#Annihilation Instinct | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

evilminji · 2 months

Text

You know that Post about Danny becoming the False Villian, Expose?

To train all these kids, who are running around with shitty priorities and the self preservation instincts of lemmings? Because they were arrogant. Didn't listen to the concerns of those they "protect". Didn't listen to the concerns of a fellow Hero. So now, they WILL learn, at the hands of a "Villian".

Cause he TRIED pointing things out nicely.

Was met with a brick wall of condescension and dismissal.

THAT post.

You know where he would not only do that, but go APESHIT into it? Because he is a Hero and holy SHIT these kids are gonna get themselves killed? Gonna kill somebody ELSE? Have fucked up priorities and live in a fucked up system they do not even question?

Boku No Hero Academia.

Why the FUCK are you posing for the cameras? Why the absolute FUCK are you beating that man down on the worst day of his life, instead of TALKING him down? Why are you jumping too conclusions and splitting up and playing for the crowds? Why. The ABSOLUTE AND UNFORGIVING FUCK do you seem to ASSUME that every innocent soul, that doesn't look default generic human, is the AGGRESSOR in every situation you arrive at?!

Danny would have a conniption. Just a full body rage seizure, as his Ghost-y lil brain LIT UP with the BURNING NEED to fix everything, everywhere, at once. Right. Now.

But do they listen?

Ha!

Cool, cool cool cool cool..... he's gonna burn the entire country dow- No! That way lies Dan! Breathe, Fenton. Just.... Breathe. You can fix this.

The older ones may be set in their ways, but the younger ones are still learning. They can get better. BE better. They're kids. They just need opportunities to grow. And they WANT to be Heros, right? All he has to do is show them HOW. Poke their weak spots and point out their mistakes.

He can do that!

And just? Out of NO WHERE? This foreign villian decends upon Japan? What's worse, seeming to TARGET HEROS STUDENTS. Young, just debuted, Heros. Everyone freaks out. Older Heros closing rank, where they can, to try and Protect These Kids(tm).

But they can't be everywhere at once.

And this menace? Seemingly CAN be. Can make copies of himself. Use Ice. Fly. Energy beams. Intangiblity. Invisibility! What monster are they DEALING with?! That plays the flamboyant fool, dispensing deadly peril, only to then turn around, and in chilling sobriety absolutely destroy seasoned heroes?

That LECTURES them while doing it.

He's undermining the people's faith in the system!

(But should they have faith in it? Doesn't he have good points? Aren't they getting stronger, faster, better heroes for facing him? Where did he come from? Hasn't anyone else noticed that not a single civilian has gotten hurt, at his hands? That he annihilates any true villians foolish enough to think he's on their side?)

(How many "thugs" and "minor villians" have these guys not noticed, they wonder, who have just... disappeared. Come into contact with this guy and then? Stopped. Turned up somewhere else, weeks later, healthy again. Smiling with illegal lifestyle support gear, a new job, a new life, and better future. Finally free of the violence.)

Amity may be at peace by the time Danny turns 20(-ish? Maybe? Is he? Clockwork! How old IS he? You've sent him on so many of your weird timebend-y missions he lost count!). But? Danny is a Heroic Protector Spirit. His Obsession has demands. And his Human sides Space Obsession will never really be quite strong enough to support him.

You know, since it can't die.

Just because it HAS a Soul aspect to it, doesn't mean it'll ever come into practical use. So? The more powerful Heroic instincts it is! And honestly, he wasn't even planning to STAY. Just check the place out. You know, compare his options. But... *twitch*

They Are Doing It Wrong.

So now he lives here!

.....it's awful! They don't even have any space exploration! No studying, no stars, no futuristic moon base! Nothing! And he doesn't even SPEAK Japanese! In human form? He has no idea what anyone is saying! At least the Sorta-But-Not skeleton Ghost guy across the hall is helping. Dude might be taller then his DAD. Seriously ecto-starved though. It's like he somehow GAVE all his body's ecto to someone else!

How's he supposed to heal like that?! Guy really needs to learn how to take care of himself.

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @lolottes @nerdpoe @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation

#dp x bnha #dpxbnha #minji's writing #dpxbnha prompt #dp x bnha prompt

455 notes · View notes

fly-in-butter · 8 months

Text

He is such a cute grandpa I cant

#atomic heart #professor lebedev #annihilation instinct

40 notes · View notes

moondirti · 11 months

Text

animalic (5)

← chapter four // series masterlist

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader rating: mature word count: 3.4k summary: an unwelcome confrontation warnings: enemies to lovers, violence, blood and injury, mentioned death, fighting, angst, morally questionable characters, miguel o'hara is not nice notes: this chapter caused several headaches and i don't even like the end result, but i can't pick at it forever sooo. enjoy!

While you’ve never been renowned for making the most accurate of assumptions, there are certain patterns you’ve come to expect in order to have survived this long. To never have a glass of orange juice after brushing your teeth, or maintain eye contact while being threatened. That a kilogram of antimatter produces ten billion times the energy of chemical combustion upon annihilation, and that any quantity larger than that should not be contained.

Of such paradigms, you’ve noted only one to be entirely reliable. That a spider-hero would always fight crime, whatever the greater good.

“Absolutely not.”

You might’ve been mistaken.

“Those people are in danger, O’Hara.” You strain, trembling against the cough battering your chest. Your diaphragm spasms with every stride he takes, crushed against the curve of his broad shoulder, desperate to make up for lost breath.

He lets the plea hang, countenance obscured from your view. With the way he carries you now, all that meets your eye is navy – navy, and the bright red geometry stretched over the brawn of his back. The nanotech suit warps to fit every muscle, glinting as they push forward to meet the sun. And it dips, right between his shoulder blades, lining a clear contour of the anatomy he fails to hide. A dosser of intercostal sinew. Tapered laterals, cinched to curve at–

Your core broils uncomfortably, and his grip tightens around your knees, levelling up to the degree of his treatment thus far. After slinging off that rooftop, he’s made sure to keep you particularly close, like the effort could prevent your powers from manifesting. Like you could make it happen.

(Though, he doesn’t know that you can’t.)

But he’s smarter than that. If nothing else, it serves as a cautionary gesture. A reminder. You’re disarmed – quite literally – the only force between your nose and the sidewalk being the behemoth of a man whose body you’re strewn across. And, if you could control it – transcend the material at any given whim – it would be the extent and end of your efforts. Not with the neon webs binding you, nor your clear lack of skill.

The wind quivers with the distant sounds of calamity. You’re drawn back to the very real situation at hand.

“You make for a lousy excuse of a spiderman if your first instinct isn’t to save them!” You raise your voice, hoping to be heard over the sirens that blare towards the destruction. By counting them as they pass – two, four, six – you’re able to assign a severity to it. But it isn’t, won’t be, enough. You’d heard the screeches; primordial, clawing out from beyond the capabilities of an ordinary threat. You’d felt them – seeping into your bones, grating the spongy marrow – until Miguel had gathered enough obduration to reel you in the complete opposite direction.

Speaking of–

You tilt your head upwards, surveying the street down which he runs. It’s deserted, yet the presence of its civilians is slower to leave, a molasses that slinks towards locked doors. It’s thick with an apathetic acceptance, bordering on resignation – bitter and not unlike your own resting inclinations. You’ve never known an evacuation to happen this fast, especially this far out from the scene; people are stubborn like that, refusing to face what isn’t in front of them. That is to say, they might be used to it.

“You’re not even going the right way, dickhead!”

Of all things, that makes him stop.

(Of course it does.)

Your form flops uselessly as he turns to make sense of his surroundings. There’s the sign – 30 St and 7th – which should give any New Yorker an idea, but he doesn’t linger on it. Instead, he shoots a web to wrap around the railway of a fire escape, propelling the both of you onto an accompanying balcony. Swallowing the bile that swells along your throat at the sudden jump, you shoot him an incredulous look, which he chooses to ignore as he drops you to the floor.

His mask retreats, hair bouncing upon escape from its smothering embrace. For all that he tries to hide his pinched lips, you sense the scepticism emanating off him in waves.

You take a moment to stew over it, examining him while he calculates the path of your previous chase. From the convenience, to the corner, and into a nearby store lot. Perhaps he hadn’t been paying notice – which you sincerely doubt, considering the efficiency with which he treats everything else. Could he really be unfamiliar with the layout of a city his job is to protect? Or–

It occurs to you steadily, washing up on the fringes of your arrogance; a realisation in pieces.

Nueva York. 2099.

A metropolis. Likely one with no grid system.

Your cackle beckons his attention, severe stare snapping to your grin.

“We’re on Seventh.” You specify.

He cocks his head, nostrils flaring. Warning or question – you have a hard time deciphering the difference.

“The convenience was on Sixth and Third. You know, third avenue, East of Fifth?” You push it, spurred by your awareness that he, in fact, does not know.

“¡Ándale pues! What exactly is your point?”

“We continued down east until you bit me, judging by the way the sun hit the lot upon rising. But now, we’re on Seventh, on the other side of Fifth.”

His jaw clicks, pulsing in irritation. You toe the line of what you can get away with, how long you can drag this out before he decides you’re not worth the trouble.

“West. You’re heading West, and–” Wriggling, you adjust your posture into one more reflective of your current pride. “If you have any hope of finding that day pass, then you’re gonna need to go back.”

The bid translates, weighty, bubbling like the arid smoke off nuclear strife. He processes it, understands – you watch as it unfolds in that intimidatingly intelligent glare – yet the circumstance takes a while to establish itself. Even when it does, he doesn’t grant you the satisfaction of a full blown breakdown. No. His hands just find his hips, chin sloping to the sky.

“No puedo más, no puedo más, no–”

You probably shouldn’t rub it in any further.

“Since it’s on our way–”

"No." He snaps, voice laced with a prickling irritation that sears through his supposed indifference. The heat of it greets you, wiping the simper that had begun stretching your cheeks. “You must think this is some game, and while that might explain the shit you’ve pulled in the past, I have a responsibility. I can’t interfere with their canon.”

“So, what? You’re just gonna let them die?”

His expression lifts, brows rising expectantly, like he’s imploring you to shut up without his verbal confirmation.

Right.

It starts like a taut bowstring, straining as it verges on release.

On one end, there’s Apollo; drawing his arrow, a god amongst men. The direction with which he aims his weapon can be seen as prophetic – plague was always meant to befall the crowd at his mercy, their fates little more than a thread of mass design. Some call it righteous – epithets dedicated to his name – agreed upon by the same men who claim that rational means right. Some craft sculptures in his visage, this muse of the kouros, likening stone to flesh and deluding the observer that the two can be synonymous. Nietzsche, Bernini. You, yourself, had managed to believe that the muscle rippling below you could be anything but an Athenian tragedy.

You linger on how startlingly poetic it all is, and the string pulls tighter. You’ve never claimed to be a hero, but you have the instinct, just the same. He, on the other hand, seems entirely dismissive of the urge you assumed would wreck him too.

(Partially your fault. You know better than to expect the obvious from him – that’s his pattern.)

As the two of you veer closer to the havoc, the arrow discharges, striking the tension that’s kept you still thus far. When it snaps, it shatters, congealing to form a beset of sounds, sights, fear. Heaving sobs from a limping group of friends – the middle one rapidly losing blood from what you can tell. The pungent clog of burning debris, fed by the ash that lays suspended, mid-air. The painful creak of metal collapsing in on itself, peppered amongst the constant buzz of radio static. Miguel curbs to a stop, hidden in the notch of an alleyway, and uses the cover to reposition you in his carry. You go from slung over his shoulder to laid across his arms – not quite bridal style, but a placement similar enough that he retains a solid hold of you.

His mask comes back up, concealing the cynicism that had begun to creep up onto you both. You scoff at the unambiguity of the action, the parallel it poses to the reality at hand. He blocks himself to the obvious, the avoidable.

Glowering, you trace his line of vision to the encompassing wreckage. The street appears hauntingly familiar, thrumming with the hurried echoes of a recent memory. It lacks the colourful components – the vivid signage, the star speckled windows – yet, you recognize it all the same. The very avenue you frantically traversed only hours ago. Your companion, too, begins to grasp the truth, and you find yourself biting your cheek, a twinge of unease settling in as the revelation hits you: that perhaps you had divulged too much, far surpassing the realm of personal gain.

Yeah, the day pass is here. And you can only hope that he won’t find it.

For now, though, it appears to be the least of your worries.

A crimson creature prowls along the fringes of the decimated ruins – deliberate, relaxed, like a predator with its teeth already halfway dug in its meal – circling a man clad in a lab coat. Its size is menacing enough; standing at seven feet, with limbs as thick as pipes. Yet, what truly strikes you are the protruding bulges flanking either side of its jaw, and the white, emblematic eyes gazing out from upon its face.

“Spider-person?” You whisper, not so much looking for clarification as you were putting the possibility out there. Miguel is unwavering, dead-set on waiting the interaction out.

“Something like that.” He affirms.

“Y’know, I remember you, doc!” The creature jibes, its inflection nearing maniacal. “You sat on my jury! Yes, yes. Hard to forget a shiner like that.” Laughing, it points to the balding patch atop its victims head. He trembles, bowing in a silent cry.

“O’Hara–”

“Wraith.” He warns.

“Sixty seven years! Not even you look that old, ‘course you don’t understand how damning that sentence was! But you see, I got lucky. Some higher being must’ve taken pity on me, enough to grant me this miracle of a symbiote. Mhm, yeah–” He skips closer to his prey, considering him in the new light. “‘Cause now I can do things like…” A sharp blow echoes. The glassy spear, red as the flesh it extends from, skewers through the doctor’s chest, a spout of blood following through on the other end. “This!”

Miguel’s palm slaps over your mouth, knee supporting the portion of your body he releases whilst angling you away from the scene. You’re thankful for it, despite the overwhelming anger you bear against him. You’ve no trust in the horror that wracks you suddenly, all at once. It launches you back to that convenience, the robbery. How powerless you had been to stop the clerk from dying out, your hoodie fruitlessly wedged to her neck. You’d been spared the grief so far – the blur of the last day tamping to little more than an aching numbness. Yet you should have appreciated that it couldn’t last; guilt is far too familiar a prospect for you to have expected it to let off so soon.

(Your mistake.)

“Oops. Did that go through your heart? My bad, doc.” It howls, stuck in its own stand-up routine. “You’d been doing your… erm– civil duty, sure.” The loud squelch of gore triggers the imagery for you, regardless of your averted gaze. The limb-turned-spear being pried out from between his ribs, caked in bits of tissue.

Dead. You could’ve prevented it.

He could have.

From behind the veil of unshed tears, you watch as he ponders the risk of retracting his hand. You betray nothing, blinking back the hot dismay from your eyes, and instead meet his regard in cold defiance. Slowly, as though your apparent sensibility means anything, he removes the muzzle.

You contemplate screaming, to coax the creature from the group of people it has surrounded and make it Miguel's problem to handle.

Then, you remember your rather unsavoury predicament. How prone you are to harm with your limbs locked; you aren’t the best in combat, but you still could’ve stood a chance at survival if it wasn’t for your restraints.

Your captor reaffirms his grip, tucking you to his figure as he creeps up to a corner. His back remains glued to the brick wall, obscured in shadow. The stance is primed – far from the hesitant sidle he’d adopted before. It isn’t hard to figure out why; you see it too, buried under a pile of trash bags, on the other side of the road. Purple, luminescent.

The day pass.

As if on cue – choreographed by a sadistic deity with no favour for anyone involved – you glitch.

It doesn’t last long, but it’s enough for you to fall to the ground, erupting in a pained groan. The creature twists to lay its terror on your curled frame, shaded by a man who – despite his vast height – is dwarfed in comparison to its colossal self.

“Better start learning not to ignore my spidey sense! I’d felt you tiptoein’ over there,” It growls, neck stretching in preparation for attack.

“We’re not here for you.” Miguel urges.

“No? That hurts my feelings, and here I was thinking you wanted to be friends.” At the feral rip of its taunt, it lunges, tearing through the space separating you. The spider-man, in turn, dodges the barrelling assault, swinging in a blur of motion to a wreck not far off. You thank God for his flashy suit; the creature seems to forget you completely, pivoting to charge at him again.

You force yourself to look away, sickened at the unhinged savagery with which it thrashes. There are people still around, crippled by quickly debilitating injuries, the paramedics meant to aid them now amongst the lost. This is what you wanted – the opportunity to help – and of course you’re still hindered by the asshole who’d refused you in the first place. Desperation weighs heavy on your chest as your eyes scan the spoilage, seeking anything you could use to cut yourself free. And there, you catch it – the sharp end of a broken gutter, its jagged edge catching the afternoon sun.

Using your heels as anchors, you push yourself across the coarse pavement. It isn’t a long way, thankfully, but sweat already starts to dampen your shirt by the time you reach the potential lifeline. Angling yourself, you press the webs to the serrated metal, ready to start shoving. That is, until you remember Miguel; how he sat on your legs, his talons performing much the same feat. He made sure to hold your wrists apart, so you didn’t suffer damages he didn’t intend.

You remedy your approach, arms straining to separate, then thrust downwards. The telltale signs of your success come as pops, like elastic bands splintering. Then, it’s the easing pressure on your skin, irritated and surely marked in places where the binds come undone.

The makeshift blade catches your elbow once you’re halfway down, burying deep enough to touch bone. The world narrows to the searing intensity that blazes up your nerves, eclipsing all else. You almost forget your goal, your brain stirring signals to pull away, but the fight that rages in your peripheral is only growing more barbaric. Alarmingly, Miguel is losing.

If he dies, you’re next, and it’d all be in vain.

Biting your tongue, you stifle the pain and continue pressing. The gutter inches sideway, ripping through flesh and web like butter, the sleeves of your top mangling at its lip. Miraculously, you stay awake for the time it takes to finally get your arms loose. It’s harder to preserve that triumph when you sit up, though, dizziness distorting the plan of action you’d set for yourself.

(Get… get the people to safety. Then, your legs. No–

Free your legs, get the people to safety. And… what?

The day pass. Yeah.

But Mig–)

Your body moves with an unsettling disconnect from your own command. Unable to fully grasp the dissonance, you blanch in bewilderment as you navigate the clearest cut path through it all. A dance in a mechanical rhythm; pulling the webs off your calves, running over to the nearest civilian, and helping them up on their feet. And again. And again.

There’s a boy, young enough that you worry he doesn’t understand you’re harmless. His cherubic face is coated in a grey layer of dust, disturbed only by the tear marks that run from big eyes. His foot has been crushed, stormy blue blotching his knee. You dismiss the agony of your numerous wounds and crouch to pick him up, hugging him to your chest.

New squadrons of emergency services trickle in, careful to leave their sirens off as they round the corner. It’s an odd enough choice that it distracts you from the child’s fingers, which dig into your abrasion for purchase. An ensemble of prospects occur to you.

When you hand him off to an awaiting EMT, it clicks.

What’d the creature call itself? A symbiote?

(You haven’t always been science-oriented.

Freshman year of college, you’d joined as an undeclared major within the school of arts and architecture. ‘Course, you only had your general education requirements to fulfil at the time; useless classes that fit your self-imposed four day weekend, meant to do fuck all as your tuition went to waste. Needless to say, your ambition had been directed at more carnal pursuits.

Then, there was astronomy. It’d awakened your curiosity for the cosmos.

Astro 8, to be exact. Life in the Universe. Your post-midterm lesson had been on a recently discovered, space-faring civilization. Symbiotes – they were called – based on the initial assumption that they thrived in mutual beneficial relationships with other lifeforms. But the projection that flickered for its class of drowsy students entailed another truth entirely. Darkened bullet points in big, bold letters. Known weakness.

Fire, and sound.)

You sprint towards a nearby cop car, its door wide open and the driver's seat vacant. It’s instinctual, devoid of consideration. A singular objective dominates you, beyond the day pass – to kill that thing. Not for Miguel, who’s choked in its gnarled hand. Not for yourself, or your deep-rooted desire for heroism. No. Just for them – the boy and that group of friends, the doctor who still lays dead on the scene. For the sake of this world, and to reconcile the life you took just last night, as if such a trade-off could absolve you of the weight of your sins.

Stepping on the gas, you accelerate abruptly, gaining speed with every pothole you drive over. It looms ahead, crouched in front of a hollowed-out apartment complex, suffocating the futurist spider-man and vibrating with glee. If you can align it – aim and time it just right…

You activate the wail siren. Your hypothesis is validated when it screeches in response to the racket, throwing Miguel off to the side.

Good. He won’t be collateral.

You grab a gun from the cupholder on the dash, throwing it on the pedal to keep it down, then jump to the backseat.

The impact is seismic; a violent convergence of metal and brick and brawn that sends shockwaves rippling throughout your being. You become captive to the merciless momentum, forcefully propelled against the leather cushions. Chronic whiplash shreds upon the vulnerable muscles holding the weight of your concussed head; its talons raking through the fibres, pulling apart the once sturdy tissue. A relentless ring envelops the cacophony of noise, and silences it into one, tender hum.

You’re hauled out the window, detained in the embrace of some unspecified form, which settles above you for cover as the building comes crumbling down.

Or – not unspecified.

That mix of patchouli and musk.

Your consciousness turns to black as you're buried beneath the rubble.

chapter six →

follow @moondirti-archive and turn on post notifs to be alerted of future updates!

1K notes · View notes

papasmoke · 6 months

Text

Biden represents the petrified skeleton of the democratic party machine as it exists today: untethered from the labor and civil rights base that once gave it power and openly self-serving in its political pursuits. The patronage network of Delaware that birthed him like an Uruk-Hai emerging from the flesh pits of Isengard produced a political animal who instinctively understood that in order to succeed you had to pledge yourself to capital. His career has been defined by placating credit card companies and weapons manufacturers. "Nothing will fundamentally change" was the campaign promise he gave behind closed doors to wealthy executives in 2020 but it might as well be his lifetime mantra.

A republican in charge right now would be egging the world on towards the sweet kiss of global military confrontation and nuclear annihilation because American Conservatism is at its heart a death cult, but the democratic party's incessant need to perpetuate itself means that they are willing to effectively do the same thing while thinking they're making the rational choice. To undermine the military indistrual complex by meaningfully reigning in Israel would likely mean the death of the democratic party as it exists and that is something that a machine man like Biden cannot do.

922 notes · View notes

caparrucia · 7 months

Text

Listen to me.

If you learn one thing, learn this: Learn to say "This is not for me" and internalize that it is not a moral judgment or a valid target for contempt. Learn to say "this is Different from what I do" and not make it a fucking rallying war cry. Learn to say "this is New and Unknown" and don't let yourself be swept by hysteric, mindless fear.

This isn't about fiction. This isn't about media. This is about the fact you've been trained by engagement-driven algorithms to react to anything that isn't painstakingly and specifically tailored to you personally as a deadly offense. This is about the fact that it's 2023 and in twenty twenty fucking three, you look at accessibility options, foreign cuisine and anything you can instinctively term "Other" and feel perfectly justified in becoming a fucking contemptible goblin, full of mockery and disdain, because the thought of something not directly benefiting you or made for you personally makes you so fucking angry, you need to immediately destroy it.

Listen to me.

That is poison. That will fucking kill you. It will kill your communities and unravel your relationships and leave you alone and miserable and raging, a prime target for any kind of radicalizing influence that offers to explain why everything is on fire all the time.

The Other is not the enemy.

The Unknown is not a harbinger of destruction.

The Unfamiliar is not here to destroy all you hold dear.

Listen to me.

Find the poison in your soul. Find the impulse to lash out in revulsion and disgust. Find the part of you that wants to annihilate anything that isn't you. Like you.

Kill it instead.

Burn it to ashes and use them to sow a garden in your soul. Tend the fields until Compassion and Curiosity and Humility grow there instead.

Listen to me.

We've bled and fought and bit and swore, until we evolved the ability to see in others a mirror of ourselves. What you seek to destroy is humanity itself, in others but also in yourself.

#shut up rie

529 notes · View notes

tongjaitongjai · 1 year

Text

Cryptic God!Merlin & Number1Worshipper!Mordred au - part 2

(Kinda an escalation of this post ) the Magic ban was lifted for a while now and they definitely has encountered a few weird sorcerers/Druids who is in Emrys cult.

So, when Arthur first meets calm and collected Mordred, a druid who asks to be knighted instead of licking Merlin he is very relieved like OH GOD YES FINALLY A NORMAL ONE

Arthur: I am so happy you are not one of those who starts hyperventilating and mentally screaming straight into Merlin’s head the moment you see him.

Mordred, offended: Why would I do that

Later, when Leon and Lancelot are giving him a tour:

Mordred: I understand why some people will get excited at the sight of Emrys, he is a god to us after all, but seriously, only immature fans get over excited like that; a real and veteran worshipper like me have a private hyperventilating session while praying to a personal Emrys shrine at night

Leon: You have a what in at what in what now

Lancelot: NOW, WE DONT HAVE TIME TO UNPACK ALL OF THAT

Merlin doesn’t like it when people treated him like a god and also not quite aware of the extent of his godly power himself, so, at first he avoids Mordred because even though Mordred appears calm, he can FEEL Mordred praying to him EVERY NIGHT.

Mordred: why do you fear me Emrys? I pray to you everyday. You are my idol.

Merlin: BECAUSE LAST NIGHT YOU PRAYED TO ME TO GIVE YOU STRENGTH BECAUSE GWAINE CALLED YOU A BABY AND MADE YOU REALLY SAD, AND TODAY I WOKE UP AND PUNCHED GWAINE SO HARD ON THE FACE BECAUSE HOLY SHIT YOUR PRAYER WAS SO STRONG???

Mordred: It works?

Merlin: IT WORKS. THAT’S WHY YOU NEED TO ST—

Mordred: does that mean if I pray hard enough, you will be able to shoot fire beams from your eyes like you do in those bedtime stories druid elders used to tell me?

Merlin: DRUID ELDERS USED TO TELL YOU WHAT!?!

Three days later, the knights encounter wild magical beasts in the forest during a patrol, as they are so sure they are kicking the bucket tonight, Merlin appears and shoots fire beams from his eyes, annihilating all the threats in 0.3 seconds. Mordred is overjoyed.

And at that point, Merlin has no choice but to adopt Mordred now because have you seen how the kid’s eyes lit up when he saw fire beams? This boy's puppy eyes will be his doom. If the kid asks him to shoot electric bolts out of his mouth, he will fucking do it. Merlin’s mom instinct kicks in yet again.

Arthur, while finally is relieved to see them getting along, soon realises that his hope to have Mordred as a Calm and Collected Magic user who will help his ex-manservant, current-Court Sorcerer, permanent-his idiot make less stupid decisions has flown out of the window, THE KID IS AN ENABLER.

Merlin: Imma punch that castle-size wyvern with my bare hands

Mordred: Yes. you can do it #king. This is going to be the best day of my life.

Arthur: NO YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO STOP HIM

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

#bbc merlin #merlin #merlin crack #incorrect merlin quotes #merlin bbc #sir mordred #bbc mordred #merlin au #mordred #crack #my post #bbc arthur #cryptic god!merlin and no1worshipper!mordred au #god!merlin

949 notes · View notes

gebo4482 · 10 months

Text

youtube

Atomic Heart - Annihilation Instinct DLC Release Date Trailer | PS5 & PS4 Games

Website / Steam

#atomic heart annihilation instinct #atomic heart #mundfish #action games #sci-fi games #survival games #trailer

6 notes · View notes

talaok · 1 year

Note

Hi! No pressure at all but can you write some smut for Tyler Galphin please?

You're an awesome writer I absolutely loved your A Small Bed fic 😄

Pairing:Tyler Galpin x Fem!reader

summary: after you got arrested for having kidnapped Tyler and then released, he comes to visit you in your room, and well, all that anger has to end up somewhere...

warnings: SMUT(unprotected -angry-sex)

A/n: so here’s the thing I hated him the whole time except for the last episode. So I wrote about that.(sorry this took so long)

"The monster fucks well sweetheart"

“What does it feel like?” “What does what feel like?” “To lose” Your mouth gaped open and you felt your eyes fill with tears. You were right. You knew you had been right but hearing it felt diffrent. Seeing with your own two eyes all the liveliness in his pupils disappear was diffrent. You felt your heart slow down, like even he couldn’t believe what was going on. You had known. You know you had known. You had had the vision and then you had connected the dots. You knew you were right, as heartbreaking as it felt you knew he was the hyde, he had killed all those people, but a small part of you apparently still hoped that inside that monster, inside that creature who massacred so many innocent people there was still a good part, still Tyler. But you were wrong. There was no Tyler, only the hyde remained in the now empty body in front of you. Only the monster. He took a step towards you and you took a step back instinctively. "What, are you scared of me?" his mouth twitched into a sinister grin. Your breathing was getting labored, but you couldn't let him see it. Ordering your chest to expand at a normal velocity. "because of the things I did?" he took another step. This time you didn't move. You weren't scared. He wasn't scary. He was never gonna hurt you. Not now, not when he knew he had won. He wanted you to suffer. "because of the people I killed?" he tilted his head to the side, taking another step. The room felt empty, like he was annihilating every other object, killing them just like he had killed all those people. It was yours before. It was you. It was your room, where you had gone to after running out of the police station, just after you had been arrested for having kidnapped him. And then you had opened the door, and he had entered and it wasn't yours anymore. It was nothing. it was fear and delusion mixed with sorrow, but definitely, not the room you had slept in, laughed in and cried in for the past 2 months. He was in front of you. Lurking over you like the predator he actually was. "because of who I am ?" he raised his eyebrow You looked up at him, anger so extremely clear on your face that you wondered how he looked so incredibly unfazed by it. You could feel all your organs compressing, the rage for being beaten, the rage for being humiliated, and for having lost crushing your every bone. You wanted to punch him more than you wanted to breathe. "I'm not scared of you Tyler" you said "I'll never be" you hissed "you're nothing but a pet" you stepped closer to him this time " a very obedient pet who does anything their master wants" you chuckled "If anything, I pity you. You're pathetic" Not a single emotion trespassed him. Like he had heard nothing of what you had just said "y/n" he bent down to whisper in your ear "as much as I like seeing that pretty mouth of yours lie " he scoffed " we both know that's not true" his breath was so hot against your ear and throat, it was difficult to concentrate "You are scared of me" his fingers traced along your arm "scared of what I can do" you felt him smile "scared of who I am" his fingers hooked under your chin, bringing your eyes to his "you are scared of me y/n" You swallowed what felt like the densest piece of saliva you'd ever encountered. "and you should be" "You'd never hurt me" you spat out "you want to see me suffer" a sparkle ignited in his eyes, finally somewhat alive "you don't want to kill me" you said finally "you can't" "oh" he laughed bitterly "now, we both know that's not true" he said "but I appreciate you trying" a grin appeared on his lips "you're cute when you lie" "fuck you" you whispered "I'm not lying" his fingers under your chin traced your jawline. "aw" he cooed "you're angry" yeah, no shit sherlock "but I think you're looking at it the wrong way" "Oh am I now?" you gritted incredulously "because to me it seemed like being completely humiliated to the point everyone thinks I'm batshit crazy while I know I'm right and you are still free is a good enough reason to be angry" He smiled as he shook his head "but see" his thumb stroked your cheek and you pretended it didn't still make you melt"I think you're relieved it went this way" you scoffed, "Why? why on earth would I be?" His other hand found its way to your waist "because if I did go to jail" he inhaled "you wouldn't have been able to see me for a long time" he laughed "and we both know how you wouldn't want that" Fuck his hand on you felt like fire, even after all this time. Even after you discovered what he was. It was awful, you knew, but there wasn't anything you could do about it, anything other than pretending, other than faking your uncaringness. "Yeah right" you scoffed again "so you are saying you wouldn't have missed my mouth so close to yours?" he said, leaning closer to you" my hands on you?" he paused as his hand caressed your side" missed me inside of you?" now it was your turn to pause, You had no idea what to say. There was a part of you that knew, with an angry, hateful certainty that he was right, but there was also a side that was fighting, fighting to make common sense prevail, to make it win somehow in this earthquake of chaos. you didn't have enough brain capacity to respond at the moment. the only thing that got out of you was a shy exhale. He smirked "you know I'm right" he forced you to look up at him again with his fingers. No. You were not gonna let him win so easily. "You're not" you said, hoping to sound more sincere than you actually were. He laughed "so stubborn" he said with amusement "and yet so painfully wrong" He smiled as he bent down, pressing his lips on yours, his mouth feeling so soft while being so harsh on yours. He was right and he was determined to prove it. You damned yourself as you closed your eyes, inevitably parting your lips for his tongue. The hand on your side traveled to your back, forcing you ever so close to him. "so you wouldn't have missed that?" he leaned away way too soon. God, you hated him. Him and his stupid smugness and his stupid talented mouth. "no, I wouldn't have" you lied He smiled proudly, like he wanted you to say that, like he was just waiting for a challenge and you had just presented him with the best possible one. "Is that so?" "hm-hm" you agreed "so when I kiss you you don't feel anything?" "Exactly" "And when I touch you?" his hand went to the hem of your skirt, hooking his finger in it "nothing" you gulped "not even when I can feel how wet you are?" he asked, as his fingers cupped your clothed cunt. "no" you murmured He tsked "and what about when I move your panties aside?" he murmured against your lips while he did just that. "I-" you tried, but the words were stuck in your throat "still nothing huh? I'm gonna have to try harder it seems" he said as he passed his index between your folds, coating himself of your wetness before moving his attention to your clit. You bit your lip so as not to moan as he circled it. You didn't want to give him that, the satisfaction of knowing how good he was making you feel. he kept massaging your clit and you kept biting your own skin, seconds away from tasting blood. "still nothing?" he raised an eyebrow and you were gonna punch him if it wasn't for your knees feeling so weak. You shook your head as heavy breaths escaped your mouth. He chuckled "I thought you might say that" He retracted his hand, making you whimper at the loss of contact. "but you know" he stroked your lip with his thumb "there's one thing I have tried" he looked at you "and I have a feeling it might change your mind" You smiled “you think?” He laughed hoarsely “I do” he said taking a step, your back hitting the cold wall “And what makes you so sure?” “It has worked before” he moved his hands underneath your skirt, one on each side of you, feeling the fabric of your useless panties “And it’s only right to give it a shot, don’t you think?” “If you believe so” you murmured” but just so you know, I severely doubt you’re right” “We’ll see” his fingers gripped your underwear, pulling them down enough for them to fall at your feet "I have a feeling you might change your mind" he said, his hot breath against your cheek as you heard the zipper of his jeans being unzipped. He pulled them down just enough to get his dick out, his big stupid dick that had made you come times and times before. You swallowed nervously as you looked down, and he noticed, grinning. " changed your mind yet sweetheart?" "nope" your voice was pathetically trembling "and don't call me sweetheart" "Oh but why?" he asked as if he was actually hurt. he raised one of your legs to his waist "you seemed to like it not so long ago" he kissed you briefly "Actually" he let go of your leg "you loved it" "yeah well that was before" you said coldly. He hummed, contemplating perhaps "jump" he said, and you complied. Completely and utterly conscious of making a mistake, a really hot and stupid mistake. You were trapped between him and the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms around his neck. his eyes were burning through you and his cock was just against your clit. "you mean before you found out who I was?" one of his hands left your waist to position his dick at your entrance "who I am?" Really, he wanted to do this now? You didn't answer, you just scowled at him. "tell me" he said "or I'm not gonna do it" Fucking asshole "Yes Tyler. yes" you huffed "see, that was easy wasn't it?" he said smugly as he finally pushed his tip in. You sank down on him, as he stretched you out perfectly, little shocks of pleasure coursing through you with every inch added, until he bottomed out. "fuck" you sighed "Yeah," he pulled almost completely out just to thrust harshly inside of you, a gasp fled your mouth "The monster fucks well sweetheart" he said, as he did it again, this time not stopping, but developing a deadly rhythm. You tried to stop yourself, you really did, but you couldn't do anything to control the shameless, pathetic moans emerging from your throat and filling the empty room. "tell me again" he kept going "tell me that you don't miss me" he laughed through labored breaths, "tell me you don't miss this". "tell me sweetheart " he was hitting every single spot, you forced your eyes shut as he pushed into you again, even harder somehow "tell me I'm a monster, go on" he murmured against your ear "tell me how much you hate me" It was a weird feeling, being so turned on by someone while simultaneously hating them so deeply, so fondly that you kind of wished they would just drop dead right now. And what was even weirder, was having that same person, the one you wished dead, inside of you, splitting you in half so fucking well. "f-fuck you" you managed to get out. He smiled against your mouth before kissing it. It was a mess, a wet and moan-y mess, symbolizing your defeat and his triumph over you. there was no point in fighting him, he was gonna win, that's what he meant, that's what the kiss meant. "Feisty as ever" he smiled cockily "but a bit too smug for someone whose pussy I'm fully inside of right now" He said, not even letting you catch your breath before he brought his hand to your clit. "J-just shut up" you said exasperated "Oh no sweetheart" he circled your clit "you shut up" he kissed your cheek "I won" he kissed your jawline "I beat you Y/n" now your neck, never stopping his thrusts or fingers either "I get to talk" now the skin just below your ear "I get to say everything I want" he looked at you now "you on the other hand" he chuckled "well you can't" "Because you lost" there was such a tight knot in your belly that you felt like you were gonna explode, and as much as you wanted to tell him to fuck off, or that he was a crazy bastard, that stupid feeling distracted you, and only a series of high-peached groans lest your mouth, as you got closer and closer to your much-earned relief. "what you can't even talk?" he said, as his cock was wrapped tightly around your walls "You can't even answer me?" he defied you "can't even tell me how much I disgust you huh?" his fingers kept moving fast "If I had known this was all it took to shut you up, I would have done it a long time ago" There was sweat on his forehead and his eyes were cruising all over your face, examing and without a doubt enjoying every single expression, every single muscle contorting as he was fucking you hard. "You're coming" he breathed out, feeling your walls clenching around him "god you feel so fucking good when you squeeze me sweetheart" he mumbled, his thrusts getting sloppier "Come y/n, just give up baby" he groaned "You already fucking lost anyway". A fire exploded inside you, spreading through your whole body, you shouted his name and then other profanities as your body convulsed from the pleasure, abandoning yourself completely to the feeling, and then you felt him come too, his hot cum filling you up deeply. You both caught your breath silently as he put you down on the floor. Your legs weren't all that ready as they stumbled beneath your weight. " Well, shit" you exhaled, looking up at him in disbelief as he grinned "I still hate you you know?" "Oh, I know" he smiled " trust me I know"

#tyler galpin #tyler galpin smut #tyler galpin x reader #tyler galpin x y/n #tyler galpin wednesday #Wednesday #Smut #angry sex #tyler galpin fanfiction #tyler galpin fic #tyler galpin fanfic #netflix #tyler galpin x fem!reader #tyler galpin x you

2K notes · View notes

genshin-squabbles-and-wobbles · 1 year

Note

Headcannons of xiao, scaramouche, zhongli, and al haitham, patching you up after a serious battle? 🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Yes you may, my dear. :) Please enjoy and stay clear from allergies this spring. :)

Xiao: ◈━◈━◈━◈━◈ ◈━◈━◈━◈━◈ ◈━◈━◈━◈━◈ ◈━◈

He is lecturing you on your recklessness, and how you are disregarding people's worries and cares for you. Mostly him though.

He wraps your wounds gently, and keeps asking if your bandages are too tight, or if it stings or hurt.

He ask Zhongli if there are medicines for healing "Humans Wounds."

He checks your wounds every night, and keeps an eye on you since you don't fully have your footing back.

He sometimes massages and rubs it for you, to help ease the pain or help ease your mind.

He will ask about it everyday.

He will 100% fight you to the death for you to not fight monsters or get into trouble. He will pick you back up and take you to bed and stay there with you until you give up.

He would kiss your wounds, giving it his own little custom prayers to help it heal faster and easier.

Will make sure everything is accessible to you before he leaves to go fight fallen gods and demons.

Sometimes will bring healing charms and little gifts in hope it would make you happy.

I don't think he fully understands human wounds apart from adepti wounds, so he will treat your wounds as if you have karmic debt of your own, but easier to manage. He has some idea of it.

Scaramouche: ◈━◈━◈━◈━◈ ◈━◈━◈━◈━◈ ◈━◈━◈━◈

He doesn't actually know what to do at first, but he definitely calls you an idiot, or other names of you being dumb and reckless. But you can tell it was because he was scared and didn't know how to react.

Instinctively, He probably things he will lose you like he lost his child friend in his past. Despite him knowing better.

He would rip some of his own clothes to wrap around your wounds to stop the bleeding, since he has seen people done so in the past.

Once you reassure him, and calm him down, he will carry you to a nearby area that has medical equipment.

As for this scenario, let's say Mondstadt since you know the area well.

He would snap at Barbara to heal you and to hurry up. But he would gently ask her if you are okay, and if you are holding up alright.

Once you are out, maybe having a little cane to support you, he would full on take care of you, no questions ask.

He would always have one arm around you, or holding your hand to make sure you are okay, but also to reassure himself that you are okay.

He would buy foods, or do most of the cooking, it's not the best, but that's because he doesn't need to eat since he is a puppet.

Probably hold you close to him and gently adjust your bandages for you when it gets a little sloppy.

100% annihilate any monsters that turn their eyes on you.

Zhongli: ◈━◈━◈━◈━◈ ◈━◈━◈━◈━◈ ◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

Immediately knows what to do, based on his past knowledge, he will immediately have medicine or bandages on him to take care of you.

He would cook healing meals, and do everything within his knowledge to help heal your wounds.

Thanks to that, it wasn't as fatal as before, since he has experience and he is prepared.

He would definitely carry you, because the less stress on wounds the better.

He would take you to Baizhu to look after your wounds and checking up on your wounds.

He makes tea for you everyday.

He would lay in you bed with you, and tell you stories to help you sleep.

He would rub medicine on your wounds for you, and keep you to a strict schedule no matter how much you protest.

Gently stroke your hair as you are laying down in bed and resting, offering extra pillows and blankets.

Bringing you your favorite desserts.

He might sometimes rest his cheek on your head in bed and keep his arms around you to keep your warm, of course with his button up shirt open.

He wouldn't express his worries for you by words, but definitely by actions, such as sealing the door so no one can get in to hurt you, but also so you won't sneak out. Leaving out breakfast, or comfy clothes for you.

Al Haitham: ◈━◈━◈━◈━◈ ◈━◈━◈━◈━◈ ◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

He would probably sigh and say stuff like he knew you'd be reckless and get seriously hurt.

He would also lecture you on how to properly fight the monster you were fighting, and pinpoint why you got hurt in the first place.

The next time he sees the monsters you were fighting of any kind, he would take over for you and defeat them. If you got seriously hurt from a hilichurl? He got it. But you can handle Azhdaha just fine.

He wouldn't need to take you to a medical facility since he knows what he is doing, we are in Sumeru forest after all, you have the best medicine there already is.

Despite his aloof and distant nature, he handles you very gently, and he becomes more touch base with you, such as when asking if if your wounds are healing, he would immediately place his hand gently on your bandages.

He would stick nearby you, but he won't show his worries, as he feels the rational thing to do right now is to offer you assistance, not stress you with his worries.

He tries to hold back his own emotions when he hears you wince in pain and see you have a pained face. Immediately would finish the task for you, such as putting your plate away, picking things up.

Usually, when he reached his limit of that, he would pull you in between his legs and ask you to stay with him so you can heal in peace rather than in pain. He would hold you close to him and push your head into his neck, as a way to help you ease down and relax. He would be reading a book in this process as well and maybe throw up an excuse on how him doing this has healing properties.

677 notes · View notes