatron had a dark history. His faction had carried out acts of hatred towards your kind, but he has since renounced the ideology he once led with a blazing banner. The moment he met you, the Lost Light’s human liaison, he commited one last act of murder: He held technoism ideology under the water until it stopped thrashing. Guilt had fueled him to avoid you, but you extended friendship towards him. And thus he befriended you. Time passed and friendship turned to fondness. Techoism had its grave defiled.

Still, you figured that he still may never truly be comfortable with human customs, despite his newfound respect for them. You took it from the strange, wide-eyed look he had given a proposal during some cheesy romcom at one of Swerve’s movie nights you’d dragged him to. However, you were ready to compromise, and were more than fascinated by this cybertronian equivalent. Fascinated enough to follow through with it while you had the time in this life to do so.

  “Megatron?” You heard the hab suite door slide open and heavy steps trod in.

“Surprisingly.” He replied, a smile crinkling the worm edges of his crimson optics. At the sight of him enveloping the space in the room, you grinned. Seeing him approach was like watching a sunrise.

“Megatron I… I have a question.” You scampered towards the edge of his desk. He sat down and offered you his hand to climb onto.

“Yes, little one, what is it?”  He lifted you gently to his shoulder and began filing a report.

“Have you uh,” You paused, reading the dry statement over his shoulder. “Ever gone thought about becoming conjunx endura? I was, um, learning about conjunx ritus earlier.” You mumbled, twiddling your thumbs and tucking yourself against his armor plating. He froze, his typing stopping short and you could hear the mechanisms in his optics dilate as his eyes widened.

“I…. (y/n),” He scooped you up carefully from his shoulders and held you in front of him in large servos. The old mech looked shocked, full of hope and disbelief. “Do you even know what that entails?”

  You nodded slowly, staring up at him. His eyes were wild, and you could glimpse the bloody war that raged on behind them. You felt his guilt and the deep set disgust towards himself all clashing with an aching longing, and the thrill of what you were proposing. The battle between what he wanted and what he felt he deserved was unending.

“I do. I’ve thought it over a lot, actually, I’ve thought long and hard about it but I realize… I realize that I don’t really have to? I already know what I want. If that’s something you’d be okay with, I’m ready as soon as you are.”

His stunned stare descended into a chuckle, like he’d just understood a joke. He seemed merely amused by your offer, as if deciding that you simply didn’t know the gravity of what you were saying. Just a silly human; as usual, not knowing what you were talking about. You hated more than anything when bots thought that about you, and you only wilted more as he looked away.

“(Y/n), I don’t know how you think I deserve you.” He rasped, his voice heavy, and the foundations beneath your feet began to falter. You squeezed your partner’s thumb, both as to balance yourself and comfort him.

  “Megatron, look at me.” You sighed, standing taller in determination. He did as you said, the worry lines above his brow deepening as he peered down at you. “I know you. You must think that I don’t because I haven’t... I don’t know, fled? Is that what you think I’d do? Flee? Megatron, I want you to understand that I saw the worst of you before I even met you, and I still find myself here, asking you to ma- to be my conjunx. Please, you don’t have to be afraid. You know we both don’t have the time to.”

He was stunned. His deep silver lips hung open in shock and awe. You kept a face of resolve, until it faltered into concern, and after more excruciating moments of silence, fell limp into a piteous frown. The sting of rejection had began to sink into your chest.

“(Y/n).��� His deep voice jolted you to reality. “Are you sure?” It was all he could say.

“Yes.” It was all you needed to say.

This was incredibly taboo.

  Two days after your conversation with Megatron and you were hauling a sack containing a datapad down the halls of the Lost Light. You didn’t want to try too hard, but you couldn’t help wanting to make yourself look presentable. You decided a tie was far too formal, but a blazer? That’d work. That and some slacks, and the nicest shoes you’d saved from home. You had combed your hair back. Then forward. Then back again as you couldn’t pinpoint which looked better. Looking decidedly sharp, you timed the start of your trek with the end of Megatron’s shift.

You passed Rodimus by down the hall, and he spun on his heel, and walked instead beside you.

“(Y/n), you look nice! Any particular reason?” There was an edge to his voice, and the force behind his smile was more audible in each syllable.

“I’m bringing this datapad to Megatron.” It wasn’t a lie, that was what you were doing, but you could tell by his tensed grin that it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“Really! Because he was looking really nice today too. He buffed and everything, did you know that? Hm?” He bent down as he talked down at you.

“Really? Huh.” You smiled to yourself, giddy that Megatron had decided as well to, in the cybertronian equivalent, dress for the event, and for you.

“Okay, (y/n), seriously, what’s going on?” Rodimus stopped with with his pede. You glared and walked around it.

“Rod, chill.” You sighed. His wings perked in indigance.

“Don’t tell me to chill! You know I hate being told to chill!” His fists snapped to his hips. You groaned, turned around.

“Rodimus, please, I’m going to be late. I really want to be on time for this. I’ll talk to you later, okay? I don’t want to keep him waiting.” You pleaded, your feet tapping in soft impatience. He gave you a scrutinizing squint, but yielded.

“Okay, fine. But later? I want to know what’s going on.” He huffed and continued down the halls. You did as well, making haste towards hab suite 113.

  The gargantuan doors slid open for you at the press of a tiny button installed at the foot of the entrance. He had been pacing, and stopped in his tracks to turn to you. Rodimus was right, he looked breathtaking. His dark gray armor was clean and robust, and the dim lights of his room haloed around him.

He didn’t look too much different; you honestly might not even had noticed if it hadn’t already been pointed out. The change was so very subtle, but that only further delighted you. He still looked authentic. He still looked like himself.

“Hi love, sorry to keep you waiting.” You chirped, and slid the bag underneath his desk for later. You approached him, and he took you in his hands to his seat in the corner of his room.

“No need to apologize,” Megatron sat down and placed you delicately down on the windowsill. The window was round and uncomfortable to stand upon, but it didn't matter; you were reclining between his thumb and fore digit anyways.

“You look nice tonight.” You said, nestling in and giving his hand a kiss. The mech smiled.

“As do you, my dear.” He chuckled, the tip of his finger nudging at your polished shoes. “Fancy choice in clothing, what's the occasion?”

You grinned in response, shifting in his servo.

“You.” You replied simply, earning another rumble of laughter from the mech. When he laughed, pride was not the word you were looking for.

You leaned forward, sitting up and the intent in your body language compelled the mech to bring you close to his face. He brought you near, to listen to any secret you'd whisper or question you'd ask or… Or to receive a kiss you'd place on a set of lips that nearly measured your wingspan. Megatron suddenly found himself wishing he’d mass displaced to a form small enough to be able to return the gesture.

It was chaste, but loving; and when you pulled back to stare up at him, you looked nothing short of enraptured.

“I really hope one day you could feel half as loved as you are. I don't know how to say it any other way, I just… adore you. I know how you think you don't deserve it, I hear it in how you speak, I read it in the words you write.” You stood in his hand to look him in the eyes and press your forehead to his. “But we're both on borrowed time, and while we're both here, I want us to be happy.”

You heard the distinct clicks and whirrs of Megatron’s bodily mechanisms, the sound and feeling of his servos trembling underneath you, and his optics shut beneath knitted brows.

“But, before that, can I tell you something… less than happy?” You leaned back into his hand and he opened his eyes, nodding as he pursed his lips, a shaky exvent escaping him.

“Something happened once. It was, gosh how many years ago was it… (X) years? (Y) years…? (X) years, I don't know, it was a long time ago for me at least. At least, it felt like it. You know how it is for humans. Whenever it was, I remember one thing: It was my fault it happened.” You rubbed a hand over his wrist, fondly tracing the seams of his servos. You didn't bother to steel yourself for this story; this was meant to be vulnerable. This was meant to be intimate.

You couldn't keep from crying as your story came to fruition. The deep vulnerability cut you open by the belly and you were helpless to spilling your guts. The bruising shame flowered through you, but you laid it all out before him. You forced yourself not to turn away from him as you spoke, and you saw the deepest pits of your soul reflected back at you in a kaleidoscope.

“I felt disgusted with myself, I still do,” You gulped, blinking back the tears that blurred your vision. “But I realize I can't do anything to change what happened. No matter how I say the story, it doesn't change its meaning. I have to live with it. I have to live with knowing I could have done something about it, but I gave up. I was scared and fickle and stupid.”

You grimaced you rubbed your eyes, the low burn of raw skin making you squint. You took a deep, ragged breath, rubbing comforting circles over Megatron’s shaking servo below you.

“I’ve felt like that for a while but… It’s different with you. I’m not scared. I’ve never been more devoted. And…” You smiled up at him. “I think meeting you was the smartest thing I’ve ever done. You’re genuinely the best part of my life, I can’t begin to tell you how much I love you, and… Do you wanna let me down real quick?”

Quickly Megatron nods and helps you to the floor. Feeling his stare on your back like a spotlight, you rush with your heart in your throat to his desk.

“I feel like I put it better into writing.” You sniffed and chuckled. “Here, I made this for you.” As he lifts you and the offering to eye level, you uncover the datapad. Megatron glanced at you, then the gift, and pressed a gentle kiss to your teary face before slipping the tablet out of the covering. He cleared his throat.

“May I?” He murmured, and you nodded. He smiled, deepening the creases in his aged face. The mech gazed softly then at your writing in his servo, his low lidded optics two warm, red eclipses. He took to reciting your poem in a gentle rumble you could feel like distant thunder in your bones.

  “To Which The Sun Does Set.

Go nearer now, with earnest great

To where the sun does set.

Come to me all bound in fate,

The same as when we met.

  Though change daily we might,

As many phases mold its face

High silver metamorph of night

Thus may retain his former grace.

And may he exude it during quest

Marching onward, onward yet

His hand in mine we gently rest

In the place which the sun does set.”

  Megatron fell silent, the final stanza falling from him and descending into the ambient hum of ship engines.

“(Y/n),” He croaked. “This is incredible. You’re incredible.” He lifted you closer to him, and you stood eagerly to meet the deep sweeps of his lip plating. He took to peppering tender kisses atop your head, dipping then below your chin. You stifled a squeal as lips nudges your chest and stomach. It tickled, and you couldn’t help but jolt helplessly and laugh against his smile.

“I love you so much.” He murmured into your torso, his aquiline nose snug atop your shoulder. You hugged his jaw, grinning deeply with your cheek pressed to his. You returned words of adoration, and heard the slight click of his optics closing completely. He held you there for what felt like an eternity, the deep drum in your chest in sync with the pulsating of his spark.

You thought at this moment you’d be scared, or relieved that the hardest part was over. He accepted your disclosure and your profference. But instead, you found yourself immersed in the sound his ancient sentio metallico made as you ran your palm over his cheek.

You felt him shift and you stood back as he pulled away to look at you.

“Can I take you somewhere?”

You nod.

Sitting safe upon his shoulder, you watched the hallway lights pass by in tune with the heavy clunks of Megatron’s footsteps. A few mechs passed by, offering the greeting of disgusted grimaces and hateful whispers. For the first time, you didn’t hear them. If Megatron did, you couldn’t tell. He was busy keeping his eyes forward, his expression kind and focused.

He slowed to a stop, and you heard curious muttering down the halls. You were lifted from his shoulder and placed onto none other than your favorite spot on the ship. The largest window with the widest ledge. The windowsill was broad enough for you to stand comfortably on- hell, you could dance on it if you wanted. Not to mention the best part was the view: always of the brilliant cosmos. It thrilled your inner stargazer to be able to watch the stars and planets pass by.

You scampered down from Megatron’s servo, stopping yourself with a palm against the glass, turning around to see the glowing pepper of galaxy reflected against his chrome frame. This view beat that of the universe by a landslide. As The Lost Light traveled through space, it passed by a red dwarf star, and the corridor flooded in florid hue.

“(Y/n),” Megatron’s gravelly voice whispered down to you through the scarlet haze. “Decades ago, I’d never had been able to fathom myself doing this. But my spark, I know, was forged to be yours. I love you, and I love your humanity . And I know all the questions on my mind, you are the answer to. But I have but one more inquiry, and I’m certain only you can answer this for me.”

He got down on one knee.

“(Y/n), will you marry me?”

#Megatron x Reader #Megatron #MTMTE #Reader insert #maccadam #transformers #imagines #fic #elixtxt

[nhlarchived]

NYC ~ Mathew Barzal

Chapter Two

Ch. One ~ Ch. Two ~ Part Three ~ Ch. Four ~ Ch. Five

Word Count: 2,752

Warnings: Mature Language

Wattpad

The next morning I woke up and started getting ready before planning to go see my family next door. I decided to shower in the guest room because I liked their bathroom better than the one in my parents’ house. After getting ready, I left my hair out to air dry, changed my clothes and started walking down the stairs. 

Upon entering the kitchen I noticed Mat was sitting at the table reading the daily paper. I stopped in the hallway and began to contemplate whether I wanted to walk past the table to the side door that was closest to my parents' house, or avoid him and walk out the front door. 

“Good morning.” I heard Mathew speak from the table. I jumped as I was not expecting him to notice me. I peeked farther around the corner and his sight stayed locked on the newspaper. Not even looking up when he spoke, so then I was left to wonder if he was even talking to me. 

“Good shower?” He questioned, peaking an eye over the top of the paper he occupied himself with. Yeah, he was definitely talking to me. My mind began scanning for answers. I didn’t know how to respond, and I was still shocked he was even in the home. 

“I️.. uh.. yeah. Yeah, it was nice.” I stuttered. Kicking myself in my mind for being so awkward. Normally, I was very confident and didn’t have problems speaking to people. But for some reason he throws me off. Especially since he’s staying in the house. 

He found my stuttering amusing. Giggling after I finished speaking, leaning his head further down to hide his smile behind the paper. “So, what are your plans for today?” He inquired once containing his light laughter. Sparking loads of questions I began to ask myself. 

“Why is he asking me that? Do I appear to be doing something? Is he asking me to hang out? Wait, no. He wouldn’t. We just met. Do I tell him I’m hanging out with my parents? Or make up some cool story? I don’t want him to think I’m boring or something. Ugh.” After staring off into space for several seconds too long, I decided the easiest route would be to tell the truth. 

“My parents live next door. I’m going to go hang out with them for the day.” I answered. Beginning to walk closer to the side door in hopes of a quick escape from the awkward tension I accidentally created. 

“Aww, you’re not going to stay here today? Maybe you should come over later for a game of street hockey?” He proposed placing the paper down onto the table. My heart began to beat so loud that I thought he would be able to see it. So many thoughts started to flow through my mind that I couldn’t even understand myself anymore. 

“I️ just figured it would make it an even 2 on 2.” He added. “Plus, the kids said you were pretty good.” He continued, this time leaning back in the chair, crossing his arms. An instigating smirk plastered across his face, making it clear he was trying to compete with me, and boy was it intriguing. 

“I️ don’t know. I️ wouldn't want to embarrass you.” I retorted. Finally, the confidence I knew and loved coming back. I crossed my arms over my chest, giving him the exact same smirk he had just given me. 

“Well then maybe you’ll just have to play on my team.” He proposed. At this point the organs in my body felt like they were melting. He was so damn good at knowing what to say and I’ve only known him for less than 24 hours. But it was fun to have a little competition around. 

“That wouldn’t be fair to the kids.” I acknowledged. Even though I wanted to be on his team more than anything else at the moment, I wanted to make him work for it. 

“In that case, we’ll just have to play one on one after dark. That way no one would be around to see you get embarrassed.” He teased, fueling the fire that had started in my stomach. 

“Driveway at midnight. I’ll meet you there.” Mat concluded. Picking himself up from the chair and walking out into the other room. Refusing to break eye contact with me until he was behind the wall that covered the hallway. 

Once he disappeared around the corner all my senses started coming back to me. I can’t figure out how he makes me feel that way. Almost as if I was floating and the room is spinning around us. This was definitely something I wasn’t used to. 

The rest of the day I spent enjoying time with my family. We took a trip into the city to do a little shopping and find something good to eat. However, no matter how much we did that day, Mathew sat in the back of my mind. I wouldn’t say I was thinking about him constantly, but whenever my mind had a break, it would anticipate the date we had semi planned for the night. 

Midnight rolled around, and not wanting to seem too thrilled about the meet up, I decided to be ‘fashionably late’. Which, only ended up being about five minutes past midnight due to the anticipation building up inside of me. 

Looking out from my parents side door I saw Mat occupying himself already by shooting pucks into the net. It may have been dark out, but I could still notice him in the dim moonlight. Covered by a tan jacket and again, black skinny jeans. 

Quietly, I walked out of the house and headed to my parents garage where I had kept some of my old personal sticks. I used to play when I was younger. Always stuck on the all boys team either by myself or with one other girl. I absolutely loved playing but once I started college, I didn’t have time anymore. Either way it earned me enough skill to not embarrass myself tonight. 

“You’ve got your own sticks, eh?” Mat questioned as I began walking to where he was standing. He hesitated shooting a ball he had prepared to give me his full attention. 

“I️ played a little bit in my days.” I admitted, taking a tennis ball and stickhandling to show off a little bit. 

“That’s cute.” Mat said giggling under his breath. Turning his back to me so he could assemble his shot once again. He then hit the crossbar deflecting his shot. That’s what he gets for making fun of me. 

“That’s cute.” I imitated before taking a shot of my own, sending it straight through the right corner of the net. He then turned around to face me with an impressed grin across his face. 

“So, where are you from?” He questioned, leaning against his stick to watch me. His cheek gently resting on his hands that sat on the top knob. I couldn’t help but smile due to the soft appearance he had. I felt comfortable talking to him, his personality made him inviting and it seems as if all the first impression butterflies had now settled. 

“Here. What about you?” I responded, continuing to take shots from the pile of plastic pucks and tennis balls on the concrete. 

“Canada.” He answered continuing to admire my company from just a mere foot away. Luckily no lights were on outside, that way he couldn’t see my features. As they were probably equivalent to someone who just found out they had won the lottery. 

“I’ve always wanted to go there.” I confessed now focusing only on my stickhandling to avoid possibly staring at him absentmindedly like I did last night. 

“I️ can take you one day if you want. I’ll bring you to a game. Take you around the city.” He offered. I paused my actions then stared up at him. Unfortunately, there was a confused demeanor across my face due to his proposal as it wasn’t something I was expecting, since this was the first real conversation we’ve truly had. 

“I️.. uh.. I’m sure the kids would love it too. They seem to like hanging out with you.” He attempted to correct himself, making it seem like it wasn’t only for me. I began to snicker under my breath, flattered. 

“I️ would love that actually. I️ mean.. we would love that.” I stated with a smirk, which Mat clearly took a liking to. He started smiling from ear to ear, looking towards the ground that way I couldn’t notice his cheeks blushing. 

Throughout the night the conversations never stopped. He was very curious to figure out my personality and see the things I liked. Comparing and contrasting to his own personal preferences. There were lots of laughs and smiles being exchanged, making it feel as if this was something out of a fairy tale. 

After a while Mat had positioned himself in front of the net to block the shots I was making. Purposely to upset me. So, I kept getting closer to the net that way it'd be harder for him to stop them. 

After about three more shots of making it past him and into the goal, he dropped his stick and started walking towards me. He grabbed me from behind and wrapped his arms around my body that way I couldn’t shoot anymore. Both of us began laughing like little preschool children. 

“You’re cheating you can’t do this!” I argued in between cackles. 

“Goalie interference! No goal!” Mat began to yell back in between his own laughter. Butterflies infested my stomach as I felt his body up against my back with his giggles in my ear. Eventually, I gave up trying to fight him off as it was impossible with the grip he had on me. I allowed him to basically just hug me from behind, enjoying our intimate moment. 

His grip eventually loosened releasing me. Still giggling, I turned around with my back now against the side post of the net and Mathew standing in front of me. Once steadying my breathing, I looked up and noticed his eyes reflecting seduction, accompanied by a smirk that made my body feel hot even with how cold it was outside. 

He was standing only centimeters away when we found ourselves staring amusedly into each other’s eyes, wondering what was going to happen next. His eyes watched every move my eyes and mouth made. Studying me. Making me want to kiss him desperately, but I refused to make the first move. 

He started inching closer making my mind race a million miles a minute. I felt his curled index finger gently lift my chin up towards his while his opposite hand pulled my back into him, causing our stomachs to touch. My eyelids slowly began to shut but before either of our lips made contact we were blinded by two headlights pulling into the driveway. My hands shot up to cover my face and protect my eyes as I couldn’t see anything other than the beaming white orbs. Mathew quickly backed off to watch the lights himself, wondering who was coming home this late at night. 

The car pulled up almost as close as it could get to us as we simultaneously observed the vehicle waiting for answers. I heard the engine cut off yet the lights were still too bright to even make out what kind of car it was, no longer who was in it. Soon enough the driver side door opened and shut right before Dennis walked around the front, blocking one of the lights, making it possible to see him. 

“You guys are out pretty late huh?” He inquired while his hand was fumbling his keys and sight flicking between Mat and I. My body practically froze. Not only from trying to process almost making out with Mathew, but now from being caught alone with him at 2:30AM. 

“Believe it or not, she was showing me some shooting tricks.” Mat spoke attempting to cover the ground with Dennis. Thank god he could speak because I couldn’t even think of a single letter in the alphabet at the moment. 

“At 2:30 in the morning?” He continued to press leaving Mat speechless. Damn, now I didn’t have a choice but to say something. 

“I️ was with my parents all day, so we didn’t have a chance until after they went to bed because I️ didn't want to neglect them.” I added in hopes of sounding convincing enough to be left alone. Which, it seemed to have worked. 

“Understood. Just try to keep it quiet, the kids’ rooms are right above your heads. Also, you should be heading to bed soon Barz. You’ve got practice in seven hours.” Dennis finished before entering the door to his house, the car lights finally shutting off. 

Relieved, Mat and I both sighed after he entered. Happy we didn’t have to go through a lecture. Knowing very well he saw what was going on, letting us off the hook, for now. 

Ignoring what had happened, I began to retrieve the tennis balls to help clear the driveway for the night while Mat moved the net and our sticks over by their garage. I finished putting the last ball in the bucket and noticed him fiddling with the sticks nervously as I walked up the concrete to place the bucket next to him. 

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Mat questioned. Turning his body to face me as I grabbed my stick from the top of the net. 

“I’ll be back home and at school tomorrow.” I admitted just above a whisper, beginning to walk towards my parents side door. 

“Back home? I️ thought you lived here?” He then questioned apprehensively. Following by my side to make sure I arrived home safely. 

“Well, my parents live here..” I said pointing to the house. “I️ live in an apartment in the city.” 

“By yourself?” He continued to ask. I laughed at his curiosity while we now stood at the destination with my left hand on the door knob. 

“Yeah, by myself. You might have to stop by sometime.” I offered, hitting the side of his arm with my elbow trying to deplete the uncomfortable tension Dennis had created that had clearly made Mat nervous. 

Unexpectedly he pulled me into a hug. The aroma of a fresh cologne taking over my senses. I relaxed myself into him as I wrapped my arms around his waist. Resting my head on his chest, allowing my eyes to shut for a moment and enjoy the embrace. 

The hug loosened so I dropped my arms down by my side and when to open the door next to us, but before I could turn the knob Mat placed his hands on either of my shoulders, positioning himself to speak into my ear. 

“So basically, I'll see you tomorrow.” He whispered, then placed a kiss on my cheek before quickly jogging across both driveways to his own house. Once he got to his door he turned around and waved one last time while we both entered our heated homes. I shook my head and rolled my eyes while a flattered scoff left my lips. My cheeks feeling sore from the amount of smiling I’ve done throughout the night. 

After entering the dark kitchen, as I was kicking my shoes off, I noticed my stick was still in my hand and I had forgotten to return it to the garage. Too tired and lazy to go back outside, I placed it in the corner by the door planning to put it away when I leave tomorrow. However, something at the foot of the stick caught my attention. It had distinctive black markings across the tape, which was strange since I had only played with plastic pucks and tennis balls. Curious, I flipped it towards the dim moonlight shining from the window to get a better look. I then noticed Mathew had written his phone number followed by a winky face across the tape on the foot. 

A permanent smile plastered onto my face that nothing could prevent. I felt the interior of my body warm up like an oven with excitement. Now knowing 100% that Mat was just as interested in me as I was to him, and I couldn’t wait to see where this was going to go. Especially with how amazing tonight went.

#Mathew Barzal #Mat Barzal #New York Islanders #NHL #Hockey #Imagine #AU #Fan Fic #Fan Fiction #Series

[fogboundsurvivor]

No Mither

No Mither

NSFW Fanfic by D. Johansson

David worked at the generator tirelessly, fumbling with the wires inside. He was so dead tired of running. His friends had already fallen and for whatever reason the escape shoot had not appeared for him. It was as if the Entity wanted to be an extra bitch on this cold night in Haddonfield. He tapped the wires together, hoping to make a spark, which he did, but only made the generator jump and let out a loud noise. It sputters and dies. He curses inwardly.

Ghostface stalked David from the shadows, crouched down and in Night Shroud. He could tell this particular iteration of David was different from the last. This one had a beard and he definitely didn't seem to know his way around the generator. He had already had his way taking down all of the other 3 survivors in the trial but was surprised to see that this David didn't even seem to know that. This sent an excited chill down Ghostface's spine, he was going to enjoy this. He would go about scrapping a knife against the wall, making a noise loud enough for David to hear but not know the source of.

David gulps...and moves toward an open window, but the window’s paneling comes undone and he falls backwards with a grunt. He looks up at the window and sees that it’s been blocked off by the entity. He was confused, but he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise when he heard the sound of a knife dragging against a wall. He made a move for another window, only for the entity to block it off to. He turns to the doorway..

To find that there was nothing there.

There was a moment of pure silence before suddenly David was grabbed from behind, a knife's point immediately being pressed against his neck.

"Gotta be quicker than that, Davey boy! The Entity doesn't like any slow poke survivors."

The Ghostface's voice was giddy, like he had caught a mouse in a trap that wasn't dead quite yet. Oh he couldn't wait to do all the things he wanted to do to this David

“Wait...Wait...please don’t.” David pleads, eyes darting for anything he could use. His own heart was in his throat. He could just faintly smell the vaguely minty breath of his captor. And also some rather fragrant cologne. Guess the killer wanted David to know he was there. David tried to get out of his grip.

“Oh I'm not going to kill you just yet. I've been a good little boy so the Entity said you're free for me to do what I want before I send you back to another campfire."

When he noticed the struggling, he would go forward with making a slight cut on the neck that wasn't fatal but also sent the point across that if he struggled it would only make things worse.

“Maybe if you're a good sport, I'll let you escape. Just got to play along and don't be a brat."

David grits his teeth and slowly puts his hands up* “What do you want with me...?” *David asks quietly, he was afraid to make another move, he could feel blood trickling down his neck, staining his black undershirt.

“You Davids have been running me rabid all damn day. With your altruism, getting in the way of hits and always being there to help your survivor friends on the hook."

The hand that was previously twisting one of David's arms in an uncomfortable position moved away to grab the man's ass.

“You help me vent my frustration and the hatch is all yours."

David’s eyes widened at the grab..and he shuddered. Partly due to fear...and partly due to the first stirrings of arousal. He shook the later thought away. Nobody’s touched him in god knows how long.....

”No.” He told himself. This was a killer. Who just murdered his friends. That took away the arousal and he heard Ghostface click his tongue

“I’m...sorry.” David said...trying to keep him talking.

"Oh, David. You have no idea how excited that makes me. An unwilling participant this late into the game is so much fun."

Ghostface sounded disappointed in the beginning of that but it turned into excitement very late into it.

“Thank you for this opportunity."

With that, Ghostface would move the hand off of his ass and onto his shoulder. With his far superior strength granted by the Entity, Ghostface basically sprinted forward with David coming along for the ride. It would go on for a moment before Ghostface came to a stop, only he let David go. He let David go right into a freefall down the staircase to the basement, Ghostface finding a sick thrill out of watching David ragdoll down to the landing in the stairs.

David groans and yelps when he hits the bottom. He could tell that his ankle was definitely broken. He turns and crawls for the front door, before being blocked by the body of Dwight. His shirt and pants had been sliced open and his face had a used condom thrown ontop of it. Along with a Polaroid photo of...Ghost face facefucking him. David, grabbing the wall, pushed himself to his feet and he stepped over the violated body of Dwight and limped into the street. He made it to the cop car and went around it, sliding to the floor and looking over the hood. He could see Ghostface walking out of the house. A predator in its element. He was definitely doubting his chances of the hatch at this point. He looked to his already bruising ankle and let out a quiet moan of pain. Trying to stifle the sound by breathing through his nose.

“Bastard...” David whispers to himself. He looks back at his ankle then back towards the Myer’s House. Ghostface was gone and David felt himself turn pale. Panicked now, he limped into a side yard.. a hedge park by the looks of it. several rows of park benches lied within. He sat himself down slowly by a hedge and took off his jacket and shredded it. Trying to make some bindings for his ankle. What he didn’t hear was the click of a camera just out of the way..

There was Ghostface, looking at the slowly developing polaroid in his hand. He seemed to be enjoying himself, chasing after the injured David.

“Wow, David. Getting too excited and ruining all the fun for me? I wanted to tear up the jacket myself."

He would walk over and kick the man over, getting him down onto his back before he would go to step down firmly on David's crotch, hard enough to cause some mild pain but not too hard just yet.

"You like what happened to Dwight? Little nerd did better than I thought. Better than Jeff and Jake, that's for sure."

David groaned as his head hit the grass, he felt Ghostface pressing a boot into his crotch and let out a whimper. He looked up at him, trying not to let his fear express onto his face.

“You..did that to all of them?” David asks.

"Well, why not look for yourself?"

He tossed down two polaroids for David to look at.

One was of Jake, he had been caught just as he finished sabotaging a hook and Ghostface had kicked him down right as the hook fell down, right on Jake' poor leg. The picture had Jake with his eyes rolled back as he was taking Ghostface from behind.

Next was two for Jeff who was currently suffering a similar fate. He was mid chase when he accidentally leaped a window right as Ghostface did. Thanks to Ghostface running Bamboozle, Jeff was effectively stuck in the window. The first polaroid was of Jeff's backside, flooding after a few uses and the other polaroid was his front side, his hair being the only visible identifier as his face was completely coated.

“They're nice photos. I took them myself."

David’s eyes widened and his chest heaved. He tried to move backwards, pushing with his good leg, but Ghostface’s boot on his crotch kept him in place. The pictures of his friend’s stretched open holes and the subsequent demises fresh in his head. He turned to look away, before laying flat on the ground.

“When they entity took me in, they told me I could have anything I desire as long as I killed you fools for it."

There was an unzip before Ghostface would move his foot away, leaning over to grab a handful of David's hair before sitting him up. He would sit him up so David could be meet face to face with Ghostface's massive cock.

“I told it I wanted this. I get to have my fun and the entity gets it's sacrifices. Quite the equivalent exchange."

David felt it against his face and he blushed a little. The man’s cock was massive...much, much bigger than he’s ever seen. He felt a little emasculated by the size of it. He looked up pitifully at Ghostface.

“You’re huge..” David said quietly...feeding Ghostface’s ego.

“How about we strike up that deal now? You take this to the hilt from both ends, and the hatch is all yours. If you reject it now, I'll do it anyways before I shove you on that hook."

He would cock slap David. Seeing the normally confidant David suddenly made into a whimpering bitch felt amazing. He loved it so much and couldn't wait to feel this again with other Davids later on.

David always thought he was straight...until he was pulled into the realm of the entity that drunken night. He spends what felt like eternity of lonely escapes before he ended up surviving with Jeff one trial. The two met back at the camp fire and Jeff asked David if he wanted to talk about the trial..David reluctantly agreed. It ended with Jeff going for the first kiss... then introducing David to the first pierced cock he’d ever seen, licked, sucked and taken.

David closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, before nodding. He looked up at him and opened his mouth wide, licking the tip of his captor’s cock.

A flash would appear in David's face, Ghostface taking a picture for memories sake. He had to show the other killers he never messed around after all.

“Got it for publicities sake, anyways go faster." Ghostface demanded, and its all David would get before Ghostface would move forward and part of his cock was shoved into David's mouth.

David took it a step further, taking as much of the cock he could down his throat. Tears running down his face and he bobbed his head onto it, one hand going up to fondle the large set of balls underneath the monster cock as well. He gagged and saliva ran down his chin and as worked the cock as aggressively as he could. Trying to get the ordeal over with. Hoping if he came...maybe he wouldn’t violate him further.

Ghostface would grab his head to make him stop, in order make him look up at him.

“Remember our deal, the whole thing has to go in that mouth David."

He would let go in order to let him proceed.

David tries his best, struggling to get down to the hilt of his cock. He gets onto his knees and feels a mix of salvia and pre cum fall out of his mouth. He gets frustrated and grunts, trying to take it further. He ends up choking and letting the cock slide out of his throat as he gags on air and sputters. His vision swimming from the coughing fit.

“Got 10 seconds. Start now! 1..2...3.."

Ghostface gave David 10 seconds to get a nice breath before he gets back to work on his cock. He had plans later, like gloating to Joe's smug mask about how much better of a killer Ghostface was.

David goes in for it again, only gagging immediately. He whines in defeat before looking up at Ghostface pleadingly.

“Please..I can’t do it...” David admits..face red from both embarrassment and effort. He lays on his back and spreads his big thighs apart “Please...just fuck me...use me...just don’t kill me like the others..” He whined.

“I’ll be good...so good...please.” David begs, tears running down his face.

Ghostface would go around back to his mouth.

“Oh don't be a fucking bitch David! You're going do it whether you like it or not!"

He would grab his head and in one quick motion, shove his cock in and jam the entire thing down his throat. He knew the Entity would make it to where David would only dry heave and he knew the Entity was above allowing asphyxiation being a cause of death here. He would hold him for a few seconds before letting go of David.

David sputters and chokes on air...feeling his throat get throughly resized. After realizing he couldn’t choke to death, he grabs Ghostface’s cock and shoved it down his throat pushing Ghostface’s hips towards his face as if to say “Use my mouth.”

As sick as it was David was kind of turned on by being used like a slut by someone stronger than him...perhaps that’s why he enjoyed fighting and violence. The pain always was his drive...

He felt drool slides down the sides of his mouth as the spit and throat slicked cock pumped in and out his mouth. His lips were bruised and cracking at the strain.

"I was planning on sending you back to the campfire with a souvenir. My cum all over and inside your pathetic body."

It was rare that Ghostface broke someone and it was extremely rare that it was a David. This was getting far more interesting. He was going to make sure everyone at that camp fire knew exactly what happened here.

David could feel Ghostface’s balls rest on his face. He pulled off the monster cock and sucked and licked on them, stroking the massive cock above him...he even got bolder and went to give Ghostface’s hole a sloppy lick. He was lost...hopeless and wanting to please the man that held his current fate in his hands... He tongued his hole and then went back to furiously and sloppily sucking on his monster cock. His ankle throbbed and he was getting covered in various viscous layers of saliva. David’s rebellious attitude was lost..only a cock hungry slut remained. He wanted to please his captor so bad...he felt the tears still running down his face but he didn’t care anymore. He just wanted to live and pleasing this monster was his only way out. That did not fly so well with Ghostface. He would force David off his cock and would pick him up and slam him down bent over a picnic table.

“That wasn't in our little deal, Davey.... I guess you can't teach a dog to listen. The hatch never opened, Davey. Your chance of escape was done the moment you fell down those stairs. Might as well enjoy what happens next before you go back to the campfire." Ghostface taunted.

He would line up with David's hole and without even giving him a moment to brace himself before just shoving inside of David. He had some mercy before but this was nothing held back. If only David had listened.

He could feel Ghostface trying to penetrate him through his sweatpants and he let out a startled chuckle. “Think I may need to lose the pants before ya do that..” David taunts. Since his fate was sealed, he felt adrenaline pump through his veins.

There a moment before a knife came down directly down on David's back, narrowly missing his spine or anythint vital, before it would go back to cut open his pants and boxers.

“You want to be a little shit huh? I'll show you want little shits like you deserve."

With that, the hilt of the blade would go up David's ass without any sort of grace or theateric Ghostface was known for.

David howled at the sudden penetration. He could feel it go about four inches inside before being stopped by the guard of the blade. He let out a groan, leaning into the table. He could feel the cold air around his as his muscular ass, balls and limp cock were exposed to the air.

“Motherfucker...ahh...shit...” David spat out.

“I was going to make it quick but bitch decided he wanted to do slowly."

He was not happy, he'd reach in his coat to pull out another knife. He'd pin David's head down before he would very roughly cut away at his beard, with sense of caution or percision when it came to it.

David watched his facial hair hit the table sadly. He was really enjoying his beard...he felt humiliated as he could feel his hole tighten around the hilt of the blade. He shifted his position slightly and moaned quietly as the hilt rubbed against that spot inside him. His face and ass both felt raw now. “Fuck....I’ve...been bad.” David groans into the table.

He would grab his hair and pull his head up, getting semi close face to face.

“You're damn right." Ghostface whispered huskily into his ear.

The knife would come down to pin David's right hand to the table before Ghostface went to the back, removing the knife before lining up with his cock instead. With the same amount of mercilessness, he would shove his cock inside of David.

David lets out a bloodcurdling scream as he feels his hand get pinned to the table. Before he has time to process that, he feels all 13 inches of Ghostface’s thick cock tear open his abused hole. He lets out a painful yelp and groan before feeling his legs turn to jelly. Ghostface would thrust with wreckless abandon as he mostly did it for the sake of punishing David at this point. Even though every wound on David was going to disappear after the trial was over, he wanted to make sure David was going to remember the pain for a very long time. David looked down and he could swear he could see Ghostface’s cock rearrange his guts through his stomach. He swore he could see it poke the flesh of his belly from within. He felt sick...but he felt the thick member continue to hit places inside David he didn’t know he had. He cried out again...his eyes wet and swollen as he felt his own cock swell with arousal...all this pain was beginning to feel way too good to him. “You’re going into shock.” He tried to remind himself to no avail.

“Fuckme....fuck...me....please...god hurt me...” He moans out.

"I'm going to ruin you, David. I want to make sure that nobody is going to make your ass feel as stretched as I make it tonight. Everytime your whore ass tries to take someone smaller, you'll remember me."

He had no doubt in his mind that nobody else the Entity had in their grasp came close to his size. This was going to be David's torture, the constanty longing for Ghostface's cock that he'll never feel again. It was going to be so sweet. “God...I can...feel you so deep...!” David says, and pushes back into Ghostface’s cock and arches his back. Taking the punishment with vigor now. He could feel his hard cock rubbing against the rough wood of the bench now. He was lost in lust now. He knew Ghostface was ruining his hole, and he loved every second of it...maybe after this he would get the guys to run a train on his so he could try to feel this kind of deep, unrelenting pain again.

Ghostface would go for what felt like forever, using whatever ungodly stamina the Entity had given him. Ghostface has already had a plan for after the trial. It took thousands of perfect trials, gritting his teeth through Mettle of Man, Borrowed Time, and Adrenaline on survivors or purple rarity flashlights to get 4 Kills for it.

He begged the Entity and he got it. The survivors of this trial were being sent to a different campfire, one where Ghostface or any killer he allows can enter, and use the four broken mindless slut survivors.

David was half collapsed onto the table, broken and a groaning mess. He had already cum twice onto the bench seat and his balls were swollen beyond belief. He was just waiting for the sweet release of death and Ghostface at this point. He could barely feel his hole anymore, only the massive sex organ rearranging his guts inside. He wondered how much energy Ghostface had left at this point..

Ghostface would slam to hilt inside of David before he came deep into the quote unquote survivor. It was massive and it felt so nice to get another load off for the end of the trial for Ghostface. He'd pull out and let it flood out, similar to the backside of Jeff polaroid.

“Well thanks for playing this game, David."

Finally, Ghostface would pull out his knife from David's hand.

David whimpered at the knife being pulled out and sunk into the table, he could feel the cum pushing its way out of his abused hole.

“Do it....finish me off...” David says quietly, pressing his forehead into the table.

“Gladly." The Killer says,

With a flash of his blade, he would raise it up and then....

David would open his eyes to find himself back at the campfire.

“Holy shit...” David says, feeling his face to find his beard miraculously still there. He looked around to see Jake, Jeff and Dwight all sitting there quietly staring at him.

“What?” He asks, before he feels a gallon of cum slide down his leg. “Oh fuck...that was..”

“Real?” Jeff finishes.

David lets out a soft whimper as he strips out of the pants and cleans himself off. He throws the remains in the fire and watches it burn. He pulls on some track pants and shudders.

He silently wonders what the hell did it mean.

[watersparks357]

Hi Ninjago Fandom..

This is just my two cents on the discorse that's been circulating. My rant is below the cut. (I apologize in advanced, it's long)

I’m gonna start with the fact that this is one of the nicest fandoms I’ve joined. Even though we’re small and people think we’re goofy for liking a kids show, there’s a lot of camaraderie. I’ve seen that with the interactiveness from our top fan artists and writers, and the sheer kindness and encouragement extended to younger members. It’s.. refreshing.

But, it seems we all forget, myself included, that we did not make Ninjago. The Hagemans and their team did, and despite all their plot holes, screw ups, goofs, and ignorance, we stayed. We may not have liked it, but we stayed. And, at least in my own opinion, that says a lot. And while shows like these are gauged towards teaching moral lessons to kids who don’t even understand basic writing, they’ve slowly been nodding at the fandom these past few years. The writing has gotten better because they saw fans giving CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. Not just ‘ugh, that season and this character and this ship sucks’ but the long rants I’ve seen dissecting seasons and characters and ships and WHY they went wrong. And as much as I immediately want to hop on the defensive for this, stopping myself and thinking, I see people’s points. And how they can go a little off the rails.

If I was writing something, and someone wrote me something like that, sure, I’d be a little hurt at first; but then you realize it’s one of the best compliments you can get, left-handed or otherwise. This person cares, so much, in fact, that they saw beyond what you envisioned. You inspired them, even out of anger or spite, to write something back. To try and build on what you did, help cover up holes you didn’t even know were there or mattered. It’s the equivalent of killing a character at the end of a novel and having a reader come up to you, crying and upset, and say “How could you!? That was my FAVORITE character!”. It stings, but then it hits you that your story, your fictional mishmash of words and thoughts, made them feel genuine attachment and emotion.

I feel like, yes, the raging war we’ve fought with the writers has certainly exhausted them. We demand a lot. Facts that were never really thought of. What’s Lloyd’s age now? What was it before? What’s his mental age? What are their last names? What do their faces humanly look like? Where do the show and movie differ and change? Why is Wu so cryptic? Are they teens or adults? How much time has passed? And what age does that make the nindroids? Our list goes on and on and on..

Thus, because of these questions, we have our shipping issues. Where does Lloyd fall? Is he of legal age or a minor? Does his mental age factor into this? AND we don’t even know anything about age-restrictions in the Ninjago universe! Kai and Nya ran a blacksmith shop, which is very dangerous and very hard as what? Young teens? Definitely not legal in this world. And the nindroids, does they’re physical age count? Or do they have, like, a designated age when they’re built? Do they get ‘aging’ upgrades? 

These are all things I’ve tried to rationalize, trying to find the morally correct ground in these debates. I mean, pedophilia, VERY BAD, but how can I say a ship is or isn’t without solid proof? And the Hagemans aren’t helping by giving us conflicting information online and in the show. But that’s when I realized that, maybe, their entire intention was to leave it vague. Open-ended, so each viewer has their own twist. Maybe you adore the canon couples, or maybe you think everyone is just straight single. Maybe you saw greenflame, or bruise, or glacier, or techno, or popsicle, or samurai. Maybe Lloyd is a tiny kiddo to you or he’s become a big, grown adult. But it was how you saw the show and how it affected you.

Granted, again, really need Ninjago to define their moral standards so as not to send bad messages to the kids BUT, the point is we all saw it different. And I think we forget that. While it is important to uphold the moral code, keep definite pedophilia out of the fandom, tag and store our NSFW works (not shove them at the creators), respect others boundaries and what they’re comfortable around, we step on one another. Now I’m not saying tiptoeing around is the answer, just... a little more respect. A gentle decline before you jump down their throat, a well-worded criticism, an encouraging note rather than something entirely negative.

But, like I said before, things have gotten better. The stories are getting more complex. They’re pandering to their older audience more, seeing as we’re the ones who make up half their views. And buy half the merchandise. They see us and hear us, and they are trying their best to improve so we finally give them the approval they deserve.

Yes, all the pairings are heterosexual. Yes, most of them are not well written and vaguely abusive (subjectively). Yes, there are major arcs and redemptions and development that they couldn’t do justice. Yes, there are so many holes it’s not even funny anymore, BUT, they are still going. And a lot of shows quit when the fanbase starts yelling. They get scared of the backlash. And so far, we’ve been very good about it. But I’d hate to see us shoot ourselves in the foot.

Mostly, I’m saying think before you type. It’s okay to be defensive, but you gotta remember this is supposed to be fun. And not all of us agree, but we get along! We make it work! We get through it. Even when they’re trying to kill off characters or traumatize Lloyd again. It’d be a shame to let this fandom go down the gutter like so many others have.

Well, at least, that’s my take on it, as scrambled and nonsensical as it may be. I’m just a fan, I do some writing, I do some art. I like it here. 

#ninjago #ninjago fandom #discourse #ninjago discourse #lego ninjago #pls dont hurt me

[clannfearrunt]

As someone who actually made flapjack devilfish Octoling OCs, I realize that Nintendo has made a decision by saying that devilfish are not Octolings... but since I find this a stupid decision and wasted potential, I have elected to ignore it.

Nintendo doesn’t seem to like to actually base their Inklings and Octolings on specific squid/octopus species.

Though, also, they didn’t necessarily say he wasn’t an Octoling. I’m gonna do my best to explain myself but I’m not confident it’s gonna come across correctly ‘cause it’s just…. one of those Things.. that I know I’m picking up on because of nebulous native speaker understanding but don’t know for sure what specifically it is that causes me to pick up on it 

The book lists other “actual” Octolings as simply タコ, just “octopus”. Unless they are an enemy Octoling or part of the Octarian army, they’re just called an Octopus. Ryan is listed as メンダコ, flapjack devilfish/octopus. This feels consistent with how “regular” Octolings are addressed as just octopus. We don’t know for sure that they’re not just being more specific about what kind of Octoling he is. Since he is definitely not part of the octo underground, he has no reason to be referred to with the JPN terms used for members of the octo army. 

uhh basically JPN splat doesn’t use specific enough terminology equivalent to “Octoling” to rule out the possibility of flapjack octos being considered Octolings. Though don’t count on them to say anything definitive, or anything that makes any damn sense. Of course just do whatever you want lol Splat canon regularly shoots itself in the foot especially in this BOOK. 

#COUGHCOUGHWARABIFUCKEDTHELORECOUGHCOUGH #this does not conflict with my months old AU HC tht the flapjacks are just a subspecies #haikara spoilers #Squid 2 the evolution of the squid #Anonymous #asks

[drizzitwrites]

(More Than) Six Sentence Sunday

Six sentences??? Not today!

I’m still in the midst of editing (which at this point is basically the word document equivalent of pushing food around on your plate and pretending that means you ate it), so here. Have something that’s ALREADY DONE and is posted as a draft scene to AO3 just waiting for me to finish up the rest of this mess so I can hit publish. 

I have until 23 February and the draft deletes itself. It’s my horrible way of making myself try to work to a deadline. I predict I will regret this decision.

Anyway... a while ago I posted the (short) opening scene to my fic, so today, have the very much longer second scene, which is a flashback and is basically Vincent acting as the mouthpiece for my emotions during a certain World Cup penalty shoot-out.

Sunday, 1 July 2018 — Nizhny Novgorod, Russia

Vincent stood nestled among the mass of Denmark supporters, every single one of them on their feet and cheering as the teams lined up for the penalty kicks that would decide their World Cup future.

Earlier, while the captains were negotiating the terms of the penalties, Christian had glanced in his direction. Vincent’s heart caught in a vice grip. He knew there was no way Christian could pick him out of the sea of faces staring down from the stands, but he’d flashed a wide, encouraging grin and held out his hands, fingers pressed together in the shape of a heart. He hadn’t bothered to make sure no one was watching. At that moment, he didn’t care if the entire world knew he loved Christian Eriksen. Vincent believed in him and would be his strength through anything, even if it all came crashing down around them.

‘If I could take this kick for you, I would do it without hesitation.’

Vincent thought the words in Christian’s direction as hard as he was able, but it wouldn’t matter, even if they did reach him somehow.

Christian’s whole country was looking to him, and although the weight of that could be crushing at the best of times, he would step up, head high, and lead his team forward, no matter the consequences.

As if on cue, Christian was the first to the penalty spot.

Vincent had watched him move through these motions more times than he could count--in stadiums across England, on the Enfield practice pitch, on screen as he lay in bed in a tiny Rotterdam flat long after his roommates were asleep.

Today, Vincent took every step along with him, his body perched at the edge of his chair, hands gripping its overheated plastic until his fingertips burned.

Christian placed the ball, stepped backwards, and stared at the goal.

The crowd settled into a muted apprehension, their tension radiating out to fill the entire stadium as they held their collective breaths.

Vincent whispered a silent plea to whichever gods might be listening to ‘please let him have this, please let it go in, please let them win.’

He counted the steps as Christian ran to the ball, his head up, eyes straight ahead.

Right foot back. Laces into the seam.

*Thwack* of Christian’s boot against the ball, echoing out into the arena.

Vincent’s whole body tensed at the sound—ready to spring forward, in triumph or in agony.

The keeper dove the correct direction, but Christian had struck it with pace, and Vincent willed it to move faster, to curl the slightest bit more, to rise upward and away into the net.

A resounding *clang* as the ball parried off the goalpost.

An instant later, the crowd exploded as one—agonised groans and screams of displeasure from all around Vincent; echoed by the delighted roar of the Croatian fans.

The ball rested in the grass a few metres from the goal, knocked to safety by the goalkeeper.

Christian turned away from the goal, his eyes downcast as he tugged the hem of his shirt up to cover his face.

Before Vincent’s mind caught up with his movements, he surged forward, struggling to push through the crowd and towards the pitch to—what, exactly? Leap over the wall and sprint to Christian’s side?

No. This wasn’t Vincent’s fight. He was powerless to help. All he could do was keep believing Christian’s miss wouldn’t matter and Denmark would still come out on top.

He whispered another prayer into the wind, begging anyone who might listen to let Schmeichel save this one. It wouldn’t take away the sting of Christian’s miss, but it would soothe the wounds a bit.

This time, the gods listened.

Schmeichel made the save.

Vincent leapt into the air, fist held high, and shouted along with the surrounding crowd. Everyone jumping and hugging and waving their arms. A shower spray of beer and water and whatever else anyone happened to be holding rained down to cover them all in a sticky film, but he barely noticed, attention focused only on Christian.

He now stood in line with his teammates, their arms linked or slung around shoulders or waists. All of them leaned together in solidarity as their captain, Simon Kjær, stepped forward and buried his kick past a diving Croatian goalkeeper.

The teams remained even through four rounds, Schmeichel stepping up and producing another massive save to hold his team level after another Denmark miss.

Nicolai Jørgensen stepped to the spot, the fifth player to take for Denmark.

Vincent had only met Jørgensen a few times in passing, but his Oranje teammates spoke highly of him. Two seasons ago, he’d led Feyenoord—Vincent’s very much former club—to their first Eredivisie title in fifteen years, and was lauded as the club’s hero and their best hope for the future. He’d been the league’s top scorer that year, an honour Vincent had once held. It hadn’t made much difference for Vincent, at least in terms of his goal scoring form in subsequent seasons, but hopefully Jørgensen wore the mantle differently.

Vincent needed to believe that, unlike himself, Jørgensen would score when it mattered.

In the stands, Vincent plastered his hands over his eyes. Heart slamming in his chest, he couldn’t watch, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even breathe.

Around him, the rustle of clothing and the squeak of shoes on damp concrete as everyone shifted and stirred.

Shrill blast of a whistle and a hollow *thud* as boot struck ball, followed by a roar from the crowd.

A beat, and as one, the Danish fans collapsed into their seats, heads back as they groaned or shouted curses up at the sky.

Vincent lowered his hands, slowly, already knowing the outcome, but needing to see it for himself.

On the field, the line of Danish players stood together, faces buried in their hands.

Jørgensen bent double, forehead pressed to the ground as he slammed his fists into the turf.

He’d missed.

The pressure was on Kasper Schmeichel to come up with one more amazing save.

Once more, Vincent willed the football gods to take notice. He wasn’t asking this for himself; he was asking it for Christian, who was everything good about football. Who deserved to leave Russia with a medal around his neck. Who worked harder than anyone Vincent had ever met and loved this game more than anything else in his entire life.

The crowd around Vincent settled into an uneasy hush, the low murmurs joined with the squeak of seat hinges and the swish of fabric to fill up the space into an unsettling, hanging silence that spread into every centimetre of space.

Vincent held in his breath, not daring to move until he heard the smack of gloves parrying the ball away to safety.

Schmeichel was an excellent goalkeeper, one of the strongest he’d faced, and he knew how to step up in pressure situations.

Instead, the swish of the net and an uproar from the fans and all eleven representatives of Landsholdet crashed, deflated and dejected, to the ground.

They’d poured themselves into a match for two hours, and it had all unravelled with one kick.

That was football, but it didn’t make things hurt any less.

Vincent understood. He’d experienced such defeat too many times in his life—standing on a pitch that a few moments ago had carried such potential but now held only disappointment. The crush of it mixing with the exhaustion you’d kept at bay through adrenaline and sheer force of will until you collapsed, spent and boneless, to the ground.

One by one, the Danish players climbed to their feet, led by Kjær, who had managed to drag himself out of his emotions long enough to get up, walk to each of his teammates, and offer them a hand. He gathered them together—Jørgensen and Schmeichel first, then Christian—wrapping each of them into enormous hugs.

Christian, when he’d found his feet, wiped once at the corners of his eyes with the collar of his shirt, then joined Kjær in rounding up their teammates.

All around Vincent, the supporters, many still with tears in their eyes and anguish in their voices, sang down at their beloved team, who had come so far and had deserved to go farther. Vincent wanted to lend his voice to the chorus, but although the melody was familiar, he couldn’t understand the words.

He might be clad in the red and white of Denmark, wrapped up in the colours of the man he loved with all his heart, but he still wasn’t one of them.

Instead, he waved a hand and let out a whistle of encouragement.

Vincent lingered there, staring down at the scene playing out before him—Danish players slowly gathering together and lining up to offer their applause and thanks to the huddle of supporters, Croatian team doing the same, albeit with a different sort of tears wetting the corners of their eyes.

It wasn’t until the pitch was cleared and the stands began to empty that Vincent turned, allowing the stadium stewards to usher him back into the masses. He wanted nothing more than to find Christian, to beg and scream and generally make a scene until someone let him down into the tunnels beneath the stadium so he could wrap Christian up in his love and make him believe that everything would be okay. Instead, he flowed along with the crowd once more, finding his way into a taxi and back to his hotel.

When he crashed into his bed an hour later, damp and sticky and exhausted, he grabbed his phone and sent off a string of messages to Christian—routine commiserations and the offer of a listening ear. Vincent knew the way of these things. He’d give comfort and love, because it was all he could do. Whenever Christian was ready to talk, Vincent would lend support.

‘I’m proud of you.’ ‘Call me if you need. Any time.’

He hesitated a moment, then banged out a follow-up message.

‘I love you. Always.’ ‘Remember. Whatever happens, we will get through it together.’

Christian hadn’t returned his messages until well past two in the morning; a straightforward ‘Thanks for being there. Sorry we didn’t win.’

Vincent had taken a moment to respond, despite the hour. He’d been lying awake in his own bed, unable to sleep despite his bone deep weariness and the lead weights over his eyelids.

‘I will see you when you get home.’

He’d heard nothing from Christian since.

#writing #six sentence sunday #fic excerpt #football rpf #christian eriksen x vincent janssen #drizzit writes #thoughts on writing and life

[hagarenmovie]

[Translation] Non-no January 2018 Issue: Yamada Ryosuke x Honda Tsubasa Interview

From Non-no Magazine January 2018 Edition

[Special thanks to weibo user @MoMozzz32 for the clear scans] 

“Tsubasa-chan is an awesome ‘guy’. I can’t see her as someone from the opposite sex (laughs)” -Yamada Ryosuke-

“I think the way he fights through everything without complaining a single bit is amazing” -Honda Tsubasa-

The Explosive First Encounter Between the Two

Yamada: Even though this is the first time I worked with Tsubasa-chan, before crank-in, we bumped into each other in a private setting. I was eating out by myself and was quietly playing games, when suddenly, someone tapped my back! I was thinking, ‘what’s going on?’ so I turned around and there was Honda Tsubasa standing there, smiling and telling me, “This time, I’m playing Winry, please to meet you.” (laughs).

Honda: Yeah, I was hesitating whether to come over and speak to you or not. Then I figure, I should say hello to you anyway.

And starting from this first encounter, they went on to “Fullmetal Alchemist”.  In order to resurrect their mother, brothers Ed and Al committed the taboo in alchemy.  As a result, Ed lost his right arm and left leg, while Al lost his whole body and had his soul transfixed to a suit of armor.  Thus the brothers embarked on a journey to get back what they lost… This nationally popular hit manga has since been adapted to a live action film.  Using the advanced VFX technology never seen before in Japan, they are bringing the “unfilmable” world to life on screen.  Taking on this work, which is also very popular overseas, Yamada-kun plays Ed and Tsubasa plays Winry, who is the [emotional] support for the brothers.

Honda: Before we worked together, my image of Yama-chan was that of a “Prince” (Ouji-sama).  When I see him in his numerous TV appearances, I thought “Wow, what a beautiful person”.  But turns out, in reality, he was completely opposite (laughs).

Yamada: Hey, that should be my line! I knew her as this “Model” (model-sama). The more I get to know her, the more I don’t see her as a member of the opposite sex (laughs).  She would casually yawn in front of me and stuff

Honda: Yama-chan kept nagging me like “You are a woman! Close your legs!” (laughs)

Yamada: But because Tsubasa-chan is like this, we're really happy when we hang out together, and we're able to build a good relationship [from there]. Normally, I can’t talk to women I just met.

Honda: I’m not sure if this is a compliment, but thank you anyway (laughs).

“Only Tsubasa was Happy” Italian Location Shoot

Even though they “do not view each other as a member of the opposite sex, but they are the greatest as friends”.  During the interview, they just said whatever they wanted (laughs).  This is the Ed and Winry from the movie!!

Honda: Since we are both game otaku, we would talk about games when there is a break [in filming].

Yamada: When we shot this movie, Pokemon Go was at the height of its popularity.  During breaks, we would go catch monsters in the studio, we even update each other… Oh I remember, this girl was unbelievable! [T/N: in a sarcastic way] When we were filming in Italy, I didn’t have a chance to take a break. So while I was working with all my might, she would come over and brag, like “I went to an outlet mall and bought this! ❤”

Honda: Ah~I had so much fun in Italy ❤. The food was also very good. After I was done filming [my scenes], I was feasting on pasta and pizza and other carbs. I think I gained a bit of weight.

Yamada: While Tsubasa-chan was having her [one-person] fiesta, I was busy with filming… so in contrast, I actually lost weight (laughs).  Tsubasa-chan cranked up first and I still had to shoot in the studio, and those were the hardest action scenes. While I was resting from exhaustion outside the studio…. I felt a breeze coming in. I opened my eyes and there was Tsubasa-chan and Ikuta Toma-kun [T/N: Yamada’s close senior from the same agency], who were shooting a different film together.  She smiled at me and said “Oh, you're still filming?” Isn’t that insensitive of her (laughs)?!

As Fans of the Manga, We Took the Filming Very Seriously

Yamada: Frankly speaking, when I got the offer for the role, I was very hesitant.  I am a hardcore fan of the manga, so [back then], when I was reading the manga, I kept thinking “This can not be adapted as a live action.”  

Actually, both of them are fans of the manga.  Because of this, they both felt “they cannot say ‘it’s a piece of cake’ to the filming”.

Yamada: What chased away the hesitance was when the director showed me the demo movie, and said “this is roughly how it will look.”  I thought [at the time], “Oh, if it’s like that, then they can recreate the world of the manga.”  So I have made up my mind to pour everything into this movie.

Honda: Me too. I love the character Winry.  At first, I was also very confused, but after I saw the [demo footage], I decided to “pour my love of Winry into the work”.

In Italy, they used a rare 100-year old train to film… the production scale was magnificent.  Even though it was such a huge project, both of them unanimously said “the finished film was the actual impactful part.”

Honda: Because this film used VFX, we were asked to act by imagining things that weren’t there on set, but when we saw the finished product, the [effect] was easily beyond our imagination!!! I should mention, the armored Al was full CG. So Yama-chan was acting with air when he was conversing, or fighting, with Al. I think that was absolutely amazing.  Also, [he was] filming one difficult and powerful scenes after another, but Yama-chan never complained.  I haven’t heard him said “I’m tired” even once.  During break, he was pouring over the manga [to study].  I strongly felt his passion for the work.  Filming action scenes while wearing leather clothes, leather pants, and a leather coat in the middle of summer, and Al wasn’t really there… if it was me, I would be crying!!

As Respected “Comrades in Acting”

Yamada: Tsubasa-chan was like that on set as well.  There was no distance [between us], the atmosphere on set was very carefree; because of someone like her, we were able to convey the “childhood friends” aura naturally. She was also very different “on” and “off”. While the cameras were on, she was very serious in her acting. [“Off” set], there was a “it has always been like that” feeling (laughs). We respect each other as actors, so we were able to build such as relationship.

Honda: Yama-chan was very patient in waiting for me during the “2-hours [to shed] tears” episode.

Even though they were able to joke with each other, they respect each other as “comrades in acting”.  So I asked them this final question, “If there is something you can do an equivalent exchange with each other, what will it be?”

Yamada: If I can have something of Tsubasa-chan’s… maybe her taste. While we were filming, she would show up in very trendy clothes, and her gaming technique is also very good, and as a person, she has her own unique aura and socializing skills. I think this side of her is very amazing.

Honda: I will pick his face!! I want Yama-chan’s beautiful face!! If I have such a face, I will make an equivalent exchange to become a guy, then I will go pick up girls!! It will be a nanpa festival in Shibuya!

[T/N: Nanpa (ナンパ), also transliterated as nampa, in Japanese culture is a type of flirting and seduction custom popular among teenagers and people in their twenties and thirties. Groups of "nanpa boys" will gather around places with busy, predominantly female foot traffic (bridges, subway stations, shopping malls, etc.) and approach women in search of a date. The nanpa groups generally wear high fashion with nice suits, expensive shoes, and extravagant hair styles. Because of their style of dress, nanpa boys are occasionally misinterpreted by foreigners as employees of host clubs, who also roam such areas speaking with various women.

So, Honda basically said that if she had Yamada’s face, she would go trawl for women in Shibuya.]

Yamada: Are you an idiot (laughs)?

Honda: If it were me, I would totally think about doing that, but Yama-chan is absolutely strait-laced.  If anything, I think that is the actual miracle! Really (laughs)!

[T/N: Strait-laced refer to someone who shows a strict moral attitude.]

#fma #fma live action #fullmetal alchemist #interview #yamada ryosuke #honda tsubasa #edward elric #winry rockbell #EdWin is REAL #YamaBassa are the real life EdWin! #non-no magazine

[the-desolated-quill]

Hell Bent - Doctor Who blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

As I was going through Series 9, I’ve been getting messages from @kaidans-getting-bi, @prettycanarynoir and @thealmightytwittytwat telling me how much they were looking forward to my review of the series finale. Reading between the lines, I could detect an almost masochistic glee to their messages. Like I was being sent to tame a rabid rottweiler and they were assuring me it doesn’t bite whilst stifling sadistic giggles.

Oh yeah. Did I mention Hell Bent was shit? Because it is. It’s very shit. Not that that should come as much of a surprise. Has Moffat ever written a series finale that wasn’t shit? It’s the sheer amount of shit I’m staggered by. How can one man fuck up so much? This is beyond incompetence. I honestly can’t believe anyone could write something this bad by accident. Even Tommy Wiseau’s The Room had some entertainment value. This is just nauseating to say the very fucking least.

So we’re back on Gallifrey... Oh. No we’re not. We’re in America now. One minute in and already we’ve hit Moffat Cliche No. 1. Random change of location or time period for no reason other than to wrong-foot the audience. This is quickly followed by Moffat Cliche No. 2. The ‘clever’ reversal that ends up stripping the emotion and/or tension from previous stories completely. The Doctor arrives at an American diner, and guess who’s behind the counter.

FUCKING CALLED IT!

I knew Clara wasn’t dead, and frankly I’m astounded nobody else saw this coming considering how often Moffat pulls this fucking trick. Like I said before, i’d have been more surprised if Clara had stayed dead by the end.

So back to Gallifrey. I imagine this must have been quite exciting for New Who fans who had never seen the classic series. A proper in-depth look at the Doctor’s homeworld. And yeah, it’s nice to see the Cloisters and the Matrix again, as well as the power the Time Lords have over time, but it doesn’t really bring anything new to the table. In fact, to be perfectly honest with you, I don’t understand what the point of any of this is. Gallifrey, the Hybrid, Ashildr, it all basically comes to nothing in the end. But now I’m getting ahead of myself.

So the Doctor is back and the Time Lords roll out the red carpet... in the form of Rassilon and a firing squad. Now let’s quickly remind ourselves of who the Time Lords are, shall we? Archaic, superstitious stick in the muds they may be, but they’re also insanely powerful, and Rassilon is the most powerful of them all. He’s the founder of Time Lord society. He’s so powerful that he has several artefacts and even an entire tournament named after him. So how in God’s name did the Doctor manage to walk all over them? Through no effort whatsoever, the Doctor manages to banish Rassilon and the entire High Council? Rassilon! Reduced to an impotent, powerless old man! How did the Doctor manage this? Because the script said so. That’s basically what it boils down to. I’m not saying Rassilon and the Time Lords don’t deserve it, but there’s simply no threat or tension here. The Doctor, the renegade, the outsider, just banishes them with little to no effort. Good old Moffat Cliche No 3. The main protagonist is the most important, specialist and bestest guy ever who is just awesome at everything, regardless of logic and sense.

Then it’s time to talk about this stupid Hybrid that’s been teased throughout this poxy series. The Doctor asks the General why they didn’t just ask him about the Hybrid in the first place. A very good question, and Moffat chooses not to answer it because that would reveal just how fucking pointless Heaven Sent really was. Also, brief side note, why did Rassilon try to kill the Doctor when they still need him to confess what the Hybrid is?

This whole Hybrid thing has got to be, hands down, the worst series arc in the whole of New Who. I’ve never seen a more poorly mishandled arc. So the Matrix told the Doctor about the Hybrid when he was a little boy. Not only are we back in Listen territory with Moffat stomping carelessly through dangerous waters and potentially revealing too much information about the Doctor’s origins, it also doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense. If the Doctor has known about the Hybrid all this time, why is it only now that the Time Lords are worried about it? And how did they even find about it if the Matrix only told the Doctor? In fact why did the Matrix tell the Doctor at all?

So what is the Hybrid? It’s not half Time Lord/half Dalek (why did the Time Lords even assume that in the first place? Two warrior races? That could be fucking anything). Ashildr isn’t the Hybrid. Her only purpose it seems is to be a red herring. (So much for that narrative thread. She didn’t even get a proper conclusion or anything). The Doctor being half Time Lord/half human is very rapidly rejected (to which I breathed a sigh of relief so massive I may have caused a spike in the Earth’s carbon dioxide emissions). Turns out the Hybrid is... the Doctor and Clara?

Well it looks like we can add the word ‘hybrid’ to the ever-growing list of words that Moffat clearly doesn’t understand the definition of. Along with ‘psychopath’, ‘egomaniac’ and ‘diminishing returns.’ How are the Doctor and Clara like a hybrid? That’s just such an unnatural way to describe a relationship between two people. Moffat clearly thinks this is all clever-clever, but really it’s just painfully forced. Not to mention inconsequential. The Hybrid is destined to destroy the universe. The Doctor extracting Clara from her timeline could do that, but we never actually get to see the repercussions for this. Then the Doctor bizarrely suggests that erasing one of their memories would make everything okay, but how? If Clara’s mere existence puts time and space in danger, how does erasing her or his memory change that?

Oh but it gets so much worse.

Heaven Sent was trying to push the idea that the Doctor is utterly lost and ineffectual without Clara (an idea I utterly detest and protest to most strongly). Hell Bent takes it one step further, implying that the Doctor relies on Clara entirely in order to make moral choices. The most notable example is when, after the Doctor rescues Clara, he shoots the General in order to escape. Yes the General doesn’t die, because he/she/they are a Time Lord, but I was pretty appalled by how blasé the Doctor was about it. He tries to downplay it, saying dying is the equivalent of man flu for a Time Lord, but the fact is the Doctor has just taken a chunk of the General’s lifespan for literally no reason as far as I can see. This is scarcely trivial. Moffat is clearly trying to demonstrate how dangerous the Doctor is without Clara’s influence, but to do so he’s twisting the character into unnatural shapes and insulting the audience in the process. Can you imagine the Doctor going to such extreme lengths for any other companion? Fuck no!

Clara has already been established to be the most important companion ever thanks to the god awful Name Of The Doctor, saving the Doctor’s life throughout his long history (Moffat Cliche No 4. The sassy dominatrix who acts strong and independent, but really is only there to prop up the male hero). Now Moffat has taken another insulting step by implying that the Doctor needs Clara to be a decent, functioning person. How much more fucking arrogant can Moffat possibly get? It’s bad enough that throughout Peter Capaldi’s tenure, Twelve has been portrayed as completely ineffectual without his precious Mary Sue around to fucking babysit him, but this just takes the biscuit. How DARE you suggest to me that the Doctor needs Clara for his most important qualities. How DARE you suggest to me that the Doctor is a violent, unprincipled killer without Clara. How fucking disrespectful is that to this character’s legacy, to put your own special creation above and beyond him and say he gets all his defining characteristics from her in order for the showrunner to massage his own humungous fucking ego. Clara even gets her own fucking TARDIS at the end! So much for questioning whether her becoming like the Doctor is a bad thing or not (not that the series was ever really concerned about that. Like I said before, Clara’s arc was never really about Clara). As that American diner flew off into the sky, two words escaped my lips:

Good riddance.

Series 9 was... fucking atrocious. With the exception of Face The Raven, none of these episodes are remotely good. The Doctor is once again placed under a microscope to be scrutinised while plotting and characterisation fell to the wayside. The stories were often boring, nonsensical and convoluted, and the series ‘arcs’ (if you can even call them that) were poorly developed and had no satisfying payoff whatsoever. Hell Bent was just the final turd on top of the dumpster fire. A pointless, vacuous load of absolute arse written by a man too stupid and too self absorbed to write anything worthwhile or compelling, and clearly has absolutely no fucking respect for the franchise he’s writing for. I’ve been getting into a bad habit of describing each subsequent series finale as the worst series finale so far. The Name Of The Doctor was the worst until Death In Heaven took over. Death In Heaven was the worst until Hell Bent reared its ugly head. Now I’m too scared to declare that Hell Bent is the worst series finale so far in case I jinx the Series 10 finale. Can it get any worse than this?!

#hell bent #steven moffat #doctor who #twelfth doctor #peter capaldi #clara oswald #jenna coleman #time lords #bbc #review #spoilers

[punkpal]

5, 12, 23?

5. Share a little known fact about a band/ artist you love? Frank (Iero) gives the best hugs and smells like warmth (not that that is a smell, but if you have met that fool you’ll know what i mean) as well as stale alcohol and dorky dad vibes (which again isn’t a smell, but in this case it is) and every time i have had the blessing of meeting him i have experienced this smell that in simpler terms can be summed up as smelling like home. Basically what i am saying is that i love that rat boi and i can’t properly put into words what meeting him is like (for those who haven’t yet had that privilege) but thats the best way i can verbally express him and his friendly dumb face and equally friendly and dumb personality that i love and adore.

12. What was the first artist you remember being pretentious about? Probably Austin Carlile who i still love as a vocalist and its just a pity he quit making music. Glad his happy and living his best life but yeah i miss getting music from him, he has a hell of a voice and is a incredible lyricist.

23. What artist can you absolutely not stand? Ronnie Radke, make way for a quick rant shitting on him :) On top of being a piece of shit person (surely i don’t need to explain why i think that, wife beating and murder is a pretty globally disliked quality to have) but i also just hate his vocals and whilst i am at it i’ll happily state he can’t write a song to save himself. Also every straight white girl i know in the alternative music scene thinks he is the hottest thing they have ever laid eyes on. And while admittedly i may be a little bias as i swing mostly towards women i still just can’t wrap my head around the fact anyone thinks he is hot. Also he has no respect for his fanbase which in my opinion he should be lucky as fuck to have. Falling In Reverse played at a festival i went to last year and i didn’t choose to see there set (because i’d rather shoot myself in the foot) but all my mates that like his music were utterly disappointed by the set which was cut short because he threw a tantrum like a god damn toddle. And on top of that just being unprofessional its rude as fuck to the hundreds of people who came just to see you play. But yeah mostly i just think he sucks as a person and his music sucks too and honestly i am just so confused as to how he is still adored by so many people. I feel like he is the Chris Brown of the alternative music scene in that he still has a load of people that stick up for him and his clearly bad actions despite those same people shutting other people and bands down as a response for a member committing a crime and or doing something morally wrong (which i am not saying is not right or warranted, i am just saying i don’t know why the fuck people make an exception when it comes to him.) Also yeah his voice in annoying and whiny and his lyrics are the equivalent to any lonely white boy with a soundcloud account posting 4th grade level sentences he has convinced people are even worthy of the title and descripting term ‘lyrics’ all based on boring, overused themes (sex, drugs, and more sex). If he is your favourite vocalist i truly am sorry you have no sense or ability to identify talent nor know what an attractive man actually looks like. Thanks for coming to my ted talk :))

Please send me more guys! Obviously i love music so please give me an excuse to talk about it!

#i feel like i am poking a hornets nest with a very large stick on fire by dragging ronnie through the dirt like i just did but i don't care #so if you are a hardcore ronnie fan that come at you as you can't convince me that i am wrong (because i am not) #he is trash he makes trashy music is chronically overrated in terms of talent and good looks and this is a hill i am ready and willing to #die on