#( crack . ) — the elevator's not worthy .

[magnusmodig]

what is the nature of this ' b o o p '

#( ic . ) — son of odin . the crown is a heavy burden for thee . #( crack . ) — the elevator's not worthy . #( dash comm . ) — connected by the bifrost . #(what if i want to boop specific people tumblr WHAT IF I WANT TO BOOP SPECIFIC PEOPLE) #(HOW DO I BOOP) #(u.u the picture of confusion is me.)

[astraystayyh]

Backburner

Han x reader. Han is a toxic ex who won't let you move on. Angst.

Inspired by Backburner- Niki. skz song series masterlist

It's been seven weeks since you and Han broke up.

Not that you're keeping count, but it's easy to remember when he calls you every Saturday night. Without fault.

He's the one who broke up with you, flimsy excuses and teary eyes as he left your apartment. Talks about how he wasn't enough for you, how he couldn't be present for you, how he couldn't love you the way you needed to be loved.

But you wanted his love, not the one he suddenly deemed you worthy of.

Maybe that's why you still picked up, even though it's reeling you back to seven weeks ago when he had just left you. Han's no longer here and yet, he's not letting you move on. He's the perfume that lingers in the elevator long after the person is gone; he's the feeling of floating on the waves that sticks with you long after you come home from the beach.

He's an expert at kneading nostalgia into your soul, at holding you hostage by the ropes of your shared memories. You are a puppet in his hands, dangling over the edge of oblivion, only to be pulled back each time you attempt to forget.

And he's calling again, at 2 am, like he always does. You don't have to glance at your phone to know it's Han- you never changed the special ringtone you set for him. And you pick up, like you always do.

I can't lie it feels nice that you're calling

"Hey, were you sleeping?" he asks after a few silent beats.

"No, I wasn't."

He clears his throat, and you imagine him lying on his bed, fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. If you close your eyes long enough, you can still smell his cologne and the fabric softener he uses. Or maybe he changed it. You aren't around anymore to know.

"I miss you." His voice sounds broken, coming out in a strangled whisper. As horrible as it sounds, you enjoyed knowing that he felt as miserable as you- that his soul still ached for you as you ached for him.

You sound sad and alone, and you are stalling

He coughs again, trying to fill the silence from your end, but you don't budge. You never know what to expect from these calls. Sometimes he'd talk about his day, as if nothing happened, as if he was still your boyfriend and he was calling you on the way home.

Sometimes you'd both stay silent, your breaths the only thing echoing through the phone call. You'd put it on speaker and pretend he was there, lying next to you. That you'd wake up in the morning and find him smiling at your sleeping figure, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek.

And sometimes, he'd tell you how much he loves you. Those phone calls hurt the most, because if he loved you, he would have stayed, right?

I don't care about what you want, as long as you keep talking

"Yn, I... I really miss you."

"Han..." you trail out, as hot tears well in your eyes. It was hard not to crumble when he spoke this way, his words tugging harshly at your heartstrings. It brings you back to all the times he was away, bound by work obligations. How he always told you he missed you, and within it, a silent promise that he'd come back. That he'd unravel the need within you, filling every dent and crack in your heart since he left. Unlike now, gone for good.

"It's the truth, I wait all week for this one call. It's the only thing keeping me going."

Talking to Han makes you experience different emotions, all at once. Relief- when you hear his voice for the first time in a week, and you realize you still haven't forgotten how your name sounds rolling off his tongue. Sadness- when you remember that this is now the remains of your relationship. The pain wraps around you slowly- like vines intertwining themselves with old buildings, deserted just like your heart.

And then anger- when he says things like this; as if he isn't the instigator of this pain, as if some force greater than the two of you forced you apart. It maddens you, how he stabs you and then he weeps over your bloody body.

"Then why did you break up with me, Han? If it's hurting you this much then why are we even apart?" you ask, anger barely contained.

"I told you, I'm never here. You don't deserve a boyfriend like this," his tone is exasperated, as if this is a simple truth and you are supposed to swallow it down your throat, along with the rest of your feelings.

"Then stop fucking calling me Han. You aren't here but you won't let me move on!"

"Because I don't want you to move on!" he yells, and you startle at the raw pain laced in his voice. "I'm scared if I don't call you anymore, you'll forget me," his voice cracks. "And... And we'll meet ten years from now in the aisle of a random supermarket, and you'd be in love with someone else while I'm still buying the shampoo you recommended to me."

"I'm tired Han," you choke out, phone now shaking in your hand.

You'd think I'd be a fast learner, but guess I won't ever mind- crisping up on your backburner.

"Me too, baby."

"Don't call me that," you beg, "please, don't call me that."

It's pathetic but at least you are too

"I want to see you," he says, tone pleading. And you can envision him perfectly, wounded eyes looking into yours, his lower lip quivering at the thought of you saying no.

"It's not love when you treat someone this way," you tell him, wiping your tears away. "To put someone in the corner and only think of them when you are fucking lonely."

"I think of you all the time," he cuts you off, "you never leave my mind, even when I'm away. Especially when I'm away."

After everything you put me through, I somehow still believe in you

"This is wrong," you whisper, as your resolve weakens, as your longing for him threatens to consume you whole. You no longer care that his hands are choking you as long as he soothes down the burn after.

"I know it is, but I love you. Say it back, please. I need to hear it."

I'll always be in your corner

"Please," he repeats, and he sounds so vulnerable, in his way of begging you. As if your words are the oxygen with which he breathes.

"I love you."

Cause I don't feel alive until I'm burning on your backburner

You are already at the door when you hear someone knocking on it. You don't have to look through the peephole to see who it is.

You open the door, and Han's there, phone still brought up to his ear.

"Let me in?"

He doesn't need to ask, you always will.

#stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x you #skz x you #han x reader #han x you #skz angst #stray kids angst #han angst #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #skz fanfic #skz fic #skz rec #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #han jisung x reader #skz song series

[fizee]

Non Disclosure Agreement 📃🖋️

Naoya x Reader | 3.3k | 18+ only!

Includes: female!reader, femdom!reader, man ass getting ate, submissive!naoya (mostly).

Content Warnings: consensual sexual asphyxiation, blatant cheating, prostitution, casual sexism.

Part of the Jujutsu Journal collab hosted by @ayyy-pee, thank you so much for including me! A big thank you to @mysteria157 for beta'ing extensively for me, as well as a couple of my close friends, and a big happy birthday to (you know who you are)

Naoya hates the rain.

Even in the summer months it’s less refreshing to him and more of a nuisance- sticky, damp, and everywhere. It pitters and soaks into his clothes and he would have brought an umbrella- if this was a place where anyone cared about getting rained on.

It's not.

The hotel is dingy and not worthy of the sad little three star review rating it managed to gain. The pavement he steps over is cracked, and the entrance he steps through is worn. Whatever. It suits his needs, even if it makes his clothes stink. He’d never get recognized in this part of town.

He gives the front desk clerk a cursory glance- feeling snide at the state of his wrinkled shirt and miserably nonchalant disposition. Naoya doesn’t have to check in, nobody does here. But he drops cash on the desk and keeps walking, not caring if it’s too much or too little.

You had already texted him the room number. He wonders if a place like this even has an elevator.

He turns down the hall and is only mildly surprised to find that there is, indeed, an elevator, despite this place only having three stories. It’s got trace amounts of rust. It squeals when the doors slide open.

He glances at his watch, tapping the screen to pull up your text. 36. He scoffs to himself. You and your third floors. Something about feeling unsafe on the first floor, which is stupid. He’s never understood that about you.

He finds the room quickly, ignoring the fact that as he gets closer, his collar feels tighter. It’s been too long since he’s seen you. He swears he can smell your perfume over all the mildew in the disgusting sixty year old hallway carpet. The perfume was his choice, of course. A birthday gift. You had almost refused it, saying that you don’t take gifts from clients and blah blah blah. He’s not one to look a horse in the mouth, so he had made you suck his cock to earn it. It does smell good on you.

He knocks quickly, six short thuds on the door. He doesn’t bother to try the handle, he knows it’s locked. He gives a quick glance at the hallway around him when he hears the door unlock, and watches the handle turn.

“Mr. Zenin.” You greet him with a graceful smile. He rolls his eyes and walks past you into the room, not wanting to linger in the hallway.

“You’re late,” you accuse sweetly. “A half hour late, to be precise.”

“Put it on my tab.” He grumbles. You just smile, approaching him and helping him out of his coat just how he likes, smoothing your hands out over his back as you do. You hook the coat over the crooked little hanger that juts out of the wall, looking stupidly bespoke on outdated wallpaper.

He takes a seat unceremoniously in the faded pink chair sitting opposite the bed.

“This place is a dump.” He says. He eyes your clothes- pink and flowy, opaque but not thick enough to hide your shape. It flows over you like water, and his collar feels tighter. You smile gently and walk over to press your palms into his shoulders from behind.

“Dumps keep secrets.” You murmur. His hair smells good. You press your face to it and kiss him gently.

“Far cry from Aman,” He complains, reminding you of the hotel you had met each other in, all the way across the world.

“God, I haven’t thought of that place in years,” You run your fingers in the dips of his collarbones, laughing gently, “You were the only sober one at that party, stuck out like a sore thumb.”

“And you were the only whore not hanging off a man’s neck.”

“What can I say?” You undo the top few buttons of his shirt to expose his skin to your warm touch, “I’ve got… refined tastes.”

He hums. His watch dings once but he doesn’t bother to check it. He runs a hand over his jaw, reminiscing of how you had looked in that party room, full of investment cucks and coke addicted businessmen and glittery, shimmering whores. You seemed to almost glow under the dim lights, alone, calling to him with your gaze.

He sighs.

“Long day?” You ask.

“Long month.” He mutters bitterly. “You didn’t return my calls.”

“I was on vacation.” You dig your fingers into his trapezius soothingly, finding the spots that make him melt gooey like butter.

“Since when do whores take vacations?”

“Since filthy rich married men started paying them extra.”

He snorts. He reaches up and grabs your hand, pressing his mouth to your warm fingertips.

“Did you miss me?” You ask playfully, ducking your head to giggle in his ear, “Or did you miss my-“

You’re cut off when he grabs your face and holds you so he can plant a slightly slobbery kiss on your lips. Your glossy red lipstick smears on his mouth. He has his belt unbuckled by the time he releases his hold on you, but you frown for a moment.

“I thought you didn’t drink?” You had definitely tasted the alcohol on his tongue, but drunk he did not seem. Far from it. He’s looking up at you with an icy clarity.

“I don’t.”

“Mhmm. Does Mrs. Zenin know?”

“You’re a cunt,” he says, but there is no real bite behind it. “A stupid cunt. Suck me off.”

“Is that really what you want?” You snake around the chair, putting yourself in his lap. It’s a bit awkward with the bulky, ugly chair, but you manage to press the very core of you where he's most sensitive. Your hands drift up his chest and rest at his neck, and you lean in to whisper against his mouth.

“You’ll have work for that.” You kiss him gently. “Unless, of course, you can ask nicely for once.”

His mouth pulls into a half hearted sneer but his cheeks glow pink. His eyes meet yours and his pupils are wide and dark and calm, two tiny black lakes.

His silence is his answer.

“You really did miss me,” You murmur sweetly, bringing your hands up to press around his neck, thumbs securely pressed on either side of his windpipe. You press hard. His face slowly goes red. His hips jerk in pavlovian response. You can feel the hard length of him against the curve of your ass, begging to be free of his pants.

He gasps finally, Inhaling quickly through his constricted throat. He doesn’t avert his eyes from yours, looking at you desperately while you grind against him and tighten your grip on his neck even more. His hands grab at the arms of the chair, his knuckles turning white. He tries to keep his breathing even, but it comes in quick, needy huffs.

“I hope you can be good for me tonight.” You coo. You kiss him. He whines, attempting to chase your mouth when you pull away, but you keep an iron grip on his neck, preventing him from moving more than an inch.

You give him one more hard press into his lap and you can tell he’s already close, and so soon! His eyes are slightly glazed, drool threatening to drip from his open mouth. You'd bet all the money he’s paying you that he’s already leaking if you reached and touched him.

You release him suddenly, rubbing over his shoulders while he gasps for a full breath. He keeps his palms firmly to the chair, resisting the urge to grab you and hold you to him and ruin the ridiculously expensive pants he’s got on.

You slide off his lap and stand to soak in the view- the red streaks chasing over his neck, the tent in his pants.

“Stand up. Clothes off.” You tell him, dropping your robe to the floor. You don’t strip down like he begins to do, instead leaving the matching slip covering your body.

You hum in approval as he removes his shirt, eating up the lovely shape of his body. He’s always taken care of himself, almost obsessively so. His pants are next to go, and then the non descript black briefs.

He averts his eyes as he stands before you, nude. His erection twitches in the cold air.

“Got some tanning done, did you?” You step in and pet over his taught stomach, grazing low to tease him.

“Malibu.” He says, some of that snide returning, “and you could have come with me if you’d returned my calls.”

“I remember that. Some of your twitter fanboys posted about it. I doubt Mrs. Zenin would have appreciated me coming with you on a family trip.”

“Wasn’t really a family trip.” He grits out as you feather over his hips, his thighs, appreciating what a specimen he is. “The boys stayed with the nanny the whole time. And she just-“ he grunts when you reach lower and touch his balls, avoiding his cock alltogether, “She’s a prize tuna, I’ll give her that. Not like you.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s an extra six hundred if you want me to listen to you badmouth your wife. Get on the bed.”

He looks like he's going to say something, mouth parting and brow furrowing. You peer at him warmly, your pupils as blown as his. He closes his mouth, deciding not to say whatever was knocking around in his head, and climbs onto the bed without fanfare.

You watch him closely, enjoying the view of his nude body splayed out and primed for you to play with. He’s flushed everywhere he’s sensitive- his face, his chest, his cock. Without stimulation you see it already going half soft, so you kneel onto the bed over him and place your palm against his head. He gasps and jerks, grabs your wrist but quickly loosens his grip and just holds you there.

“C’mon,” he pleads. Though he’d cuss and whine if you described it as pleading. He ruts himself against your palm, his teeth dig into his lower lip. It's not enough but it’s also too much. He’s always been sensitive.

“You could ask.” You say, knowing he won’t. You pull away and his fingers twitch with the need to take himself in hand.

“You’re a bitch.” He says. “Evil fucking bitch.”

You laugh. It’s a light and gentle thing. He doesn’t think about how nice it sounds.

“You really know how to talk to a lady, huh?” You press on his shoulder, making him lay back fully.

“I can hardly call you a lady.” He’s got a hungry look in his eyes. He looks good laying there- hair slightly ruffled, cheeks pink. It’s a sight you’ve seen a dozen times but you’ll never grow tired of.

He lays still, waiting. He glowers at you while you make him wait. You come up near his head and sling a leg over his neck.

“Maybe this will shut you up.” You hike up the slip you wear and grin down at him. No, of course you’re not wearing anything underneath it. He doesn’t hesitate to grab your thighs and shove his nose into the neat curls there and lick a hot wet stripe into your core.

You’ve been wet and swollen for a while. It’s nearly conditioned. You feel a slight tingle every time he calls you, wanting to see you. Wanting to fuck you. But now you’re soaked, your cunt wetting his face without shame, arching your back when he finds your clit and sucks on it desperately.

You lock your thighs around his head, cutting off nearly all the airflow he would’ve managed to get before. He likes it. You reach behind you and grip the base of him, feeling him twitch and pulse. He suckles on your clit til you’re keening- and right as you squeeze his cock a little harder and your hips jerk a little more desperately, he shifts and his tongue delves deep into your dripping hole, licking and practically drinking you down. You make a choked little whimper, so close to release.

You grab his hair and hold him beneath you, grinding your cunt into his mouth and nose and eating up every muffled noise he makes. His tongue works hungrily, desperate to please you, delving as deep as he can into your cunt and searching out the spots that make you gasp and moan sweetly for him.

He swipes his tongue just right, and you fall over the edge, grunting and whimpering and twitching all over.

You roll over from on top of him and he gasps wildly, hair ruined and mouth wet and swollen pink. He just looks at you as you gain your breath, your insides gooey and warm and pulsing with aftershocks. He gives you a small, coy little smile.

“I guess I’m not the only one who was missing it.”

You shove at him playfully, all pretense falling away for a moment. You sit up to clear your head, not forgetting that he’s still hard, and leaking, and needy.

“Turn over. Hands and knees.” You tell him. His blush returns tenfold. He glances away from you in tentative embarrassment, though it’s obvious that what he’s hoping for isn’t going to be damped by a little thing like shame. He doesn’t have to be a shameful creature with you.

He does as you command, rolling over and propping himself up on his elbows and knees, his back already slightly arched. You’re definitely appreciating the view. He hides his face from you.

“Oh, wow.” You grin. “Smooth as butter, huh?”

“Shut up.” He snaps, his voice muffled by the pillow. You take a moment to really see the view of him- his tight pink hole is smooth and perfect, obviously recently waxed. Or maybe even lasered. You never know with him. You run your fingers over him, light as a whisper, dragging a caress over his cock to his balls and finally to his hole. It twitches. Cute.

“I should take a picture, pretty as you are.” You say. You grab his cheeks in each of your hands, spreading him fully.

He mutters something about our NDA, something about you being a bitch. You don’t really pay any mind as you lean over him and spit out a thick glob of saliva over the tight ring of muscle, making him gasp.

He goes perfectly still In anticipation, his dick jerking with every lick you apply to him. You drag your tongue against his perineum up to his hole- he tastes clean, like only salt. You know he’s obsessive with how he grooms himself. Saliva slowly runs down, leaving a trail of wet across his balls.

You slip your hand under him to grab his length to give him one long, smooth pull, earning a tiny little whimper from him. You plant your mouth fully on his hole, tongue rubbing circles into the muscle. You jerk him off slowly, too slow to ever bring him to completion. He whines and twitches under your touch and you feel a throb deep in your core for the way he’s trembling.

You bring your head away from him earning a slight wet pop as your mouth breaks the seal it had over his hole, leaving your drool to cool on his heated skin. You slide your hand over his cock faster, gathering up his precum to make the slide easier, your grip is intense and tightens more around the base, pulling down and milking him like some breeding stud. His hips begin to move in the air, and the noises he makes, muffled by the pillow, are throaty and low. You know how he sounds when he’s close, how he shakes with the climb, and when he nears his peak you abruptly pull away to deny him. He groans loudly in frustration and need, and finally looks over his shoulder to glare at you, his fucked out expression not hiding his irritation.

“I don’t want you ruining the sheets.” You say. He catches on immediately, sitting up and grabbing you to put you under him. He practically rips the slip from your body, the fabric strains and the stitches pop, pulling it up and over your head so he can press his flushed skin against yours.

You almost protest, you actually did like that dress, but he kisses you with teeth and growls something about buying you a new one. He grabs your breasts roughly and you feel the length of him pillowing itself against your lips. But he doesn’t do more than that, rutting against your cunt and swallowing your noises with his mouth. He whines.

“Naoya,” You say, when your hot tongues part, “Naoya-“

He grabs your hips and positions you perfectly to plunge his aching cock into your slick heat, as desperate as an animal, and just as rough.

The sudden intrusion makes you cry out in pleasure, his thrusts coming in quick, needy bursts. He presses his sweaty brow into the pillow under your head. His hands hold your waist like a lifeline, his need ramming inside of yours, jerking and twitching and hot and wet. He kisses your cervix with every pump, leaving you breathless and needy.

But you know he can’t finish properly like this. You can see it when he pulls back to look at you, his face flushed and his mouth open and drooling. You wind your hands around his throat and squeeze, blocking his air and turning his noises into tiny pathetic gasps and wheezes. It doesn’t take long. His hips stutter and he finally, finally finds what he’s looking for, tipping over and cumming so hard he stops even trying to breathe. You feel every drop of him rush out to paint your insides, his cock throbbing hot within your liquid-warm walls.

You release his throat and he takes a sharp, ragged inhale, his body locking up with the rush of oxygen and endorphins. His cock pulses inside of you again as if his balls aren’t spent completely, and you feel his cum finding its way to the entrance of your hole and spilling out around his length, way too much to be plugged up inside.

“Fuck,” He grunts, “fuck.”

You hum and run your palms up his sides and down his back where you can reach as he pieces his senses back together. He pulls from your core and you hiss in strange pleasure and slight soreness.

He rolls to the side and slumps on the bed, breathing deep and enjoying the afterglow. You wiggle your hips, feeling him leak out of you even more, thick and warm.

You’re both silent for a few minutes. His watch dings right as you turn to touch his chest, his arms, run your fingers over the angry red on his neck.

He glances at it. Groans in pure discontent.

“Work?” You trace his nipple with an idle finger.

“Yes.” He sits up, glancing over the mess of the bed. “I’ve got an eight o’clock tomorrow, apparently.”

“You can’t cancel?” You shift and stretch, not missing how his eyes graze over your body. “You’ve already booked me for twenty four hours.”

“No.” He says, simply. “Obligations… responsibilities… I don’t know, whatever bullshit you want to call it.”

“Do you want a shower?” You lean over and press your smeared mouth to his shoulder, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “I mean, of course it’s disgusting, but you don’t want to go home smelling like… well, you know.”

Naoya breathes, long and deep. Then he looks back at you.

“You getting in with me?”

A/N: “Tuna” is a term in Japanese hookup culture that can be equated to a ‘pillow princess’ in an extreme sense. There’s nothing wrong with being a pillow princess, but I personally believe it’s not something this Naoya is particularly into.

Thank you so much for reading!

#JujutsuJournal #Naoya Zenin x Reader #Naoya x Reader #jjk #x reader #fem reader #Reader x Naoya #naoya zenin #jjk naoya #jujutsu kaisen #i don't even fw naoya that much tbh #fizee.post

[wannaeatramyeon]

ok wait hearmeout

gun and reader but it’s reader who’s also one of charles choi’s ten (eleven for reader??) geniuses.

what if. reader who’s the learning genius to gun being the training genius.

alrigjt bye love your work <33

I got inspired to write this as a crack fic until heh. Thanks for clarifying. Crack fic probably coming up soon. Thanks as always for requesting and reading!

Gun Park x Reader: The Learning Genius

Training genius meets the learning genius (and crack here)

A blank slate is presented to Gun in the form of you.

Someone specially sourced by Charles Choi with an exceptionally rare talent: a learning genius.

Elevated beyond that of even the copy ability, because to learn is to master and not just to piece together a cheap imitation.

.

.

Kyokushin karate is first used to put you through your paces, with Gun explaining and demonstrating the basic philosophy. Your brain holds on to his words, and your body then executing each move perfectly.

The first impact you make, the first punch that you throw out, causes Gun to stagger back a few steps - almost winded and eyes wide with shock.

Charles is right. You are the learning genius.

.

.

Gun is relentless, as expected from the Training Genius and Shiro Oni.

Nevertheless, whatever he throws at you, you absorb like a sponge.

He makes no secret that he is impressed.

.

.

Truly you should be limitless with your potential, which leads to Gun thinking about other things.

"Oh?" you grin at him in between dodging his kicks, "You're still looking to do your GED?"

Gun nods, right before he launches a devastating attack that ends with you on your back.

The smile never leaves your eyes even as you wince in pain, "I can help tutor you!"

.

.

If someone was to ask how many pounds of pressure a Taekwondo back kick would exert, or if a fist was travelling at 20mph, how many ribs that would break - Gun would be able to answer you.

Well, more of a case he would give you a practical demonstration.

"Stop." He cuts you off as you're mid way explaining a theorem. Teetering between giving up on this completely or gritting his teeth and getting through this as a point of pride-

"Gun," you say, sensing his train of thought, hand reaching out to calm his bouncing leg, "I'm sorry, I'm not explaining this well." Your tone and face is sincere, " Let me try again."

Alas a training genius is not a learning genius, but after a few more attempts, you explaining and using a different angle each time, Gun gets it.

.

.

The obsession with you creeps up on him, initially going unnoticed due to the close quarters and sheer amount of time spent together.

And really, once it starts, Gun doesn't think anything of it. He has obsessed over others before, especially those that he believes are worthy of becoming his successor.

No-one though has exceeded his expectations quite like you.

.

.

Daydreams are for fantasists and stargazers, not someone that deals with the brutal reality of the world on a daily basis.

Despite this, thoughts of you and your potential run through Gun's mind. Morphing and evolving with each day spent together. At first focused on developing your fighting skills, then a new light shone on your relationship as you helped to tutor him.

Finally, he wonders what else he could teach you and he could learn from you.

.

.

Things come to a head when after a particularly gruelling sparring session, Gun asks if you wanted to grab something to eat after.

You freeze as you wipe the sweat from your brow. It takes a moment for his words to sink in and when they do, you turn around with a wide grin.

"Like a date?"

"...Like a date, yes."

Of course, you could tell.

You are the learning genius after all, and that includes learning all the nuances of Gun Park.

Gun's gaze softens when you nod in response.

#remember when gun wanted to do his ged? #thought it would be funny if that horrid lil babygirl isn't too hot academically #lookism #lookism x reader #lookism headcanons #lookism hc #lookism fic #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #gun park #gun park x reader #park jonggun x reader #park jonggun #wannaeatramyeon

[newfrontierbackstage]

1,000 views Milestone and more

Hello everyone. Today I have come to talk about the most important milestone the fic has ever reached. A little bit ago, New Frontier reached 1k views on Ao3 and it honestly made me so proud, happy and satisfied with seeing such a number, even after months of hiatus and inactivity. The support that this fic has received is... honestly something I never expected.

If I may go off character for a bit, I want to tell you guys a few guys. I created this fic just for myself, for my own sake and to show the fandom some cool stuff, some action and my type of writing that I tend to like and go for. The first version was very much a showcase of inexperience and lack of understanding for a lot of things when it came to writing, but it was still the most fun I had writing the fic.

Then I went to reread what I had created and written... I started to see the cracks, to see that what I had put on the paper just wasn't as amazing as I first thought it was. So with that in mind, I decided to start going back and rewrite previous chapters, as it felt necessary and I felt it could elevate the story to higher levels and although that was pretty fun at first, it started to drain me pretty bad in the lenghtier chapters. It started to feel like a job.

The chapters have absolutely improved and I feel the fic's direction is in a much better spot, but I had to fight myself to get the motivation to keep going. Being honest, I was very much considering the possibility of dropping the fic on its entirety. as it truly felt that draining and boring to write. I wasn't doing new stuff, I was just rewriting older stuff and noticing my many mistakes!

My friends like CharmmyColour and LonelyLittleShips adviced me to write other parts of the story that were more exciting or thrilling. I honestly didn't think that was going to work out and I still tried to write through Chapter's 5 and 6 with a pessimistic and saddened state of mind.

That was until GoldenTulipLynx (my current cowriter) came into my life a year ago. We started to discuss more of the fic and he actively encouraged me more and more to write a few months ago. He told me to do so at least once a week to get some progress done and I did. It wasn't a perfect process, but it definitely led me to write more. Then he suggested me to write something exciting and for the first time, I actually listened to that advice and...

It worked. It gave me my inspiration back somewhat and it made me want to get writing more and more. If it wasn't for his inspiration and also the encouragement from my other friends, I may have cancelled the fic as a whole, so for that I'm truly grateful to them.

What I'm also grateful for is have fans and followers that have been patient, loyal and comprehensive towards the fic's state and progress. This took so long because I wanted to give you guys something worthy of that much of a wait and also have fun while doing so.

I really wanted this message to be special, as I felt the ocassion was the perfect time to do so. Truly, thank you guys. Thank you for still being here and I hope you look forward to what else I have cooking up.

And because I knew this was such a special ocassion/milestone, I also wanted to give you guys something exceptional, so with that in mind... I commissioned some art for New Frontier as a treat for you guys, one that displays Cavendish with his rifle in a wonderful forest, one that's going to be the usual hangout spot for him and Dakota.

This is my gift to you, everyone. Hope you have a good day/afternoon/evening/night and I'll see y'all down the trail!

With love: hypersonicJD

Edit: I have removed the background of this piece as I have found out it was been AI generated. I do not condone anything AI generated and thus, the commissioner's credits have been removed as well and I would like everyone to reblog this new version of this post.

#milo murphy's law #au #space western #balthazar cavendish #fanfic #new frontier #mml #space cowboys #a new frontier #1k views #Ao3 milestone #sci-fi forest

[bau-drabbles]

oooo how about where the reader begins to find out that aaron isnt for her? love your works! 💗💗

i loved this one, thank you for asking :') hope you enjoy it, it's slightly different and very rushed ☠ <3

sweetest oblivion

aaron hotchner.

the name itself was enough to send a flurry of pesky butterflies invade your lower abdomen, goosebumps prickling their way on to your skin, a smile so unmovable only reserved for him. for every corner of your heart adored him. in a field of fields, he was the largest field. in a fields of moons, he was the most moons. you could've looked at him for one minute and found one million things you loved. and it was well, it was perfect.

then it had started

little fractures, little shatters in the mask. they were so small, barely noticeable but it began to question whether you really knew him. a burning questions your lips desired to ask but you weren't sure if the answer would drown and devour you whole. so instead you pretended it never existed.

he was aaron hotchner, the love of your life. right?

in your ignorance however, you seemed to forget how easily things could be snatched away from you. piece by piece, everything around you falls. it was all an abyss, a mirage you had created. the beautiful picture perfect world you had created all but crumbled underneath you. you couldn't even look at hotch anymore, being in the same place as him felt like a constant challenge. mustering up courage to even look at him in the eyes was enough to send you running for the hills

only a few weeks ago, he was your prince charming. he was your shining white kmohht in armour, ready to protect you from the world. he had managed to whisk you away to a beautiful land, a happy place you didn't want to ever let go of.

you didn't want to believe there were cracks in the facade you both played so well, seeing them fester and grow beyond repair. forcing you to see the true reality of the situation. that you and hotch just weren't compatible, he wasn't yours to have nor to cherish.

could you love a man like him? could you see the true version of him and adore it?

"you ready?" he smiles, his dimples deepening as he pecks your cheeks. his voice shakes you out of your thoughts and you could barely look at him without wanting to recoil. so instead you look straight ahead, nodding slowly. regaining your control felt difficult, the man beside you caused you nothing but pain and misery. was it better to be alone and safe or together and vulnerable?

you hummed your response, ever so slightly shifting away from him. he caught on the cold shoulder you were giving but the elevator door pinged open and before he could look at you there you were, almost jogging to your office.

was this love? was this how love was supposed to feel? it felt like you were drowning in your anguish, that this man was the same one you had fell in love with. it felt impossible to stir any attraction within you for hotch, was he worthy of such a thing? did he even deserve it? but your mouth daren't speaks its truth, forcing you to swallow all your poisoned thoughts that threatened to burst open within you.

you could pretend for another day, until you had the strength to leave him forever

#asks #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x reader angst #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

[gear-project]

Has A.B.A been training or practicing with Flament Nagal? Because in Strive, it looks like she knows what she is doing compared how she was in the old games.

In the old games, Nagal seemed to be doing all the work but now it looks like a reverse unless Flament Nagal is becoming more reluctant to fight these days.

At first (if you'd been following the Drama CD script) it was revealed that at the very outset A.B.A. didn't even know Flament Nagel* was a weapon!

She just thought he was a giant Key she happened to like and find attractive!

He dropped several hints after that during her duel with Slayer, and agreed to work as her partner afterwards.

Time has passed and Slayer DID state he would check in on them in about 10 to 20 years, so hopefully that will happen soon~

Some minor differences as well is:

In her original Isuka version: Evidence Concealment was a giant golden Key poke, but it later became an Alchemic chain reaction... this later became the "Keeper of the Key" where the Gate of Truth opens up and the Darkness attacks.

The Union command Grab: instead of being shocked at his transformation, she asked the question "What's your Blood Type?"

(Ketsueki nani ka ta?), this was directed at the opponent, since she was taking their blood from them (this is also an indirect reference to Fanny's old command grab from Guilty Gear Petit).

She'd also feed Flament blood generously with her Blood packs.

The change in focus to Jealousy (and Love) makes sense, since their relationship has progressed a great deal since they started out, but it also reveals more about the nature of Flament Nagel as a Foci (Magic Focus Beast).

Originally he "possessed" vessels he deemed worthy of wielding him, but this also meant he dominated them until they died.

During Strive's Story, he reveals to A.B.A. that he doesn't think this is the correct way to do things and is willing to accept her as his partner even if they don't always connect with one another.

So during the command grab, he might try to "possess" a body, but A.B.A. pulls him out at the last minute, leaving him somewhat disformed and ambiguous (like the creatures that exist beyond the Gate he can summon).

He can still feel pain, especially if she bites him and scratches his face, but in that state he is extremely euphoric and can't really think straight... A.B.A. is also mutually affected by the possession as well, though it merely compounds her jealousy to twice the amount of what it was before the Union took place.

It also appears that being in that state greatly elevates A.B.A.'s physical strength, as previously she could barely lift Flament Nagel, but when under his influence, she can crack the very ground she stands on with sheer force of weight by how she wields him! This is evident in her victory animation in Strive.

I'll just stop here to say that we don't know Flament Nagel's full history during the Crusades, but he does remind me of another "weapon" that has a similar effect and namesake.

One of the Sacred Treasures: Jinki Ekitoku (Increasing Fervor), codenamed "Dominator" by the Conclave!

By that name alone, "Increasing Fervor" or even "Dominator" the effect appears very similar to the powers that Flament Nagel can wield...

I can't put my finger on it just yet, but I dare say there might be a connection with him and the Sacred Treasures (whether or not Sol Badguy created him is another mystery though).

#GG Weapons #Flament Nagel #Paracelsus #A.B.A.

[neuroticbookworm]

La Pluie: Maybe we will get a 'happy ending' after all

Now that I have slept on episode 7, read some amazing meta, and tossed my thoughts around in my head for a few days, I want to add my two cents.

I've previously written about my fear that this show might not give us a satisfying ending. I followed that train of thought and realised that my main concern before episode 7 was that since the show is so good at arguing against its own soulmate trope, in order to give us a happy ending, it would have to either compromise on the characters' journey (Lomfon doing a 180 all of a sudden with no convincing explanation) or the narrative (maybe soulmates are meant for each other, sike!).

(do these insane projections say more about my own insecurities than the show's cracks in the writing? Yes, yes it does)

Episode 7 felt tangibly different than the previous La Pluie episodes because, while the show has subverted tropes before, this is the first time it has fully and deliberately sidestepped the audience's expectations. We were all braced for a Lomfon-shaped ticking bomb to blow up Patts and Tai's relationship, and yet all we got was a meek temper tantrum at the breakfast table that was promptly ignored by Patts and Tai. We also saw Lomfon talk about soulmates with Tien. It was something Tien said to Lomfon here that made me wonder if the show was bringing yet another condition of modern romance into its soulmates subtext: Loneliness and Self-Isolation.

(Read more about trope subversion in La Pluie episode 7 here, by @lurkingshan)

For a show that completely hinges on the soulmate trope, it does very little to actually engage in the specifics of it. The lack of details around the concept of soulmates in Rainverse is pretty nifty, as many subtexts can be layered on top of one another like a decadant cake. I've previously explored the subtext of boundaries and shared experiences in a romantic relationship. @sunshinechay has wondered how platonic love, romantic love, and sexual desire can fit into the Rainverse and its possible combinations of soulmate pairs. @bengiyo has put forth the theory that the reason for Tai's parents' separation and eventual divorce might be his sexuality/queerness.

Allow me to add another layer to the subtext cake: insecurities around romance, fuelled by societal expectations.

What do people who do not have rain-induced hearing loss really think about soulmates? Does it create a hierarchy, as some love is "more destined" than others, and is therefore more special? Not all who have hearing loss end up having a soulmate, so does that mean that they might feel not "worthy enough" for a love that is destined, written in the stars? What happens when someone with hearing loss chooses to defy destiny and date someone without hearing loss? Will their partner always feel like the second best, comparing themselves to phantom perfection?

Even after we remove the soulmate trope from the above questions, the sentiment is still eerily familiar. These are the same questions those of us who have had the misfortune of experiencing the modern dating culture have tortured ourselves with, time and again. Am I worthy of love? Is my love special, or is it too replacable? Will I ever measure up to their ex, who everybody thinks was the "love of their life"?

Dealing with these insecurities and building up the courage to take a leap of faith in the hopes that you will land in a happy relationship is a universal experience. Sometimes we have the strength to do it, but oftentimes we don't. And when we don't, self-isolation is the answer. Lock ourselves up away from every and all human beings, and live life with the least human contact possible.

In Rainverse, this loneliness is taken from real-life abstraction and elevated to something concrete and observable: the isolation of people who have hearing loss but don't have a soulmate.

Tai was self-isolating himself after his parents' divorce, and his friends and family know it. Whenever we see a character implore Saengtai to reconsider talking to his soulmate, they never directly tell him that the soulmate connection is perfect and he is guaranteed to find happiness if he reaches out.

Here's Tien doing it all the way back in episode 1

And here's Bow in episode 2

If we tie in Lomfon's argument that the concept of soulmates is simply a coincidence, then this process of "opening his heart" and "talking to him first" sounds an awful lot like... dating. Just plain old dating someone after a chance encounter, with all the insecurities, arguments, and compromises. Well, ain't that a neat little trick?

Another reason why episode 7 felt so different from the previous episodes was the misunderstanding trope at the end, and how out of place it felt in a show that was setting itself apart from other BLs with sharp and smart writing. I also instinctively thought that this was a bad writing choice, but @ginnymoonbeam's excellent theory on how the show might subvert the misunderstanding trope and rather explore Tai's insecurities around his relationship with Patts has convinced me. It also allows me to segue into Tai's potential big bad question: What if it doesn't work out?

Tai is a romantic at heart, and his attitude around his parents' divorce has shown us that he is also an all-or-nothing romantic. He believes that a love that has the possibility of ending is not love at all. This sentiment is evident in episode 6, when Tai is talking to Patts about Doi Mae Plieng and about his dad proposing to his mom at the top of the mountain

I believe this will be the main arc for Patts and Tai, moving forward. Tai has to learn that there's absolutely no certainty that Patts and Tai will be together forever, till death do them part, but that does not mean that it's not beautiful and meaningful enough to try. The show has gone to great lengths to establish a clear timeline of events, to show us that Patts has an additional 5 years of life and relationship experience than Tai, and he needs every help he can get to convince Tai to believe in love again. And this is the happy ending I believe we will get: not a happily-ever-after, but a happy-right-now, and that's not so bad.

As I finish up this post, I realize that this is all pure speculation and the show might still do something completely different, and if they do, well, GMMTV is gonna make their money back for all those Micellar Water product placements, as I would need a bucketful of it to remove my many, many layers of clown makeup.

tagging @respectthepetty, look, RTP, I worked through my La Pluie fears, I'm not afraid of Lomfon anymore!

and tagging @absolutebl, we might get a HRN instead of a HEA, and maybe that'll be okay?

#la pluie #la pluie the series #la pluie meta

[mechwarrior-rose]

IMPRESSED for the ask game

(from @callsignpuppy)

"Star Colonel, I challenge you to a Trial of Grievance."

Chou Vong didn't even look up from his datapad. "I am done dealing with you. Take it up with your superior."

"I would, sir, but she is in the recovery ward after my trial with her this morning."

A moment passed. The older man--in his late thirties, already too old and complacent to be leading a cluster in the great Operation REVIVAL as far as Warrior Rose was concerned--let the datapad drop to the marble surface of his desk and stared out the window at the herds of bison and their robotic tenders in the distance.

"MechWarrior Rose." Vong's voice had a raspy, flat affect that hid his feelings. "You wish to return to Bearclaw that badly, quiaff?"

Rose remained silent.

Vong sighed and, with great deliberation, rolled his chair back and stood. "Very well, Warrior. Since you are so eager to abandon your post to seek glory elsewhere, I shall grant your request. Tomorrow morning. I have a dinner meeting with the earl tonight and do not wish to overexert myself beforehand."

"Sir." She let her satisfaction color her brief reply.

Vong looked out the window again. "It is the Hall name, quiaff?"

"Yes, sir."

"While I find your lack of sense of duty distasteful, I am not immune to the admiration of ambition. Let us test your worthiness for the Trial of Bloodright."

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

Rose's Ebon Jaguar had lost fully half its armor, most of it on the right side. She was limping from a thrown hip actuator, and her SRM launcher had been blown clean off. Given Vong's liberal use of his Gargoyle's UAC/20, she was lucky that he hadn't severed anything yet. She suspected he knew she favored her Gauss rifle and was hunting for a deep score into the weapon's charged coils.

Rose had gone into the fight assuming that, as an older warrior in an elevated rank, Vong would favor an assault 'Mech geared more toward long-range operations for command purposes. Her plan had been to close quickly and soften him up with the heavy punch of her Gauss rifle, then use superior maneuverability to maintain medium range to let her LB 5-X AC and her LRM 10 search out weak spots opened by her heavy weapon. It was how she had put her unit commander, Star Captain Jill Hawkins, in the medical ward.

Vong had chosen an assault 'Mech, all right; he'd picked one of the most brutal infighters the Clans had yet produced. The Beta configuration of the Gargoyle was brutal and unrelenting, and its enormous engine could match her step for step. When she saw his chosen 'Mech on her tactical display, Rose had scrambled to develop a new plan, but Vong had pressed early and fast. He fought like a demon. A beast. Like a ghost bear. She had spent the entire fight on the back foot, trying and failing to keep enough distance to give her some advantage. She had tried to give as good as she got, and she had found some success in taking out two of Vong's extended-range lasers, but she simply couldn't break his pressure.

Another wave of laser fire bathed her 'Mech's flank. The indicator light for her SRM ammo bay lit up; luckily, she had maintained the presence of mind to dump the ammo the moment her launcher had been lost. It was followed by a wash of heat. The controls were sluggish and underpowered. Her engine had taken serious damage.

"MechWarrior." Vong's voice was as flat as ever over the radio. He was close enough now for her to make out his frame through the narrow strip of ferroglass enclosing the Gargoyle's cockpit. "This fight is over."

Rose screamed in frustration and raised her Ebon Jaguar's right arm. She squeezed the trigger hard enough to crack her knuckles, but an electronic tone chided her foolishness. The remaining half-ton of slugs for her Gauss rifle had been breached and were dropping out of the 'Mech's torso to flop comically on the scorched prairie. As she wrenched her left arm about to bring her ballistics to bear, Vong's own autocannon roared its double thoom-thoom, tearing the Ebon Jaguar's arm off at the upper actuator. The ammo in the arm cooked off as it fell away. Her single laser lashed impotently at the pristine armor of the Gargoyle's right arm. Then Vong's lasers finished carving away the shielding of the Ebon Jaguar's engine, and the emergency shutdown engaged.

The radio, at least, was still operational. Vong's voice finally let through a hint of disgust. "You have wasted materiel. More importantly, you have wasted my time and have cost your Trinary its commander for duration of her recovery. I will be taking a personal interest in you from now on, MechWarrior. Believe me when I say that you will not enjoy the scrutiny."

#battletech #mechwarrior #oc ask game #oc rp

[1rsoldiersince2012]

Bound by Law (Matt Murdock x reader)

Words: 3765 (chapter 3)

Summary:

You and Matt met in the courtroom. Now, you may think that Matt was a knight in shining armour and defended you in the name of all United States laws, but that was not the case. Matt was totally destroying your client, and you wanted to tear him into pieces right then and right there, because with Murdock as your rival, your head is on the firm's plate with each case. Did Matt care? No, he only cared about bringing justice, he was a human-machine, driven by the need to bring righteousness no matter the cost. Or was he just that?

Find my other accounts on ao3 and wattpad under the same name <3  

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1rSoldierSince2012

wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/1rsoldierSince2012

3. Start Of Something Better... or Worse?

Return to the office felt like the first day again.

Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz greeted you with the same coldness as it always did. You were used to it already. A couple of years of working here sort of hardened and turned you into another walking machine at this office.

Hogarth was your mentor from the beginning. She saw your potential and gave another chance, after you lost two cases at the beginning of your career. Then she gave another chance after you lost another two cases to Murdock. That rookie, as Hogarth called him. You felt respect toward all the lawyers you knew, but sometimes Hogarth's businesses made you question her sanity. And herself. But she was a good mentor, tough but good.

A pat on your shoulder brings you back into the office, where you find yourself standing in front of the open elevator. You turn and see no one other than Benowitz standing near you.

Often you saw Jessica Jones lurking around the firm, but never really questioned anyone about her business. Or her and Hogarth's business for that matter. Although you knew one thing - she was a private eye.

And a private eye was hired on your case.

Dots have finally connected inside your head, although a bit too late.

"Waiting for another, or?" He huffs a laugh, taking off his hand from your shoulder and gesturing for you to go inside.

"Oh, Mr Benowitz, a pleasure to see you again, after such a long time." You step inside and push the button "7", the door closes, and you go up.

"Yes, yes, pleasure's all mine, Miss Y/l/n, it's been a busy month to say the least, I'm sure yours too." He fixes his jacket, looking at you briefly. "Heard you won the case. So the streak is broken?"

"The streak of me losing against Murdock? Yeah, over." You force a laugh, feeling a bit awkward with technically your boss. Co-owner of the company, but still your boss.

"Glad to hear. It's good for the business. Can't let those small wannabes step on our heads." He lifts his chin up, a sign of authority.

"Although Nelson and Murdock is a smaller company, office even, they have lots of potential. Gotta say, Murdock is great in interrogation." You answer, feeling the need to defend your opponents. Blush colours your cheeks, and Benowitz raises an eyebrow, studying you for a moment.

"Yes, could be. Maybe. Never had a chance to go against him, but after such flattery from you, I'm sure he would be a worthy opponent. And a good one to destroy for that matter." He clears his throat loudly and fixes his tie, setting it so tight that his head pops out a little. The elevator stops and finally the doors open, saving you from further embarrassment.

Yes, he did follow you to the office. Yes, he felt guilty about it, but the curiosity got the best of him. Matt needed to know if you were going to do something about the case or just carried on with your life as if nothing happened. If the latter was your choice, he would have to help Darcy himself. In the mask. Matt leans on the wall and sits down, feeling weary from the last night's running and today's banter in the court. After all, you were a hard nut to crack.

You both step out, he goes into the direction of Hogarth's office, you - toward your own. "It was a pleasant meeting, Mr Benowitz." You call as he almost reaches the right turn, and waves his hand at your words.

"Dick." You say under your breath, and somewhere on the nearby rooftop, Matt Murdock huffs a laugh, feeling a lot at the same time - gratitude, anger and competition.

The ringing phone makes Matt jump a little, and he fumbles with it in his pocket and finally answers: "Yes?"

You unlock your office and drop the bag on the table, plopping on the chair and exhaling loudly. Turning on your computer, you go straight to the system and search for Jessica Jones. Minutes of scrolling result in nothing - Jessica's cases are private. Maybe you'll have to pay her a visit, but from the looks of her, she didn't like unexpected guests.

You debate on calling Murdock or Nelson, but as it was Matt's idea, you settle on calling him.

"If you still want to seek that justice, I wanna see all the documents from you and your client. Especially to know who was the P.I. that she hired." You simply state.

"Josie's at 8? Tonight?"

You sigh loudly, "this better not be a waste of time, Murdock."

"Don't worry, we'll entertain you, if that'll be needed." Matt smiles, propping his head back to the wall.

"You need anything about my client?" You ask, fumbling with the hem of your jacket.

"The dates of visits to the nursing home would be great. And probably the original will." He thinks for a moment.

"That all?"

"Yeah. So, see you tonight." Matt can't hide his smirk any more, although it would be weird if someone from the other building saw a guy chilling on a rooftop all smirking.

You say nothing, and awkwardly put away your phone. Since when is he so... Friendly?

Shaking your head for a moment, you get to work, collecting the documents and putting them in your briefcase. That's what you liked about working as a lawyer most - the briefcase. And, well, occasionally wearing a tie, just like today. Although now it began to feel suffocating.

Who knows what will happen tonight?

***

Exactly 5 minutes until 8, you enter the bar, hidden in the row of suspicious buildings and food stores, surprised by how crowded the small space already is.

Matt takes in a deep breath and smells your perfume. Trying to be discreet about his knowledge of your presence, he gently nudges Foggy, "what time is it?"

"Almost 8. What, can't wait for her to come?" Foggy, already two drinks into the evening, asks, smiling.

"Just checking if she didn't decide to bail." Matt lies, he knows you're now surfing through the crowded place, sniffing suddenly when a drunken man accidentally touches your hand.

"Well, even if she did, then I think this evening would not go to waste, right, Josie?" Foggy lifts his glass to the woman behind the bar, but she just raises her eyebrows as usual.

"Not really her style..." Matt begins, lost in thought for a second, when -

You almost aggressively tap both of their shoulders, "not whose style?" You look around a little and roll your eyes upon noticing that there is an empty seat. Next to Matt.

"Yours." Foggy blurts out.

"My style of... What?" You sit down, trying to get comfortable on the uncomfortable bar stool.

"You're never late. That's your style." Matt says, seeing as there is no other way out, only to answer.

"Precisely, Murdock, I'm even 3 minutes early." You check your rather expensive watch, which one would leave at home at this hour in Hell's Kitchen, but you didn't give too much thought about it, as there always was a switch-blade in your purse. Lesson learned long time ago.

"Care to start off with a drink?" Foggy suggests, somewhat ready to get drunk tonight.

"A Martini would be nice. If this place serves something like that." You say rather loudly, and Josie rolls her eyes.

"She doesn't like when someone's rude, just a heads-up." Matt leans closer and says in a hushed tone.

"Josie, put this on our tab!" Foggy leans to grab a tissue to clean up his glass.

"So, gentlemen, you still want to do that case? Or are we already celebrating my today's victory, Mr Nelson?" You smirk, tapping your briefcase impatiently.

"Whatever Matty here says, I don't think I'll be big help anyway." Foggy answers, glancing at his phone. "Honestly, I am already very much comfortable with the outcome."

"How's... Marci?" You suddenly ask, as if you don't know that they were both each other's casual hookups and now broke up. Or at least the public seems to think like that.

"Oh, no, right through the heart." Foggy abruptly stands up and disappears in the direction of the bathroom. Probably.

"C'mon, don't be mean, at least to Foggy." Matt grabs his drink, and you notice that he's sipping an Old-fashioned.

"So that means that I can be mean to you?" You nod to Josie when she pushes your Martini in your direction.

"As if you're not always like that. And to answer your previous question, yes, we're doing the case." He feels how the alcohol burns his throat. He can smell your perfume, the rather expensive mouthwash that you used just before leaving, and the overwhelming smell of the bar.

"Alright then. Although, when you mentioned the bar, I hoped for a calmer place." You take a sip of your drink, feeling rather surprised by the quality of it.

"What, can't focus?" He smirks, focusing on the steady pulse in your wrist, under the cold metal of your expensive watch.

"You wish. Now, tell me, who was the private investigator that your client had hired?" You put your elbows on the table, a very unlike-lady move, and lean on them, watching the reflection of dim lights and bar sign on Matt's red glasses. He hasn't shaved in a couple of days and looks quite weary, but a smile still appears on his face from time to time.

"I called Darcy today, and she told me that it was a guy from New York, then called him but he wouldn't give any answers." 

"The client data protection?"

"Yeah." Matt drinks again.

"And what about Darcy herself? She's supposed to tell you everything." You press further.

"Darcy now says that it was all a mistake."

"So we drop it-"

"No." Matt interrupts quickly and you raise an eyebrow.

"Oh, right, the thirst of justice cannot be drowned in one old-fashioned." You say in a theatrical manner and make Josie huff a laugh. Foggy returns, clutching his phone and looking slightly out of breath.

"I told you we had nothing." Foggy nudges Matt, the latter shakes his head.

"We have plenty... To uncover." Matt turns his head in your way, and for a moment you get the odd feeling that he actually has sight.

"Okay, okay, your Darcy is almost a saint. Now onto my sinner." You sigh dramatically, and open your briefcase, pulling out a couple of sheets of paper, shaking the previous thought out of your head. "I know it's hard for you to believe, but believe me when I say, poor guy really decided to get back the lost time with his father." You give the documents to Foggy and he skims over, then gives them back to you.

"She's not lying, Matt." Foggy finishes his drink and gestures for another.

"Slow down, pal, we still have things to do." Matt puts Foggy's hand down, but too late - Josie's already making another drink.

"Matt, I'm telling you - there's nothing wrong with the case. Guy's squeaky clean. And now helluva rich too."

"It would be wise to listen to your friend, Murdock." You smirk from behind the Martini glass.

"But what if we do the DNA test?" Matt doesn't give up.

"So? It changes nothing. Darcy was too late to declare herself as the lost Donovan. My client noticed how his father's health began declining almost drastically and then decided that he wants to spend his last moments with him."

"Well your client could share some money now that he knows that Darcy's his sister." Matt says ignoring your last sentence.

"Possibly his sister." You correct him.  "He doesn't care much about her existence as he had lived a pretty good life without her up till now. Remember, he has his own family to care about, as well as his mother."

"Y/n, do you ever feel compassion for other people?" Matt snaps, Foggy raises his eyebrows and quickly downs his drink.

"How is this now about me being compassionate for some money-thirsty chick?" You loudly put down your glass. "I see people like her everyday. I live among them, Murdock. It's hard to feel something for them other than despisal." You grab the edge of the table to keep youself in place.

"Wow, wow, guys, guys." Foggy stands up, putting a hand on yours and Matt's shoulders. "Relax, let's just drop the case and have a drink. Another round, Josie! You look amazing tonight!"

"My job doesn't let me put the compassion before the raw facts. You should know that after years in law school." You say now in a warmer tone, somewhat softer.

"Don't forget that were doing the same job." Matt whispers.

"How could I? You guys are the constant pain in my ass. Why do my clients' rivals always go to you, huh? What charm do you have?" You motion with your fingers at the two of them, who would look like they went out for shopping if they were not wearing the suits. You had changed your clothes to the more suitable for an evening in the city rather than putting a label all over yourself that you're a lawyer. Although the huge advertisement in Manhattan does little to protect you from being recognized in the streets.

"He has all the charm." Matt points to Foggy.

"And the moves! Don't you ever forget them." Foggy puts his hand on Matt's shoulder and squeezes a little. For a split second you wish you had a friend like that here with you now but Pug was all the way in Los Angeles, trying to get a good career.

"The moves, eh?" You sip your Martini again, lost in thought about this whole evening.

"Listen, guys, as much as it was fun, I have go to bye." Foggy grabs his jacket and melts in the crowd.

"Did he just say 'have go to'?" You ask, suddenly feeling sweaty in the place. Josie is working like a bee behind the bar, people are shouting something about last night's game.

"Yeah, he does that pretty often." Matt smiles briefly before his expression returns to serious one. "Listen, y/n, I'm sorry about what I said."

"You can keep it, I didn't ask for an apology. So, we're done with the case or not?" You reach to grab the papers scattered on the table and Matt does the same, which results in your hands grabbing his briefly. "I-I'll do it."

"Sorry, okay." Matt drops his hands and rests them on his thighs. "Yeah, I think we're done."

"We could've talked this over a phone call." You sigh, and put the briefcase out of your sight.

"You don't like my company?"

"No, it's lovely, especially when you're paying for my drinks." You smile and motion for Josie to make another one.

"Just this one time. Consider it a gift from Nelson and Murdock." Matt lifts up his glass and waits for you to do the same.

"To my victory," you clink your glass with his and watch Matt drink it.

A moment of silence passes between the two of you, when Matt decides to break it. "I've heard you're on the billboards now."

"Who told you that? Nelson?" You laugh a little but don't succeed in avoiding the question.

"Mahoney."

"Sergeant Mahoney?" You raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah, he, uh, said something along the lines of 'have you seen that huge billboard of those crickets from Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz?'" Matt tries to mimic Mahoney's voice.

"Ah, that's how it is." You sigh, spinning the glass in your hands.

"What's the slogan? He said something about it." Matt knits his eyebrows.

"Here for your truth. The team of the people." You mock, Matt breaks into a grin again.

"I'd say that's a pretty damn difficult job, being the team of the people."

"Yeah, yeah, don't you start too. My mom's been not shutting up about it as if I got paid to pose for that picture. I swear, we look like a bunch of morons."

"Oh, now it's really a pity that I'm blind." Matt pouts a little.

"God really saved you from that one." You finally say and get embarrassed immediately. "Sorry."

"No, don't worry, I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be." You say compassionately and drink again, after couple of glasses, you started to feel a little tipsy.

"Wow, was that you being compassionate?" Matt pretends to be shocked.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get used to it." You finish the drink and notice that another full glass awaits you. "Listen, Murdock, I'm going to smoke for a moment, keep an ear on my drink, will you?" You stand up, grabbing your purse and gently tap Matt's shoulders on your way out.

"Keep an ear?" He laughs out loud. "Never heard that one before."

"There's always first time for everything. Don't be too sad without me." You go outside through the backdoor near the bathroom and walk into the cool evening weather. Dim-lit alley and cold stone walls create and unpleasant effect and you shiver a little in your short-sleeved blouse. You light up your cigarette and notice that there are few people in the alley as well, two couples who can't get their hands off each other, and a guy who is currently having  a heated conversation on his phone.

Feeling rather uncomfortable, you don't allow yourself the pleasure of a slow smoking and inhale two puffs in a second, feeling rather overwhelmed by the nicotine and all the Martinis you've had. The guy finishes his phone call and looking rather pissed off, makes his way toward the entrance, just a couple of steps from where you stand. He stops briefly and looks you up and down, then closes the door that he had just opened a little. 

Matt senses how your heartbeat picked up almost immediately and how you radiate anxiety. He focuses on the guy now who just grinned like he saw a jackpot. But that jackpot was resting on your wrist.

"Hey there, princess. Got a cigarette for me?" He leans on the door, full weight, you grip the strap of your purse.

"No, sorry, bud, that was my last one." You bat your lashes at him, already plotting how you were going to kick him in the knee and grab the switchblade from your purse. 

"We can share, I don't mind. Especially when the company is so..." he licks his lips like a predator, "stunning."

"Listen, I think you should just go inside." You exhale a cloud of smoke and reach for the handle.

Matt stands up, grabbing his cane and starts walking towards the back door. 

"I don't care what you women think. But you know what I think?" The guy asks, taking a step closer to you. 

"No, but I'll ask out of respect. What do you think, big guy?" You grip the cigarette tightly.

"I think you would look amazing while gasping for air, choking on my huge cock." He touches your arm and you push the still hot remaining piece of the cigarette in his face and while he's distracted, try to kick him in the knee but just then the doors open widely and you see Matt walk out of the bar.

"Everything alright?" Matt asks, suddenly appearing next to you.

"Oh how nice, your saviour is blind. Real treasure you are." The guy gets ready to strike Matt first, but you quickly grab Matt's cane and stand in a fighting position.

"Y/n, what are you doing?" Matt whispers, his hand unconstiously reaching for you.

"Shut up, Matt." You launch on the guy and push the cane into his stomach with all the strength you have, he gets pushed into the wall. The two remaining lovebirds run away from the alley and suddenly it's just you three. 

Matt has to think fast. He can easily take out the guy but under no circumstances you can see him fight. He can't push you away because you would worry more about him as he is blind. There is no time for thinking when the guy pushes himself away from the wall and comes at you - just then, Matt jumps in front of his fist, getting a punch right to his face and falls on you. 

"Oh my god!" You exclaim, and almost manage to catch falling Matt. The guy stands there for a moment and upon noticing that he really hit a blind guy, suddenly disappears in the shadows of the alley, leaving you and Matt on the ground.

You, shocked about the whole thing, get on your knees on the rough ground and gently tap Matt's face.

"I'm alright, I'm alright." Matt groans and tries to stand up, but you stop him by gently cupping his face in your hands.

"No, you're bleeding. He just cut your lip." Your thumb circles on his chin, you feel like you shouldn't touch his lip, although you really want to clean the blood from it.

"Are you okay?" He sits up, grabbing your wrist, feeling how your heart is ramming under the soft skin.

"Yes, I'm good." You sigh and sit back on your heels. "That was so stupid of you. How did you know anyway?"

"It doesn't matter. Did you just kick him with my cane?" Matt turns the talk on you again, standing up.

"Not very helpful, was it?" You huff a laugh, suddenly feeling embrassed by the whole scene. 

"Well, it didn't stop him for long, eh?" Matt puts his hand out and you grasp it, getting up and cleaning your dirty knees a little. "I think you should really start smoking with a company."

"Yeah, right." You give him back the cane, and open the doors of the bar again. "I owe you one, Murdock."

"Oh, I wonder how would you ever repay it?"

"Probably with my face stopping a fist. Eye for an eye, that's what the Bible says, right?" You step inside, Matt following right behind you. "We should call it a night, right?" You laugh, although there was nothing funny in this whole situation.

"Yeah, you're probably right. You walked here?" Matt finishes his drink and leans on the bar.

"Unfortunatelly. Although it's just 20 minute walk." You grab your purse and push a 50 dollar banknote towards Josie, who smiles as if she just won the lottery. 

"Let me walk you. It's not safe to walk alone." Matt follows you out into the main street.

"I'll get a taxi. And you should get that cleaned, infections are a bitch." You gently touch his chin again, fingers brushing on his spiky stubble. "Goodnight, Murdock." You quickly walk away, already wawing to a nearby taxi driver who has just dropped his cigarette on the ground.

"Goodnight, y/n." Matt sighs and upon hearing you drive away, he folds his cane and starts running in the direction of his home. The devil has some unfinished business tonight.

#matt murdock #matthew murdock #matt murdock x reader #foggy nelson #matts superhearing complicates things for you #marvel daredevil #netflix daredevil #daredevil #bound by law

[magnusmodig]

my brother really DOES love me <3

^^^ remembers it's april fools.

#( crack . ) — the elevator's not worthy . #( dash comm . ) — connected by the bifrost . #mischiefmodig #(you fell for my ploy all along)

[galadrieljones]

Author Interview

Thanks for the tag, @littlelindentree ^_^ Happy New Year!

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

20

2. what's your total AO3 word count?

981,132

3. what fandoms do you write for?

I have written for Dragon Age: Inquisition, Red Dead Redemption 2, Horizon: Zero Dawn, The Last of Us, and The Walking Dead

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

The Lily Farm (Arthur Morgan x Mary Beth Gaskill, RDR2)

That he may hold me by the hand (Arthur Morgan x Albert Mason, RDR2)

The Dead Season (Solavellan, DAI)

Magnolia (Bethyl, TWD)

Yours, Sadie Adler. (Sadithur, RDR2)

5. do you respond to comments?

Yes, as often as I can. Sometimes, I forget on older fics. I'm sorry about that. If someone is rude to me in the comments though, I will respond rudely!

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably Teen Wolf. It's a story collection so the ending isn't really "true," but it's the end of Solas and Ghilan'nain's love story, in my mind. It's sad and bittersweet, as in the story, they are talking about building a house on the back acreage of Solas's mother's property, but I envision the very next day as being the day that Andruil invades the Weathers, kidnapping both Ghilan'nain and Solas's mother Leanathy, and beginning the Great War. In the ensuing days, Andruil's men leave Solas for dead, and when he wakes up, he goes to Mythal and begs her to free his mother in exchange for his loyalty. She accepts, rescuing and protecting Leanathy in her Blue Palace, and Solas becomes her Bodyguard. Eventually, he is elevated to her General, then he becomes her lover. During the war, after Ghilan'nain's betrayal, the Evanuris murder Mythal, and Solas, out of vengeance and grief, builds the veil and imprisons them all, including Mythal's soul, which would, over time, resurrect into her body, using special magic taught to her by Solas's mother many thousands of years before.

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Well, most of my long fics are unfinished. I'm sorry about that. I think that The Dead Season has a happy ending. So does Yours, Sadie Adler., thought it is bittersweet.

8. do you get hate on fics?

Not tons at all. I have gotten a few rude commenters over the years, mainly people being weirdly critical of my writing style in ways that are, frankly, moronic, and also some people who just want me to write more smut. But I don't write much smut anymore, and I don't think fics need smut to be worthy or interesting. If you only want a smut fic, you probably won't like my writing. Remember that tags exist so that you can see what you're getting into before you crack the first chapter!!!!

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

Lol. Speaking of. I used to write much more. It was never the overly explicit kind and I didn't have any specific kinks I liked to explore, but I wrote a lot of it for DAI and RDR2. I still write sex scenes for sure, it's just that they tend to be character driven.

10. do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you've written?

I have never written a real crossover; however, I do have some crossover characters in The Lily Farm. In the later chapters, I have two main characters who are taken from other texts: Woodrow Call from Lonesome Dove and LaBoeuf from True Grit. Both are Texas Rangers, and in my fic, they owe Dutch a few rather large favors. They help Arthur and Mary Beth on the river boat job, which goes terribly wrong. They also help break John out of federal prison. They are two of my favorite characters in the fic.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. I've had plenty of art stolen over the years and I don't even keep track anymore. Mainly it just gets reposted without credit on like, Pinterest. Oh well!

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of! But I am amenable.

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

I don't think so!

14. what's your all-time favourite ship?

I have several though Bethyl and Solavellan are probably tied for first.

15. what's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

The Lily Farm. In truth there's not a ton left to write. But it's been 84 years like I don't even remember the geography of the game. I would have to replay RDR2, at least through chapter 4. I also wish I could finish Zero, my Niloy fic for HZD. I still think about them, and I still occasionally get really really nice comments on that fic. I honestly wish I could finish all my old fics. Like That he may hold, which also has maybe one closing chapter left to write. I wish I could finish As You Were, too, my TLOU fic, just so that I can save Joel's life, and as a big fuck you to Neil Druckmann.

16. what are your writing strengths?

I'm not sure. Pacing has probably always been my greatest strength.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

Overwriting, getting bored. My issue is often that I start a fic with modest goals but then those goals get bigger and bigger as I go, and I can't help myself. Then, I eventually get bored and I don't finish. I view fanfic as a way for authors to express themselves and their hyperfixations in the moment. I think that the quality of being "unfinished" is, in an of itself, conventional to fanfiction; however, I still view my general lack of focus as a weakness.

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Don't translate it. Just put it there. If your reader cares enough and doesn't know the translation, they'll look it up. If they don't care enough to do this, then they're not your target audience. The internet makes this sort of thing very easy.

19. first fandom you wrote for?

Technically it's the boyband fandom (*NSync and Backstreet Boys, mainly) in like 1998, but in actuality, it's Dragon Age: Inquisition in 2016.

20. favourite fic you've written?

Probably Yours, Sadie Adler. It feels the most complete, and I still don't know how I managed to write that fic so quickly, when I was like three weeks postpartum with my second baby, and with very little revision. It just flowed out of me, like it was already written in my mind, and all I had to do was type it out. I have received some really lovely comments on it over the years. It seems to affect people deeply, which makes me very happy, because it came from a very raw place in my heart.

I will tag @thevikingwoman @bearlytolerant @roguelioness @gneebee @shallow-gravy @a-shakespearean-in-paris @pipergirl17 @sasusc and @im-immortal <3

#about me #writing #rdr2 #dai #tlou #hzd #twd

[divinexchaos22]

Fanfiction Through The Eyes Of Muzan Kibutsuji

Author's note: I wrote this out of boredom and simple curiosity. The concept is simple; in a modern au, how would the King of Demons react to the fandom ships online? Honestly, this is pure, self-indulgent crack. I hope you enjoy it. Ten points to whoever spots the other fandom Easter eggs in here.

It all started the way most wars and conquests began: revenge.

As much as humans likened themselves to virtuous beings of compassion and sincerity, the truth behind their sinful, deceptive nature was all too apparent beneath Muzan Kibutsuji’s apathetic gaze. There were many a times when the King of Demons often pondered about the complex, sinister nature of the human condition as he witnessed the many atrocities of the Land of the Rising Sun and its descendants. From the blood-soaked battles of the Warring States Period to the political strife that led to the Menji Period, the raven-haired male had observed humanity tear itself apart and rebuild itself countless times. Humanity’s thirst for power and control was only elevated by their darker streaks of emotion: anger, lust, envy and greed, resulting in pain, suffering and oppression that only sustained the vicious cycle of destruction and rebirth.

This was partially why he despised humans and desired immortality, disregarding mortals as a lower subspecies not worthy of his attention or respect. However, he hadn’t fully comprehended precisely why he abhorred humanity with such a vengeance.

That is, until he stumbled across that.

Muzan’s lips curled in a snarl of disgust, his revulsion etching deep lines upon his features as he scowled at the very thought of what he decided was humanity’s ultimate and most heinous of crimes. How human beings could even ponder such vile, depraved thoughts was beyond him and he was the ruler of a legion of cannibalistic immortal creatures of the night. However, when the relatively younger of his Upper Moons, Daki and Gyutaro, shed light on the collective thoughts and views found on the internet on the Demonslayer world and pointed out the ‘fanart’ and ‘fanfiction’ created by anonymous humans, he was aghast. Why?

Because humans dared to fucking ‘ship’ him with his Upper Moons, Kagaya Ubuyashiki and even that brat Tanjiro Kamado.

Since when he had gone from being the feared and aloof King of Demons to being a sexual deviant pimp who molested his Upper Moons, possessed carnal feelings of desire towards his most hated enemy and even dabbled in paedophilia on the side, Muzan did not know and did not care. All that he did care about was that he was furious: superbly so. He desired retribution and it would be bloody.

Unfortunately, there was a spanner in the works of his cruel acts of vengeance.

“Muzan-sama, I get that you’re pissed but you can’t go hunting down every crazy fangirl on the internet,” Daki had dryly remarked, the silver-haired beauty having mostly mollified her intense crush upon her Master after moving into the realm of Infinity Castle permanently, although the remnants remained within the permanent heat lingering in her cheeks. That heat, however, quickly abated when her pale eyes glanced at her phone, leaving her wincing when her Pinterest feed revealed rather suggestive art of Douma and Akaza. “Oh God, why? I just saw Douma x Akaza rape fetish art. I need bleach.”

“Wait, WHAT?!” Akaza was suitably mortified and repulsed at this disturbing phenomenon, the fiery-haired demon’s skin blanching as he snatched away Daki's phone as if to verify the authenticity of the image itself. Judging from the manner in which his gilded eyes blanked over and his jaw clenched as he bared his teeth like a rabid wolf, the silver-haired woman’s statement was undeniably true. He looked ready to break the device. “Are you fucking kidding me?! What kind of sicko thinks this?! I’m going to puke.”

“Be glad. At least you haven’t witnessed art of yourself in romantic relations with your brother.” Kokushibo’s tone was flat and emotionless, his six eyes still locked in the thousand-yard-stare it had adopted from the moment morbid curiosity had gotten the better of him and he had asked Gyutaro whom he was ‘shipped’ with. In his defence, the stoic swordsman held up rather well in the beginning, not at all reacting to the lurid pairings of him and Douma, him and Akaza etc. Hell, even the art of him and Muzan didn’t faze Kokushibo. No, it was the plethora of sensual artwork depicting Kokushibo with his brother, Yoriichi, that activated his deep-rooted PTSD and left him paralysed in place.

Gyutaro had spent the last fifteen minutes awkwardly patting his shoulder in sympathy, desperately attempting to assuage whatever traumatic wound had been afflicted on his soul. Fuck, Master Muzan would kill him if he managed to break his strongest Kizuki.

Douma, being Douma, on the other hand, was utterly enjoying every minute of this.

“Ooh, let me see!” The platinum-haired demon crooned, plucking the phone from Akaza’s numb fingers as he merrily scrolled through Pinterest without a care in the world. His opal eyes positively danced with delight as he laughed and offered running commentary on whatever he happened to see. “Akaza, you look so cute with a little collar and bell around your neck. We should get you one. Oh, here’s me and Master Muzan –ooh, Master, I didn’t know you were such a dom. Here’s Akaza and that Flame Hashira –I guess nothing says ‘I want to fuck you’ like a hole in the sternum…”

“Good for you, you're more depraved than Dazai,” Gyutaro confessed blithely, mentally apologizing to the suicidal maniac from an entirely separate fandom.

“Oi, Biwa Woman. If I give you the chance, promise you’ll kill me quick?” Akaza flatly queried, his tone of utmost dire gravity when his attention focused on the sullen and detached Nakime.

"Very well." The Biwa woman never hesitated, her expression as cold as stone as she reverently stroked the strings of her instrument and took Akaza's request in stride as if he had asked about the weather rather than imminent death.

“When will the sun come up so I can die?” Kokushibo asked no one in particular, his gaze still locked on the endless void of crippling pain and suffering.

“…Remind me precisely why I shouldn’t punish these insufferable ‘fangirls’ again?” Muzan enunciated through gritted teeth, the paper-thin threads of his temper drawing tighter by the moment as he grew increasingly closer to snapping. Forget the Blue Spider Lilly, he’d send his demons to devour each and every one of these abhorrent humans who dared to besmirch his name and reputation. The world would be a better place without them.

“Because it would be impossible to track down every single fangirl behind these ships and even if you did, it wouldn’t stop any of it,” Gyutaro enlightened him justly, the acid-green-haired pausing in his half-assed means of reassuring Kokushibo to arch a critical brow at Muzan. He could practically taste the sardonic venom oozing off of his unseemly form as Gyutaro scowled darkly and grimaced. “Besides, everyone in Demonslayer has to deal with these crazy ships. I get shipped with my own sister.”

“Hold your tongue,” Muzan growled menacingly, his tone low and dangerous, his tolerance and patience for this ridiculous situation depleting at astronomical rates.

“Speaking of tongue, Akaza, you sure do like sticking yours out a lot, don’t you?” Douma drawled smugly, his expression utterly devious as he showed Akaza the particular art he was viewing. It featured a rather lewd sketch of Akaza’s face covered in–

“I SWEAR TO MUZAN, I WILL END YOU DOUMA!”

“Look, if you really want to get revenge, why not try writing some fanfiction of your own, Master?” Daki suggested caustically, watching on indifferently as Akaza proceeded to lunge at a gleefully laughing Douma, earnestly attempting to kick the latter's head off. Having successfully regained her phone in the process, her glass-green gaze refocused on the screen and narrowed at whatever inappropriate artwork Douma had been scrutinizing. “Jeez, I’m going to have to scrub my eyeballs to get rid of that image. Anyway, like I was saying, if fans want to make you the pimp daddy of Infinity Castle–”

“I never want to hear those words out of your mouth again.” Muzan didn’t miss a beat.

Daki continued without hesitation, “—then why not make revenge fanfiction? If you want to make Kagaya Ubuyashiki the sultan of his own harem.”

“Or make Yoriichi an immortal sex addict with a brother fetish,” Gyutaro suggested darkly, his expression not at all a jest as he was obviously still repulsed by the implied incest between him and his sister and seeking an outlet for his frustration. When Kokushibo shivered violently at the mention of his brother's name, Gyutaro huffed and proceeded absently increase the volume his shoulder pats, his tone as dry as sawdust. “It’s okay. Your brother is dead and he died in the funniest way possible. You'll be fine.”

“It’s all entirely up to you,” Daki finished with a half-smile, completely ignoring the fact that her brother just chalked the number One Upper Moon’s trauma up to funny karma. Instead, she logged onto some fantasy game she enjoyed playing. Her face lit up immediately. “Hey, I got a summoning ticket! Let’s try a yolo roll.”

“Pray to Muzan that you don't fucking get a CE," Gyutaro muttered bitterly, his rugged features pinched with inexpressible chagrin as he gave up on consoling Upper Moon One entirely. At this point, Kokushibo’s head was flat on the table as he grumbled indistinguishably to himself.

Now, Muzan was no fool. He was well aware that this entire concept was expressed as a means of a joke, so to speak. It was entirely facetious simply because the very concept of a Demon King lowering himself to write petty fanfiction as vengeance was improbable. Nevertheless…

“Fanfiction, hmm?” Muzan mused to himself, not at all paying heed to the fact that Akaza was presently attempting to murder Douma in the background (“Take that, you bastard!” “Ooh, hit me baby one more time!” “STOP ENJOYING THIS ALREADY!”) and Kokushibo was in the midst of an existential crisis. This was how the first seeds of discord were sown into Muzan Kibutsuji’s mind, unravelling into sinister plot of vengeance.

This marked the beginning of the popular fanfiction phenomena that was: Fifty Shades of the Demonslayer Corps…

In the Demonslayer Corps, there were many obstacles you had to face and overcome. It was part and parcel of what shaped each one of them into the fierce fighters they were, hardening and strengthening their bonds and souls like the folded steel of a katana.

When they trained: they trained themselves to death. Therefore, after dealing with Rengoku-san putting him through ‘warm-up’ endurance exercises from Hell for the past two hours, needless to say, Tanjiro was not in the best of moods.

Then Zenitsu had to make it worst.

“Tanjiro! It got updated again! I wonder what this chapter is about.” Zenitsu was all but bubbling with excitement, the blonde boy practically frying Tanjiro’s braincells with the sheer number of sparkles he exuded as he waited for the chapter to load on his laptop. Tanjiro understood that some people enjoyed reading fanfiction and he had to admit that there were some works that were really intriguing and well written. He found the fiction describing his and Nezuko’s role reversal being particularly moving.

However, the good always comes with the bad and when it came to the specific fiction Zenitsu was hooked on, it fell straight into the latter.

Sighing aloud, the russet-haired rookie demonslayer winced as he approached Zenitsu, absently massaging the back of his neck as he grimaced at his friend. “Honestly, Zenitsu, I don’t understand how you read this stuff.”

“Well, excuse you. Fifty Shades of Demonslayer Corps is a work of art meant for mature audiences… Besides, I love how Dark Lord made Uzui gay for Rengoku-san. It’s hilarious,” Zenitsu snickered beneath his breath, reaping far too much enjoyment from the suffering of his fellow corps members. Then again, Zenitsu did laugh so hard that he fell off his chair when Dark Lord (the author of the aforementioned popular fanfiction) posted a chapter featuring an Inosuke, Sanemi and Tomioka threesome. Tanjiro had to prevent Shinezagawa and Inosuke from smashing the laptop and poor Tomioka-san was depressed for an entire week.

After several similar incidents –namely, the crossdressing Master, Shinobu the naughty nurse and Mitsuri the dominatrix –that resulted in many near-death experiences, Tanjiro had taken a decided stance against this fanfiction. However, didn’t deter Zenitsu from reading it.

“Look, I get that you find this funny. But stories like these can be very insensitive to the people they’re written about,” Tanjiro explained as he began reading over his exuberant companion’s shoulder. “It’s completely twisted and makes everyone in the Demonslayer Corps out to be sadistic deviants who– Wait, is that smut of Nezuko and I?! DID THEY MAKE ME OUT TO HAVE A SISTER FETISH?!”

He was appalled. No, he was sickened to the very fibre of his being. How could anyone think of something so, so demented?! Nezuko was his sister. She was practically a child and people actually liked this… Oh God, no, he was going to be sick.

“EHHHH?! THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING. HOW DO I REPORT THIS?!”

Tanjiro desperately began scrolling through to find the report tab, determined to make this author pay somehow. Unfortunately, in his rush to seek retribution, he didn’t notice the way Zenitsu had fallen deadly quiet. At least, not until the air began to pulse and crackle with electricity.

Uh oh.

“Uhh, Zenitsu?” Tanjiro began.

“Tanjiro…have you been doing these things to my precious Nezuko?” Zenitsu’s voice was deadly calm, the deadly calm before the most vicious of storms.

“W-what?! Zenitsu, of course not! Nezuko is my sister! I would never –”

“Thunder Breathing: First Form.”

“ZENITSU, WAIT!”

“Muzan-sama, don’t you think this has gone far enough?” Kokushibo asked, half-exasperated, half-resigned to his words not being heeded as he observed his Master post the latest chapter of his popular fanfiction. If anything, he had to admit that he was impressed that Muzan managed to create such a wildly successful story as revenge for the traumatic fiction they had encountered previously. However, the Kamado sibling incest hit a bit too close to home for him (after his own traumatic experience with sibling incest fanfiction).

Muzan sipped his tea with an expression of utter satisfaction. He could cause chaos for the Demonslayers without even stepping a foot out of his office. It was a win-win for him.

“I regret nothing.”

#demon slayer #i regret nothing #akaza #douma #muzan kibutsuji #kokushibo #demon slayer kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer corps #hashira #upper moons #kizuki #gyutaro #kny daki #tanjiro kamado #zenitsu agatsuma #crack #kny crack #modern au #my writing

[vigilante-izuku]

It’s been a day when you finally step into the elevator to go home. Your body is exhausted, drained, and all you can do is close your eyes to get even just a moment to recollect, to gather yourself back.

The elevator door dings open and your eyes snap open.

In front of you is a ridiculous gorgeous man. His clean shaved jaw, his striking beautiful nose, and then those deep brown eyes worthy of an artist pallet, all stun you.

And then he smiles, the kind of smile that seems so kind and touches his eyes.

You politely smile back.

You step aside in the lift out of reflex and he steps in. It’s just you two now.

“Hey thanks.” Of course his voice is dreamy. Why wouldn’t it be?

His sharp business attire makes you feel as if he’s going to pull out a feds badge or maybe try to sell your insurance. You simply keep you eyes on the elevator buttons trying not to be weird and flat out stare at this way too handsome man.

“I’m sorry,” suddenly the mystery elevator man speaks and you stiffen. “I don’t have any time so I’m simply going to come out and say what I need to say.”

Now you’re worried and really confused. Your face whips to the man who is staring so directly at you and your stomach drops. What was going on?

“My name is Marcus and I’m you’re guardian angel, i only have about five minutes until this elevator is going to snap and fall. I need you to step out with me on this next floor coming up.”

A moment passes.

And then you bust out laughing.

“What the fuck?” You wheeze. “Is this for a YouTube video? Or a tiktok?”

Is this what gets views these day?

Suddenly the man says your name.

Your blood runs cold. Your heart stops and you are sure your brain does a hard rest.

“What the fuck?” You repeat again but this time it’s a soft horrified whisper.

The elevator dings, a silent little thing but one that feels like a herald of something you can’t even describe. The doors slide open and no one is there on the floor.

Your heart hammers loud in your ears.

What the hell was going on? What do you do?

Your name is said strong, piercing through your thoughts and when you turn to the man in the elevator his eyes seem like coals on fire.

“Do you trust me?” His voice is steeled, confident, but so gentle. He’s not yelling or being rude.

And your mouth opens, nothing comes out. You don’t think it can. Your mind even goes blank.

Then the moment happens fast.

The whirl of machinery comes. It creaks and whines of metal clashing against metal. The elevator suddenly shakes a violent thing.

Your body is then picked up, actually scooped up into the arms of another. In a jump of a movement you’re on the elevator and then not. You’re on the other side of the door, on the safety of the campus floor.

You think you hear the flutter of wings. But it’s overshadowed by the metal screeching that rings out louder, crashing and groaning until finally a SNAP cracks in the air.

A gasp or maybe even a cry of panic jumps out of your throat as you whip your head back.

The elevator falls right before your eyes.

Your body is slowly, steadily lowered to the ground until your feet touch the bad tacky colored carpet. Your legs want to give out but your hands stay clutching the blazer of the man still standing steadily beside you.

Someone yells to call maintenance or 911 and someone pushes past you to look down the elevator. This shove of another body jolts you back to reality, knocks your soul back into you.

You immediately turn to look at your elevator man and find-

No one is there besides you.

(or aka in honor of pedro's birthday today and me being so proud of you, here is guardian angel marcus pike OK BYE)

THE WAY THIS HAS ME GASPING OMG ERIKA 😍😍😍😍😍😇😇😇😇

#eri's answers #GUARDIAN ANGEL MARCUS PIKE LETS GOOOOO #marcus pike x reader

[cantsayidont]

1986. This UK-market hardcover reprint annual (whose cover is allegedly by Bryan Talbot, although it doesn't look it) contains Grant Morrison's first Batman story, a moderately florid prose story with illustrations by the late Garry Leach, featuring a Catwoman obviously based more on the '60s TV show than the contemporary comics:

Even 20 years later, Morrison's prose was frequently cringe-worthy, and this is not an auspicious introduction. If you're aching to read this literary gem, I'll put the full text behind the cut.

First page:

There are secret places under the city; closed-off storm drains, obsolete subway tunnels, the cellars of demolished buildings, Down in the dark where nobody goes, there is a network, a maze of buried galleries, Down in the dark a shadow is moving.

Listen! You can almost hear its soft and steady breathing. It has found something. Something very special. The most secret place of all. The woman with green eyes looked around. Her walk through the darkness had taken the best part of three hours. She had clambered gracefully over falls of debris and waded through flooded lightless tunnels. She had walked sure-footedly in places where the sun had never shone, until at last, shimmying her slim body through a crack in the rock, she had come upon the cavern. The eye slits in her mask held scotoptic lenses that allowed her to see in the dark and when she saw what was in the cavern, a smile spread slowly across her fine-boned features. Like the Cheshire Cat she vanished down into the shadows, grinning with strong, white teeth.

Bruce Wayne thumbed the remote control. He’d had enough of the Johnny Carson Show. Not even Superman’s guest appearance could hold his attention. He wondered why his friend agreed to these chat shows and how he managed to maintain his good humour even after the old joke about wearing his underpants on the outside had been trotted out for the thousandth time. The TV went dead and Wayne stared into space. When space became boring he decided to call his butler.

At precisely that moment Alfred Pennyworth, tall, thin and immaculately dressed, opened the door.

“Master Bruce …” he began.

Wayne turned around, startled. “Alfred!” he said. “Don’t tell me you’ve added telepathy to your list of accomplishments? I was just going to give you a call. Fancy a game of chess?”

Alfred looked uneasy. “I’m afraid I shall have to decline, Master Bruce, I just popped in to let you know that the intruder alarm has been activated.”

Wayne leapt up, with an athlete’s economy of movement.

“Where?” he said, making for the door.

“In the Batcave, sir. The Trophy Room …”

Wayne was already half-way down the hall.

“Will you be requiring any assistance, sir?” Alfred called after him.

“I’ll let you know.”

Wayne disappeared round a corner. Alfred sighed, tidied the cushions on the sofa and unplugged the TV set.

So  that there would be no noise, he went down by the stairs behind the grandfather clock instead of using the elevator. The lights threw his shadow ahead of him, casting a monstrous black bat shape on the

Second page:

whitewashed walls. He ran lightly through the computer vault of the Batcave and when he reached the Trophy Room he flipped a switch, activating banks of floodlights. In the sudden harsh brightness, nothing moved.

“Whoever you are you're in deep trouble,” said The Batman and his voice was deadly and as cold as December rain, “Come out!”

Nothing moved.

The Batman surveyed the Trophy Room with eyes as hard as diamond shards. This was the most impressive part of the Batcave; an enormous limestone cavern, as big as a cathedral. Down here were stored all the souvenirs of The Batman’s bizarre cases. There was a life-size mechanical Tyrannosaur from Dinosaur Island. There was a chess game with pawns as tall as men and a penny as big as a Ferris wheel. An enormous, eerily lit Joker mask leered down upon a giant dice shaker and a glass cabinet with a bat costume inside. There was an Egyptian sarcophagus and several dangerous umbrellas. There was a very tall penguin and a perfectly normal sized dollar bill. There were over a thousand trophies, free-standing or in cases, utterly strange or quite conventional. There were all these things and one thing more …

“Come out!” The Batman said again. He tilted his head and sniffed. On the edge of the slightly damp, subterranean smell of the cavern he could detect another scent He sniffed again and suddenly knew who was in there with him. He knew and was on his guard.

The woman with green eyes watched him move among the trophies and prepared to strike. She ran the thongs of a whip through her gloved fingers and waited for him to come closer, smiling all the while.

The Batman stopped in front of a shattered case and if he knew before, then this was the final confirmation of the intruder’s identity. He turned, with her name on his lips, and something came whistling through the air towards him.

“Catwoman …” He ducked and the whip smashed what remained of the glass in the cabinet.

“Fancy meeting you here,” said the Catwoman. She cast a critical eye around the cavern. “Wouldn’t stamp collecting take up a little less room?”

“How did you get in here?” The Batman asked, standing up, eyeing her warily. He knew better than to underestimate her. She cracked the whip once more, like a lion tamer.

“Oh, I thought I’d set up operations again in Gotham," she told him. “I came down searching for a new location for my Catacomb lair and instead I stumbled across this place. Lucky for me. A catastrophe for you.”

“Remind me to block up the hole after I’ve taken you back to prison,” said The Batman.

She only smiled wickedly. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Once I discover exactly where under the city we are, I’ll know where to find your front door next time. And so will everybody else. Your secret will be out.”

“But you won’t find out!” The Batman said, allowing himself one icy smile to match hers. “You might have done if you hadn't given yourself away. I smelled your perfume as soon as I came down here.”

He started to advance. “And then when I saw that your cat-o-nine-taiIs was missing from its case, I was sure.”

She backed off. “I was merely reclaiming what was mine. Like a closer look?"

Suddenly the whip snaked out, lashing across Batman’s face. He pitched back, briefly blinded by razor-edged pain.

“What’s a bat but a flying mouse, after all?" he heard her say. “Let’s play cat and mouse.” Her voice grew fainter as she darted away. The Batman shook his head to clear his vision. Blinking through bruised eyelids he heard, nearby, the sound of a ratchet being pulled back.

“I see everything’s in perfect working order,” Catwoman hissed. “Purr-feet working order ...”

There was a sharp detonation. The Batman hit the floor. Something heavy whined past his ear and clipped a strip out of his cape. He did not have to see to know she had used the harpoon cannon. There was a splintering thud as the harpoon smashed through the side wall of a doll’s house. The Batman rolled into cover and looked out through stinging, tear-filled eyes. He was on the chessboard but Catwoman was nowhere to be seen.

She came from behind. The Batman whirled too late to stop the toppling chess piece from pinning his legs. “Checkmate!” shrieked the Catwoman.

Hefting the huge rook off his legs, Batman groggily pulled himself to his feet. One ankle throbbed like a bad tooth. He scanned the Trophy Room for signs of his enemy. When he spotted her, his mouth corrugated into a grimace. She was running up the steep spine of the Tyrannosaur, as surely as a tabby on a fence. When she reached the shoulders, she pulled

Third page:

back the hatch that led into the head of the dinosaur and stepped inside.

The Batman ran, ignoring the pains that thumped through his leg. He ran, while the Trophy Room echoed to the noise of machinery starting to move. With a grinding shudder, the monster’s tail twitched. It twitched once more and then it swung in a flailing arc and demolished a helicopter.

“What a wonderful place you have here!” Catwoman’s voice came through the loudspeaker in the Tyrannosaur’s mouth. “Much more fun than Disneyland!”

The monster lurched and began to move. Its tail thrashed through a row of display cases which burst like bombs, showering The Batman with glass.

“This whole night’s been one long catalogue of disasters for you, Batman dear” mocked the monster, with Catwoman’s voice. His mind racing, Batman ran under the dinosaur, out of her sight. In that comparative safety he reviewed his situation. He had been taken by surprise. He was injured and things looked bad. His only hope lay in turning Catwoman’s own nature against her. Unclipping the radio from his belt, he signalled Alfred.

“Where are you?” purred his enemy. “Come out, come out, the game’s not over.”

The tail shuddered once more, then the dinosaur stopped. The hatch opened and Catwoman jumped down, landing on her feet. “Batman …” Her voice was a lethal whisper and she moved like a hunting cat, flexing the claws on her gloves. “Where are you?”

But he had gone, melted into thin air like a man of grey vapour. She drew her lips back over her teeth and padded off in search of him. She searched the lab and the garage; she searched the storeroom and she searched the computer vault.

And that was where she found the stairs. At the top of those stairs she would find the key to The Batman’s secret identity. She could wipe out his entire operation at a stroke. Or it could be a trap. Perhaps she should escape now and return at her leisure.

She looked back at the caves and she looked up the stairs and finally, overcome by the need to know, she ran up the steps, purring. With the contented expression of a cat that has gorged itself on cream, she opened the door in the grandfather clock.

And Alfred, waiting there, spritzed her face with gas. The satisfaction changed to surprise and then to rage until at last her face went blank and Catwoman keeled over like a doll. Batman caught her.

“Everything all right, sir?” asked Alfred.

“Fine, Alfred,” replied The Batman. “Just fine.”

When she woke up she was in the Batmobile, in downtown Gotham and headed for Police Headquarters.

“Tough luck, Selina,” The Batman consoled her. “Maybe next time.” Catwoman simply snarled.

“I knew you’d try the stairs” he went on. “You just couldn’t resist it. I suppose it proves what they say . . ”

She glared at him with eyes as green as gemstones. “I know. I know,” she spat “It’s not funny.”

The Batman smiled, pulling into the Police parking lot. “Oh, I think it is,” he said. “Just like in the old story: Curiosity Killed the Cat.”

#comics #batman #official batman annual #grant morrison #garry leach #bryan talbot #catwoman #selina kyle #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #batcat #the contemporary comics were iffy on the question of whether selina knew bruce was batman #with even then-editor len wein admitting he wasn't sure #the smart money was on “yes” #but denny o'neil was so aghast at that idea that when he took over they were barely even permitted to interact #even so when she finally officially learned the truth in hush #the reaction was “wait -- hasn't she known for years?” #but in any case this story presumes she definitely does not know

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Steve had always known that Dustin loved him. It was the small gestures, the smile when Steve picked him up, the "if you die, I die" in the Russian elevator. Especially the last one, made even stronger by the fact that Dustin refused to save himself and Erica despite Steve's insistence, he rushed back and made sure Steve and Robin would live to see another day. He was like a little brother to him, cheeky, annoying but with a heart of gold that somehow found Steve Harrington worthy.

Still, Steve hoped that in face of danger, Dustin would save himself. That he would understand that it was Steve's responsibility to protect him, not the other way around. He didn't see much for a future for himself, but Dustin? The kid was as bright as the sun. He would go far and Steve prayed he wouldn't throw his life away for someone less worthy. Like himself.

Steve had always thought, hoped even, that the "if you die, I die" would become weaker the more they lost, the more they had to sacrifice. But as he was bleeding out on the cracked ground in the Upside Down and pleaded with Dustin to go with the others, to jump through the closing gates, he was proven wrong. Because Dustin just smiled at him through the tears, grabbed Steve's hand and put pressure on his wounds, no matter how hopeless it was. "I'm not leaving this time, Steve," he said and they both felt the familiarity of the situation weighing on them, the ghost of Eddie never too far. "Besides, I told you before. If you die, I die."

#steve harrington #dustin henderson #stranger things drabble #angstflayer #stranger things #if you die I die