#I dragged this fucker kicking and screaming in this fandom

[is-your-name-anronpa-cause-dang]

Remembering that time I told my boyfriend I needed to show him a VERY specific edit that is the driving force to most of this fandom, and is known as the illusive ‘nagito edit’.

#I’d like to rehash that I said ‘CHECKMATE FUCKER’ because bf aka [REDACTED BROWN] didn’t believe me when I said the nagito edit drove 3/4 of #the entire fandom #only three quarters because the last quarter hasn’t finished the second game yet #ibuki icon was the one to drag me kicking and screaming into that fandom originally #before moving onto a different one and leaving me to wallow in despair alone for years #and then I got tumblr so I guess it all worked out in the end #danganronpa #spoilers #kinda spoilers #super danganronpa 2 goodbye despair #danganronpa 2 #super danganronpa 2 #super danganronpa two #super danganronpa goodbye despair #danganronpa goodbye despair #goodbye despair #GOD there are a lot of tags for this fandom #nagito komaeda

[dontlookforme00]

PROGRESS UPDATE BC IM YOUR PROBLEM NOW: i am no longer being dragged into the fandom kicking and screaming, instead i am jumping in w/ malicious intent!!!

-if Heart is blind and also has wings, i raise you: Heart using his wings as sensors/the equvalent if a walking stick (he absolutely uses this as an excuse to slap Mind in the face all the time.)

-i need the exact songs where a) Mind blinds Heart and b) Heart (tries) to shoot Mind

-The part where Soul's voice breaks in The Bidding is so fucking sad i love it look at that angst opportunity right there

-dAMN YOU FOR MAKING ME DRAW LITTLE DOODLES TO KEEP TRACK OF THESE FUCKERS HOW DARE YOU (/j)

more updates soon bye

-🦝

HAHAHAH. ANOTHER ONE TO THE RANKS.YES. it is SO fucking funny that I'm recruiting so many goddamn mutuals to the chonny jash fandom. The POWER I hold. /j

Oh my fucking god I love it. I had a similar idea with the mind in my morro au. He'd totally slap heart in the face with his braid everything he turned around. I Love the sensory idea though, mhm mhm yes.

Ahhh, the mind blinding heart thing takes place before the start of the album! Very sadly, there is no song for it. Goddammit I wish.

But the song for the aftermath of the shooting is called Ruler Of Everything. If you didn't already know, mind symbolises the sun, and heart symbolises the moon :3. Juno is heart in this song. Also r.o.e is a fucking GREAT SONG and I LOVE IT

YESS AHAH I LOVE SOUL IN THE BIDDING. I LOVE THIS ALBUM IN GENERAL IF U COULDNT ALREADY TELL. I think another great song with soul being an absolute menace is Mucka Blucka (Into to Cacophony). The bidding is amazing tho, I love its pacing. GOING ONCE~! GOING TWICE~!

YOURE WELCOMEE EHEH

#answered asks #feral-ass-raccoon #jashification

[lake-archive]

A Bet Gone Wrong

Fandom: Ensemble Stars

Characters: Rinne Amagi, Anja-Sophia 'Ann' Wolff (OC) 

Pairing: Rinnann (Rinne/Ann) (Romantic, Established)

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

“Uh–oh, looks like the zombies are prowling ahead of us… Who do you think will win in this fight, me or the zombies? Place your bet, and I’ll start the fight!”

These words were unbelievable, to say the least… Did Ann just hear this? Did they hear this correctly? This guy wants to fight zombies? With his bare fists? Actually wait, why are they surprised? This was Rinne Amagi they were talking to… The Rinne Amagi. And that guy was known for a lot of things, including reckless fights and bets. This was one of those, except this time he would be betting life, wouldn’t he? It was concerning and yet… Ann was not really surprised nor sure if they should bail him out of this one. 

Then again, not like he would let them as the next thing they saw was him charging right at them. “Oh who am I kiddn’? Ya bet on your man, don’t ya!? Charge!” He yelled before tackling one of the zombies, right into the mass. 

They did not see much shortly after a few punches and kicks flew around, some rotten skin and bones being thrown through the air thanks to the impact. Oh they swore that some blood and other unsightly things spilled, one even hitting their face.

And yet it was too much of a mess to make out, also due to the dark hallway. So when they wiped their face clean with one of their fingers they could not see what it was, only that it was rather stinky. So they had to rely on sound alone, all of the punches and screams echoing in their ears.

“Hah! Take this ya bas— Ey! Don’t tug on that! Little shi— Did ya just puke on that!? I’m gonna— Ow ow ow! Don’t tug my hair! It’ll rip out! Aaa! Little shits! Ya asked for i– EEEP!”

Needless to say, it had not surprised Ann that Rinne was screaming for his life. Could they stand on the sidelines to witness this? Well, maybe, but if they did not assist in some way he would be— 

“Outta the wa— URGH!” Yet as these thoughts hit them they were interrupted fairly quickly and they were forced to jump aside. Next they saw the outline of the tall male next to them, right thrown into a wall. For a second they believed that they had to get ready to have this smell right in their nose and fend off those monsters but… Much to their surprise… The zombies took a sharp turn after having eyed Rinne who had been just plastered onto the wall for a few more moments. All while Ann held their own breath, in hope they would be mistaken for an already dead body… Somehow. Then again, hopefully those zombies do not think at all so they were hoping this would work.

And maybe it did, because they spotted the crowd of zombies heading for the upper floor, ignoring the pair at that very moment, even Rinne who they should clearly detect as alive thanks to his twitching and groaning. But they just ignored him… Much for their luck, which left them with a sigh in relief.

“Maybe they mistook him for one of them…” They mumbled before their gaze wandered back to Rinne, seeing him finally get off the wall and scoff. 

“Tch, sure know how to put up a fight. Where did those fuckers run o—”

However, they would not let him finish and instead grab him by his wrist, interrupting with: “No fight! Run!”

“Wha— C’mon Ann! I got unfinished business with—”

“Can you not be dying!?”

“Babe babe, I’ll be fine. Now—”

“No buts! Run!” They insisted, suddenly dragging him off while walking as quickly as their feet would allow, dragging the redhead along. 

“Wha– Ey! What’s that for!? I can take ‘em!”

Well… They would leave him alive probably but were they taking any risk? No way! “No complaining, running! ‘sides, you not wanting the money I owe ya?”

“Money you o— Ya bet on the zombies!? Seriously!?”

“Well—”

“I’m both happy and hurt. How could you betray me like that?”

And the rest of the way they would just argue about this stupid bet Rinne came up with before trying to fight a hoard of brainless undead.

#Nimue's Lake #happy halloween #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #ensemble stars #enstars #ensemble stars fanfic #ensemble stars fic #ensemble stars fanfiction #enstars fanfiction #enstars fanfic #enstars fic #selfship fanfiction #selfship fanfic #selfship fic #self ship fanfiction #self ship fanfic #ensemble stars oc #enstars oc #rinne amagi #amagi rinne #enstars rinne #rinnann

[charterandbarter]

End/Start of the year! Means it’s time for an end of year self rec list! If you want.

A top 3-5 list OR rank all the fics you have done this year in a full, completely arbitrary, ranked list of all the ones from this year! Would love to hear your thoughts on your own work :)

!!! BUDDY!!!!!

I didn't do much writing this year (grad apps,,,,why) but I can put some things in a list to kick off a brand new writing season!! So here: top three list of most fun i've had working on a fic this year! 1. Sunset Bridge, part 2 of the mirrors of god series (Persona 5/Death Note crossover, where Akechi was adopted by the Yagamis)

What a series. What an idea. 'Haha Goro Akechi and Light Yagami look the same' we said. 'They could be brothers', we said. 'Wouldn't it be funny if that were a thing', we said. And now we're 10 pages deep in an outline for the ages, both screaming and shaking and sliding down walls as we accidentally write the most Sibling relationship to ever sibling. A hug and a bow to Writeous for your wit, cleverness, and sheer brass balls to smush the Death Note timeline, which is a swiss watch of a thing, with Persona 5, a fucking 100+ hour free choice JRPG, but it has been so much fun writing these guys!! "Why do you resent the fact that you love your family?" and we keep getting different answers every time,,,,man. Man!! i legit cant say too much because godDAMN did we go crazy, but MAN!!!! 2. The Hippocratic Oath (Revised) (the premed!kaneki ken au)

I can't exactly say it was 'fun' to write this so much as it was meaningful to write this fic lol. Tokyo Ghoul was one of my first fandoms (back in...middle school holy shit), and I was chomping at the bit to play off of the anti-martyrdom themes rooting around in the og series for a while. Is it my best work? Debatable. Is it my most well-plotted? Depends on your version of plot. Did I go fucking batshit insane, black out, awaken to a 20pg outline, and subsequently drag Misery Man Kaneki Ken kicking and screaming towards some semblance of a recovery arc by (among other things) making him a STEM major? yes. and i regret none of it, because i tbh needed to write this fucker anyway (changed my major, gender AND sexuality!!! the fuck!!!). aaaaaa the paradox of 'do no harm',,,,,the problem never ends because martyrdom was never the solution from the start,,,,,,,the asymptotic condition we're all saddled with where yeah we're burdens on eachother but that's like cool and shit because it's not about deservin it's about living aaaaa anyway yeah only time i wrote a fic and got knocked flat on my ass into a different career track so yep it goes on here! i also decided to make every chapter 10k like a fool, so pray for me. oh vocaloid-stan kaneki we're really in it now,,,, 3. Flock Together (Persona 5/BNHA, an Akechi-in-BNHA au)

I have nothing big about this fic. It's fun to write a dumbass getting jumpscared by a child. Man makes One (1) good decision and is now a Babysitter. The child being Babysat is also ready and willing to throat-punch people. i cannot stress enough that I am writing this fic to make Eri go fucking insane, and for every chapter I post there are three scenes of eri just going fucking bonkers hitting kneecaps, swearing, and doing normal girl things like reminding people to wash their money because 'money laundering' is v important. stress ball fic thank GOD. don't worry about the plot shhhhhh i dont have plot dont worrrry about it-- but yeah!!! That’s my top three most fun fics this year!!!!!!! i’d like to @yellowocaballero, @ragnarokascendant and @bitemeilovewaffles to reply to this ask, if willing and able! lets celebrate what  we’ve made and make room for more to come!!

#and of course you too buddy #turnabout is fair play #(only if u wanna tho!!! no pressure!!!!!)

[hopeymchope]

Anon finally figured out The Definitive Answer for why so many people worship Bakugo, because there's a blog post by lovecrafts-iranon where, refreshingly, he actually comes right out and SAYS the reason why fandoms worship assholes: he thinks Dudley should have been Harry Potter's protagonist instead of Potter himself, because "good people doing good things are a boring snooze, while cruel and vicious people are entertaining." So he, and others like him, judge morality by "what entertains me".

Wow. I found that Dudley post, and it has SO MANY notes, and NOT EVEN ONE OF THEM IS SOMEONE DISAGREEING. How is that possible?

But I'd like to take a moment to look at this post in more (i.e. WAY TOO MUCH) depth. With pull quotes!

There is so much potential for growth, and at a nice slow pace because he would need to be dragged kicking and screaming every step of the way and have several reversions.

I guess it's true that he'd have to go through a lot more radical change than Harry did. And that would definitely be interesting to see unfurl, in a fashion. But Harry has to learn self-confidence, learn to cope with death (in the sense that he has to process it for the first time), learn to accept the things he can't change... all the things that people in the targeted demographic age of the readership are simultaneously dealing with. Dudley, on the other hand, doesn't have any reason to learn most of that stuff. He's only relatable to readers who are also massive assholes. Dudley's already overconfident - he's full of himself, and him being told that he's basically the Chosen One will only make it much worse. Will he have to cope with death? I mean, maybe someday. But we start with him only caring about himself, so it's unlikely he'd be too terribly affected if someone died in front of him. That would require him to care about someone else. And learning to accept that he can't change everything is something he'd probably struggle with in a semi-interesting fashion, but do you want to watch a spoiled brat who believes he can scream until he gets his way FINALLY start to learn that maybe he should stop screaming and start facing facts? Shit, that just sounds like modern politics. And coping with people who can't face reality is intolerable and infuriating.

Magic, aside from being not real, is a special kind of repulsive evil [to him]. Merely mentioning magic is the only thing that can temporarily revoke his Specialest Boy status.

I think the author is stating that this is a thing that's true of Dudley in the existing novels? Maybe I'm misunderstanding, and this is something that the author of the post wants to introduce into their AU fanfic. If it's the former, however, then I want to point out that there's no evidence that Dudley held any opinions at all on magic before Harry was declared a wizard. His parents sure did, but they never spoke of magic and refused to acknowledge it, so they naturally never said a word to Dudley about it.

So Dudley actually has no reason to be repulsed by the notion of being a wizard. In all likelihood, he'd be overjoyed to be told that he's a super-powered being of importance who everyone in the magical world has heard about. He'd probably want everybody to genuflect when he entered every room from then on. (I am assuming that Dudley must still be the one who has to eventually defeat Voldemort according to prophecy, but I guess he wouldn't be "The Boy Who Lived." His parents were obviously never killed; the fact that they raised him a certain way is what defines his character. He'd need some other kind of legend to cause his fame.)

Harry would never cause problems on purpose, while Dudley would never stop doing so at Hogwarts!

A character who is actively the source of all the trouble they're in isn't remotely sympathetic; I root AGAINST that kind of character. I want LESS of them. I want them to lose.

That's actually part of why I hated the new Snake Eyes movie — every bad thing that happens can logically be laid at Henry "Snake Eyes" Golding's own [probably gorgeous] feet. I'm not rooting for someone like that.

Harry gets to experience friendship and acceptance for the first time, snooze, while Dudley would have to face lack of friendship and rejection for the first time (there is nobody who wouldn't be put off by 'hates magic' even if they were fine with the rest of his personality)! Now that's fascinating!

I still think seeing a lonely boy with no sense of self-worth make his first friends is interesting. But I admit that Dudley facing rejection and lack of friendship for the first time DOES sound fascinating. The author has got me there.

And imagine him going home for Christmas break loudly announcing how happy he is to get away from all those awful wizards only to find out his parents treat him much differently now, their love having been completely conditional all along.

Would it be, though? I guess this is up to the perception of the author, but I kind of imagine Vernon and Petunia taking it as a personal victory if their own spawn is declared the special Chosen One. Their kid being a powerful wizard known around the world, and Lily's kid being no one in particular? They'd visit Lily's grave for the first time ever just so they could dance on it.

I could go on and on. I remember looking to see if there was any Dudley goes to Hogwarts fic as a kid and there was one popular one, but it let Harry go too (boo, the realization there might be something wrong with how his adopted brother is being treated back at home should be a shocking revelation to him), let Dudley become too nice too fast (it should be a long, drawn out process where he never gives an inch he doesn't absolutely have to!) and was too easy on him (characters suffering is good).

Author is assuming that Dudley - now christened a mighty wizard of destiny, the literal Chosen One - would actually perceive of there being something wrong with how his lowly muggle cousin was treated. I'd say: Highly doubtful. He'd just continue to be an asshole about it.

And the longer you drag out an asshole getting redeemed, the more I'm going to feel like "Well I don't fucking care if they get redeemed by this point; they've had every possible chance and every possible piece of evidence thrown at them, and they chose to remain an asshole, so fuck them. They deserve nothing."

At least the author wants Dudley to suffer. Not that I agree with the notion that characters suffering is automatically good, but asshole characters DO often deserve that shit.

BOTTOM LINE: I... just... I guess I shouldn't be surprised that people would actually WANT to focus on horrible assholes? That people want those fuckers to be the heroes instead of actually decent human beings? Because there are so many awful people in the world, so I guess it must be relatable enough for them. But dammit, I'm still surprised.

No, no, no. FUCK no. Being an asshole does not inherently make someone interesting; it just makes them an asshole. They deserve to be punished, not celebrated. They might still be interesting as an antagonist, but I'm sure as hell not going to root for them. And if you're going to insist on spending valuable focus time on these characters, you'd better at least be acknowledging that they are the VILLAIN of the story.

Which is honestly a more logical role for Dudley anyway. If Voldemort told Dudley that he's an exceptional being and that the inferior muggles else should be made to serve at his feet? Dudley would totally go for that. He'd become the whiniest, brattiest Death Eater.

Besides, Dudley is a particularly weird choice for their post, because he's NOT interesting! Not even as an antagonist! Dudley only exists as a one-note plot device. He deserves no attention.

#asks #anon #long post #anti-bullying #kind of? #anti-bakugo #harry potter

[rawmeknockout]

I've been dragged back into the creepypasta fandom kicking and screaming and good lord did I forget the fact that I had a huge fucking crush on Eyeless Jack.

Like. The cannibalistic, kidney eating,three tongues, has a demon in him mother fucker.

Been a monster fucker before I even knew what that words was.

i have a good eldritch ej ask in my inbox i just gotta get to it

i will make him into the true monstrous creature he was meant to be instead of the masked cannibal teen that the creepypasta fandom wanted him to be 😒

#asks #that’s not a hoodie that’s his body baby

[adarafaelbarba]

A Silent Buzz

Pairing: Rafael Barba x reader

Fandom: Law and Order Special Victims Unit

Requested: Yes

Request: Not specified, just that @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ asked for it to be with Rafael

Warning: Smut (duh). Do NOT read if you’re under the age of 18! Use of a vibrator. All day teasing/edging. Dom!Rafael. Orgasm denial. Some butt stuff! (always prep before you do it! Might not be mentioned here, but it will have been done!)

A/N): This covers the Vibrator square of the Kink Bingo @thatesqcrush​ created! -Karen

If there was one thing Rafael Barba loved more than getting justice, it was teasing you. He knew the effect he had on you, then again it wasn’t really that hard to tell. You were so responsive to him, whether it was his touches or his kisses.

He absolutely loved making a mess of you. Case in point today. You had been teasing him all morning before going to work. And in return, Rafael made you wear your special lace panties, the ones that came with a removable vibrator and a remote. He had slipped the remote into the pocket of his slacks, and had placed the tiny vibrator into your panties before turning it onto a low, bearable buzz. «Be a good girl today, and I’ll reward you tonight», he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

…

For the most part during the day, it had been at a low buzz, every now and again hitching when he got bored in his office. Who knew sleeping with your boss would be so, interesting? you thought to yourself, trying to focus on the paperwork in front of you.

«Detectives.» you hadn’t expected them to be here so soon. «Ms. (Y/L/N)», Liv said, giving you a smile, «Is Barba in?» You nodded, suddenly not daring to speak as you felt the buzzing increase.

«You okay?» Sonny asked, his eyes trained on you. «Y-yep», you murmured, «Go rig—right in.» Get it together (Y/N)! Don’t be so weak, you mentally shouted.

As soon as the door to Rafael’s office closed, the buzz eased again and you could finally breath. You took a couple of minutes to calm down before getting up and putting your coat on, grabbing your bag.

«Sir, I’ll be heading out for lunch, can I get you anything?» you asked, looking directly at Rafael. «My usual, thanks (Y/N)», he replied and you felt the buzz return to a higher setting. You hummed in return and turned to leave.

The buzz followed you as you went to the café on the other side of the street, and it made you dread when it was your turn to order. Luckily, you managed to cough up what you needed, and you were quickly on your way back to work.

You contemplated skipping lunch and go straight to the bathroom with your little handheld vibrator to get at least one release before going back to work, but the idea quickly left you when you looked into your bag and saw it was gone.

«Looking for something (Y/N)?» Rafael asked, standing at  your desk now. «Just some gum for after lunch, sir», you murmured, handing him his food and coffee. «Aren’t you going to have lunch with me?» Oh he was enjoying it, surely he must have known you kept a vibrator in your bag and took it out before you left home this morning. «Actually, I’ve got a headache, so I think I should go home sir», you lied, wanting so badly to climax. «Don’t lie to me.» His voice was so low you almost couldn’t hear him. «In my office, now», he added, holding the door open.

«I knew you would be trying to cheat, that’s why I checked your bag this morning while you were showering.» You gasped, «How’d you—», you started, «How did I know? I’ve seen how you sometimes come back to your desk after being gone for what 10+ minutes, and you’re much more relaxed and happy.» Damn him and his eye for detail.

The speed on the vibrator kicked up a few more paces at this point and you leant on the back of the chair in front of you for support as you felt your release coming closer. «Please Rafi, please let me cum», you whined. «Do you think you’ve earned it? I think you should wait until we get home, don’t you?» He was teasing you, and you hated it. «No! Please Rafi, I’m not gonna make it!» You whined, reaching for him. «You can, and you will!» He growled, turning the buzz down a bit, so that you would still feel it, but it wouldn’t be as high.

…

You were sure you were going to cry by the time you and Rafael left the office. The speed was back up at this point after he had been edging you on the whole day, and you couldn’t get in the Uber fast enough.

«When we get home I want you in only the panties, on the bed», he murmured in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. «What are you going to do to me papi?» you purred, your hand dancing up and down his lap. «You’ll find out soon enough querida», he murmured, taking your hands in his to stop your ministration.

…

As soon as you got home you ran into your shared bedroom, tossing everything off, except for the panties. You were on all fours when he finally joined you. «What a good girl you are cariño. Look at you, all ready for me», he murmured, moving over to run a hand over your back. «All for you papi», you purred.

«You know what good girls get?» he asked, testing you. «Rewarded?» You asked, turning your head to look at him. «Correct.» He had a shit eating grin on his face as he said it, proving that he was enjoying this way too much.

Rafael slowly dragged his hand down your back until he stopped at the hem of your panties. «What is this?» He murmured. «A little gift for papi?» You nodded at this. «Want me to fuck your ass tonight huh?» you felt yourself get more soaked at his words. «Please», you whined. «Very well», he growled.

…

You could never get over how absolutely full you felt when Rafael fucked you. The thickness of his cock always amazed you. Especially now, as he fucked you slowly, living for the low, needy moans slipping your mouth. He hadn’t even bothered waiting to let you take of the panties, or maybe he wanted you to still wear them? Yeah he definitely wanted you to wear that, that sneaky little fucker.

«Rafi!» You moaned, practically crying into the pillow, «Please papi, I need the release!» You were falling apart. «Faster papi, please, I can’t hold it any longer», you moaned, looking back at him. «Let go for me hermosa.» And with that, you came with a scream, clamping down on his cock, and you were sure you were seeing stars.

You were shaking by the time you came down from your orgasm. «Cariño? Are you okay?» he murmured, worry coating his voice. «Hold me», you whimpered, shivering as you laid there.

Carefully pulling out of you, Rafi pulled off the vibrating underwear before laying down next to you and holding you close. «You did so good for me today Cariño. Such a good girl», he murmured, rubbing your back. «Te amo querida», he whispered, pressing soft kisses to your forehead. «I love you too babe.»

Taglist: @sweetcannolicarisi @rafaheadcanons @rafivadafreddy @detective-giggles @mrsrafaelbarba @storiesofsvu @stardust-fray @beccabarba @teamsladsandgents @tropes-and-tales @kriegsverlobte @prurientpuddlejumper @meri-dawn @caked-crusader 

#rafael barba x reader #ada rafael barba #rafael barba #rafael barba smut #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba one shot

[livebloggingmydescentintomadness]

I didn’t know you had a qpp, would you be willing to share some stuff about them? Cheers to 15 years btw, that’s a long time!

aww thanks! she’s @pathsofpassion, she’s a little older than me, presently lives in idaho, is an attorney (not like a court attorney, like a research attorney; my brain is not good enough to really get it so i don’t ask a lot lol), and she has a belgian malinois named Cas who likes to Bark and Snuggle. :D

we met when i was 17 and she was in college, actually when i left comments on her phantom of the opera fic on fanfiction.net. xD we ended up on the same message board somewhere, started talking obsessively, and haven’t stopped since lol. I started to get chronically ill not long after we met, and she’s always been really really supportive and understanding of it all. then we ended up figuring out we’re both ace and both neurodivergent.

we’re both really introverted and like our alone space, so we’ve never spent a lot of time in person together, but she did actually move to my city (houston) to go to law school, and she came to some of my family holidays and she’d come over sometimes for movies and dinner. she moved back after law school, but she came back down to go to a spn con with me once, which was when i had misha draw a heart on my wrist and i got it tattooed. 

(i haven’t told that story since i gained a bunch of followers, so y’all may not know it. it was very late and he was clearly tired so i was trying to be quick, but i asked if he’d draw a heart on my wrist and went to kneel next to him, he put his HAND on my ARM (fuck), drew it on me, and the fucker has the gall to say, “it’s a little shaky, but hearts always are.” the nerve of it all. i left and went to a tattoo shop before the ink faded. we had a cockles op the next morning, so i got to show it to him, and jensen was like “you got it done so fast” as if it isn’t a tiny heart that took less than five minutes to get inked.)

anyway. um. idk how much my qpp is comfortable with me saying about her in “public” or if she wants her picture posted, but we’re pretty much just two introverts who prefer to live internal fantasy lives and immerse ourselves in fandom together. we’ve been obsessed with phantom of the opera, spn, sherlock, good omens, and i dragged her kicking and screaming into the untamed with me lmao. 

we like to write bits of fanfic for each other, though we’ve never posted it because it’s just pretty self-indulgent and we tend not to actually finish anything, cause we just like playing off of what the other one wrote last. she writes one character and i write the other character. it was pretty embarrassing back in the early days, but we’ve both come a LONG way over 15 years, and what we write now is pretty good if i do say so myself.  i particularly like the good omens stuff we’ve written together (i write crowley, and i love writing crowley. :D) and i’ve thought about figuring out how to polish it up enough to post it, but haven’t gotten around to it.

anyway, that’s pretty much us, so thanks again. :)

#personal #hope this isn't too much personal stuff #man if y'all tempt me i might post some of my crowley cause he's just so much fun #and her aziraphale is great #but i wouldn't post her writing unless she's cool with it #anonymous #ask

[bootlegsymphony]

Being Hopeful [a *personal* Komahina writeup]

*major Danganronpa 2/2.5/3 spoilers ahead*

Someone told me to gather my thoughts into a post so here it is.

Note: Unless you’re up for a challenge to potentially reshape your opinions towards certain ships, if you think Komahina is by default a toxic ship in anyway shape or form, or if you firmly believe that Hinanami is “bestest Hinata ship OTP owo”, it’s not in your best interest to read this post. I’m not suggesting you are invalid or wrong, but you’re likely not the group of people I’m looking forward to having a constructive and evoking conversation with.

First off, I might have been recognized as an avid Komahina shipper, and my opinions towards Hinanami could be generally summarized as ambivalent/mixed/minorly favourable. I was able to acknowledge Hina/Nami’s relationship as of roughly equivalent significance in regard to DR2’s theme.

But it was impossible for me to consider the two relationships narratively equal, I was able to notice that Koma/Hina was a “meant to be” endgame relationship right of the bat, yet Hina/Nami reads as this transitory experience of an obscure puppy love, or “yeah that happened” that’s melancholic and beautiful. Evidently, the narrative strongly favoured Koma/Hina in terms of screentime, development, complexity, compatibility, and endgame potentials.

I wasn’t too confident about why Komahina screams an ultimate destination of a Hinata relationship to me, yet Hina/Nami never convey a remotely similar message. In many aspects, I didn’t ship Komahina in the past for the sake of “I want Komaeda to savour happiness” but placed more emphasis on “it would be wise for Hinata if he could ascertain that his future is with Komaeda”. However I couldn’t elucidate why I thought so.

But due to some unexpected changes in my personal life, it was so effortless for me to reach an epiphany why Hinanami couldn’t quite be the same Hinata-OTP as Komahina. And now I’m kicking myself for not being able to be more adamant about it earlier.

In short, I had a brief taste of how “true bond” or “true connection” functions. It was an estranged, uncharted experience to me prior to that “sudden change”. And in retrospect it’s unimaginable how I survived that bitter life of pure bleakness without it. But since I was able to discern the characteristics of a “true bond”, Koma/Hina, while being excruciatingly complicated and bitter in canon timeline, had a great foundation for that nonetheless, while Hina/Nami was, fundamentally “deficient” in this specific department.

Hina/Nami, either the DR2 or DR3 iteration, doesn’t go beyond being a fine relationship. It’s not bad, as adolescent crushes are typically not bad. It’s functional and somewhat sweet if Hinata was just some normal shy boy who at some point met a nice caring pretty girl. But a great, monumental relationship doesn’t come from being just fine, and Hinata is much more messy than a such-and-such average joe as what a part of the fandom preferred to project him as.

But Hinata wasn’t an adequate rival and foil for Komaeda, that ridiculously multilayered character likely in all fictions for nothing.

For starter, Hinata committed Izuru Kamakura and countless war crimes, for fuck’s sake.

I had this pessimistic outlook that humans aren’t truly designated at birth to understand each other unless they are. Real life Nanami being the talented, worthy Ultimate Gamer she was, even if she could acknowledge and validate Hinata’s struggles as a talentless person, and brought him some temporary comfort and solace, she could not understand the full spectrum of complications the struggle itself entails. Being the kind and somewhat compassionate person she was, she’d try to understand Hinata if he ever decided to open up, but she’d likely just go “yeah talent doesn’t really matter you should just be confident in yourself” as long as she’s not some Ultimate Empath like Makoto (or Junko) all at the same time. To her, Hinata’s decision to Izuru-fy is unfavorable, but not particularly tangible.

It’s somewhat similar to a moderately affluent person not knowing what an impoverished/economically-challenged life entails, they could never understand why it’s necessary for anyone to opt for crimes and prostitution and shit, if you could just “yeah money doesn’t matter you should be happy” your way out of it. Why is it necessary to choose a life path of crimes and prostitution? Why is it necessary to Izuru-fy oneself? It’s the perpetual predicament of mutual understanding in humankind. No matter how sweet and wholesome on the surface that ship appeared, Nanami would hardly ever reach Hinata’s soul beyond skin-deep, if the talent/worth debate, the rigorous societal expectations, the everlasting emotional quagmire of being under-loved and under-appreciated...everything which gradually carved out Hinata’s pivotal character (that we know of) from his embryo, was a non-issue to Nanami at core.

If there was a portion of Hinata yearning for true connection in an intimate relationship (which I doubt he didn’t), his relationship with Nanami would eventually turn insufficient or dissatisfactory, despite feeling nice on the exterior.

Normally, people don’t realize they’re empty until they’re fulfilled.

But who else struggled immensely with the entanglement between talent and worth throughout their life? Who else once resolved to obliterate their own precious being in pursuit of an almost delusional ideal of hope as Hinata did, so that they could potentially speak to Hinata on the deepest, hidden stratum of his soul?

Komaeda.

It always pains me to read Komaeda’s first FTE where he suggested Hinata’s ultimate talent could be “Ultimate Serenity” because Hinata granted him some inner peace “just by being there”. Knowing Komaeda’s mind it’s a nearly impossible feat to make him feel peaceful. Komaeda likely didn’t even consider that a legitimate talent, he inwardly viewed Hinata “being there” as inherently valuable but he couldn’t even tell. Yet Hinata failed to just, be there, be existent.

And, I always considered Komaeda sustaining himself being alive to be a monument on its own, yet 2-5 happened, for Hope, I believed.

I once had a mentally stimulating talk about how emotional and intellectual transparency lead to a solid foundation of “true love” among people with someone before. They even expressed, months ago, that if Hinata could just speak up about his problems with Nanami he wouldn’t have necessarily Izuru-fied himself.

Yet even being the aloof and reserved fucker he was, Hinata wouldn’t camouflage himself in front of Komaeda. Komaeda saw through him even if he was having a hard time deciding on how he should have felt himself. He voiced, various times throughout DR2, that “we have similar scents” “I thought you would understand me” “we’re both miserable bystanders” “I couldn’t see you as completely separate from me”. On the surface it seemed like Komaeda was being cryptic and dragging Hinata to his level, but given how we knew Hinata took even more drastic measures as escapism, were they even that different?

It was why exactly Komahina dynamic was so embittered and resentful in the canon timeline. It was not hatred, but involuntary intimacy. Hinata was emotionally stripped naked (sorry, not to evoke any erotic visualizations, just a convenient metaphor) when it’s not even Komaeda’s intention, and Komaeda’s always emotionally naked. It didn’t turn out well not because it was a fundamentally dysfunctional dynamic, but they simply met each other in the worst, most despairful and unluckiest timeline possible. With continuous manslaughters ongoing, it’s only palpable that baring your soul to someone as dangerous as Komaeda would be intimidating, but it still had that mesmerizingly entrancing aura, especially in Komaeda’s last FTE.

They had no choice of not knowing each other well.

Unless either of them died, which they both did. But an ultimate future was born and they were granted a second chance to finally reach the destination they deserved.

In a post-HPA scenario, Komahina was not only somewhat contextually implied as Hinata’s endgame, but it was deliberately set up as a generally hopeful relationship as well. Kodaka once suggested in an interview that post-HPA Hajizuru inherited Hinata’s emotions, so that he was able to sort out his considerably complex feelings for Komaeda as it left off; meanwhile with Izuru’s analytical skills and insights into human psychology, it would likely become not as cumbersome. With Hinata’s determination and persistence it would hopefully not only cure Komaeda’s terminal illnesses, but also “heal” Komaeda from his hope fetish and other cruddy coping mechanisms, with all the support and dedication Hinata could provide. Hinata, being emotionally identical to his past self, would likely occasionally experience insecurity and low self-esteem as well, and it could require Komaeda’s weird little method of presenting challenges/creating minor inconveniences for Hinata in order to help him build up self-agency and develop infallible self-assurance.

It’s kind of the Ultimate Love that survived all the trials and tribulations, and to think of that the Ultimate Tragedy gave birth to the Ultimate Love, huh, seems about right for our two Ultimate Lucks.

#nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #komahina #komahinawriteup #Komaeda Essay Club #dr2meta #danganronpa2

[amethysttail]

Running on Empty

Fandom: FFXV/Kingsglaive. Rating: G? Its fluff. 

Summary: Luche Lazarus works himself too far trying to prevent further losses on the battlefield. Tredd Furia sees the crash coming. Now, a nice person would calmly voice their concerns. A Furia would drag them kicking and screaming back home. Is Tredd a nice person? In his eyes he is, until Luche fights it. They are both going to give their captain a headache at this rate.

Luche keeps tapping away at his keyboard despite the fact it was quitting time. Shadows hung under his eyes, blooming under sickly pale skin. Tredd leaned against the doorframe of the tiny office, watching in concern. Luche took to being a workaholic to deal with the stress of losing a battle, everyone was getting worried while he threw himself at his work. The redhead lightly knocked on the polished wood, looking expectantly. 

“Yes?” Luche groaned, rubbing his eyes. 

“Wanna hit Yama’s for some food? Heard they were toying with new recipes.” Tredd watched the slow roll and shudder of Luche’s shoulders as he stretched, and shook his head. 

“You ok?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Don't sound fine to me. Don't look too good either. Lets get some food, and watch a movie at my place, hm?” 

“Sounds great- but go on without me” Luche sighed, rubbing at his temples, slouching in his seat. Frowning, Tredd stepped forward, putting his hands on his hips. 

"Dude, you are not ok. You're working yourself way too hard. I get it, you are working for us. But you need a full meal and nights sleep." 

Luche slumped a squidge in his seat, as if acknowledging his condition was shameful. 

"Your work will still be here in the morning. Burning yourself out won't solve anything."

"I'll get some rest tomorrow. Tonight I can get by with coffee…" 

"If I have to drag you out of this six-damned office I will. Luche- don't think I won't." 

The readhead barged over, grabbing Luche by the wrist and hefting him to his feet. The vice captain was tired enough that his mind and reflexes didn't catch up until Tredd almost had him out the door. Luche snarled, bracing against the door frame. 

"Enough! I don't have time for this!"

"You don't have time for me?"

"No! The war-" Luche wheezed as Tredd tackled him to the floor of the cramped office, struggling to pin his growling brother in arms. 

"Fuck the war. I'm taking you home, getting some food in you, and making sure you get some sleep!"

Luche struggled- Tredd was broader and stronger and the miniscule floorspace gave him no wiggle room. Tredd grinned, bearing his full weight down on the growling glaive, squishing him into the corner between the desk and wall. Luche viciously bucked, throwing Tredd enough for him to twist and regain his position, kneeling, bracing against the desk and forcing Tredd back in a wild grapple. 

Tredd locked with Luche, grinning maniacally. This was Tredd's forte- brute strength. Luche's muscles trembled under him, barely holding his idiot back. Tredd mustered and shoved forward, the other glaive shuddered but held, shaking violently with effort. Tredd shoved again, forcing Luche down against the desk, then on his back on the ground. 

"Get off, asshole!"

"Too tired to make me, Lazarus?"

Luche squirmed, but no longer had the energy to buck him off. Tredd sat on his legs, pinning his hands above his on either side of his head.

"Get your insubordinate dickish self off of me-" came a muffled growl.

"Take a night off." Tredd snickered, leaning further on the kicking legs under himself.

"I said get off!" Luche roared, struggling in vain to muster strength that just wasn't there.

The blonde managed to turn and bite the readhead on the wrist. Tredd glanced down, still holding tight, to see teeth marks- rapidly turning red- clearly visible. 

"The fucker bit me." Tredd sounded awed. Luche bit Tredd. He must be in far worse shape than they thought- calm, in control, cool Luche lay smirking and bedraggled after fighting and biting his best friend. Six.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You are going home one way or another. Gonna keep fighting?" This got a quiet curse in response.

"Hard it is." Came the muttered reply. 

Tredd adjusted his sleeves, pinning the others two hands in one of his, over his head, looking down at his prey. Luche lay exhausted but still defiant. His hair flopped down in his eyes, uniform a mess, shirt untucked under his coat. Tredd chuckled at the sight.

"Remember, all you need to do is take the night off …" 

 Luche growled in response, writhing in his grasp. 

Tredd leaned in, tugged his shirt up further, and dug his fingers into the skin above Luche's hip. “Tredd! Get off or I swear to Ramuh!” Luche squawked, bucking weakly.

Tredd tickled along the cut of his hips and lower belly, earning increasingly desperate threats. Tredd grinned, clawing into the muscle above the joint, deeply amused at the shaky curses. Based on the flush along Luche's face and how bad his stomach quivered in his grasp, the beleaguered glaive just needed a little push. 

“I’ll go home as soon as I’m done!” Luche squirmed, desperately struggling to reign himself in. 

“You are done for the day.” Tredd smirked, kneading. 

“Just a little more! I swear!” Came a pleading squeak. 

"You asked for it." Tredd snickered, leaning in. 

"No! Get the fuck off! Nonononoo!" Luche squealed, then broke into wild cackling at Tredd nibbling at the exposed skin of his hip. The blond managed to break his arms free, but his strength to do anything else withered under the crippling mirth. Tredd laughed into the quivering skin, holding tight onto the poor glaive frantically squirming in his arms.  

The vice captain bucked weakly, shaking his head amid aching guffaws. His lungs and muscles burned, adrenaline spent. Tredd chuckled, kneading into his quaking waist. Luche looked to be near admitting defeat, face bright red and hair askew. 

"Gonna get some rest?" Tredd glanced up, smiling at the giggling glaive.

Luche panted and told Tredd to go fuck himself in Gahladian. 

"Alrighty then..." 

Luche screeched as Tredd blew raspberry after raspberry onto his belly, clawing into the meat above his hips. The blonde was held tight as he thrashed and laughed helplessly. He couldn't stand it, couldn’t escape, his mind stuck in a spiraling loop of six, it tickles and I'm stuck. Tredd smirked, continuing mercilessly, not noticing the form of the captain in the doorway, taking a stealth pic of his poor second being tickled to death. 

"May I ask why you are tormenting Lazarus?" Drautos inquired over his second’s breathless shrieks of laughter, leaning casually on the door frame. Tredd froze, wide eyed. Then shook himself and smiled up at his captain.

 "Lazarus is burning himself out, sir. I am merely encouraging him to rest up." 

Drautos raised an eyebrow, observing the poor condition of his second. The blonde had been taking on more paperwork and training, desperate to prevent losses on the battlefield. This war had taken a terrible toll on his glaives, and some bore the stress better than others. While training and hard work was well and good, rest was also key. Drautos nodded, and turned back to the hallway.

"Can't fight or think on an empty tank. Go home, the lot of you. That's an order." 

Two yes sirs sounded behind him, one smug, and the other uncertain. 

Tredd ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. After forcing takeout down the blond’s gullet and settling in for a night of games, he had turned around to find him passed out cold on his couch. He really had no idea how Luche held it together for so long. Tredd himself dealt with stress by beating a weighted bag until his knuckles bled. Sometimes with fire dancing viciously between the bones protruding under taut skin. He went until his strength was spent and someone- usually Luche- would catch him. The others did the same, roughly. The “hero” and his squad drank their troubles away, leaning on each other through the hard nights. Axis sank into his family, letting their love wash his wounds clean. Sonitus sang and danced with the remnants of his clan, their songs steady, leading its participants into a cleansing, healing trance. It was easy to let eachother hold the stress for a bit. It was what kept them all going- sticking together. 

Tredd glanced down at a soft snort from Luche, watching the man snuggle deeper into his couch. Draping a blanket over him, the redhead turned to get ready for bed. Maybe Drautos would take it easy on them in training tomorrow.

#KINGSGLAIVE #luche lazarus #tredd furia #titus drautos #ffxv #fluff #My fic #tredd is the only one who knows luche's tickle spot #Tredd and Luche are bros #Drautos is so done

[yeetustoafetus]

Hey! I'm Jay! And I've been dead for a while! I recently discovered WayneradioTV's "Half-Life VR but the AI is Self Aware" and I've become obsessed. I have also just become obsessed with the Half-Life series in general. All content is good content, Freeman's Mind, Gorgeous Freeman, the games, I don't care, feed me content. So, anyway, here's a fanfic I wrote at 3 am over the span of two days. Enjoy!

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Trigger/Content warning: Shouting/yelling, blood, swearing, mentions of slurs but none are said.

Word count: 1,845

Fandom(s) mentioned: Freeman's Mind, HLVRAI, Gorgeous Freeman, and The Half Life series.

Freeman's Mind belongs to Ross Scott

HLVRAI belongs to WayneradioTV

Gorgeous Freeman belongs to Antoine Delak

The Half Life series belongs to Valve and associates

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

 A dull thunk of his skull against plated metal woke him up, his eye groggy. He glanced around with a frown, taking in his surroundings. The orange plate metal, the destroyed experiment… He knew where he was. He didn’t want to admit it, though. He smacked his hand into his forehead, the metal of his glove ripping a small hole into his forehead. He grumbled, wiping the spouting crimson from his skin

“Man, this fucking blows. I want to go back to Massachusetts.” He grumbled, standing up shakily. “Ugh, my.. Fucking head. Feels like college..” He muttered coldly. Dried blood, some his own, and some from other creatures, stuck in dried clumps throughout his beard and hair. A bloodied, now scabbed over, chunk of flesh had been ripped from the right side of his face, the eye having blurred to a dirty crimson days before. Most of his right ear had also been ripped off by a turret. A few guns hung from his beaten metal suit, bits and pieces having been chipped away. The pieces that remained hung from his figure by some kevlar and rubber. A rocket Launcher was strapped to his back, the weight offering him some unforgiving aches and pains. And here he was, trapped at ground zero once more. He hadn’t the faintest idea how he ended up back in the chamber he had begun this nightmare, but it wasn’t a welcome sight when he woke up. He blinked a few times and rubbed at his seeing eye, the vision going blurry for a minute before it cleared, showing him the blinding orange of the room once more. He groaned loudly, like a child being told to clean, before pulling his crowbar from the strap across his back. He’d have to do this the old fashioned way.

He walked around the chamber aimlessly, searching for anything, a loose side plate to pry up to get out, or a weak bit of the wall he could break through with his crowbar. After 3 minutes, he had found nothing. He growled and kicked the cart that had once contained the pure sample.

“GODDAMMIT!” He shouted, grabbing his crowbar and smacking it hard into the cart. “WHY IS THIS MY RESPONSIBILITY?! WHY AM I HERE?! GAAAH!” He screamed in frustration, punching the metal plated wall. He shouted in pain, hot tears pricking his eyes as a loud crack rang through the room. He threw his body against the wall and collapsed, grabbing his injured wrist.

“Motherfucker… I’m going to kill someone! I’m gonna fucking kill someone!” He banged his uninjured fist against the metal, the loud clang filling the room. He smacked his head back against the wall and groaned loudly. “Let me the fuck out of heeerrreee.” He droned loudly, almost sounding bored. “You fucking pussies keep me here because you’re scared!” He shouted, climbing to his feet. He smacked his crowbar against the walls once again, shouting unintelligible words mixed with a colorful vocabulary of slurs. He finally quit when he realized he was really alone.

“This is bullshit, man.” He growled, sitting against the wall again. He shook his head and let out a primal scream. Not of pain, more of frustration, anger. All of the feelings that had been bubbling since this shitshow had started. This was torture, and it was about to be even worse as he was left to die in a fully sealed room, alone. No one but himself for company. That’s what he had wanted, right?

...Right?

No, he could have guessed that after the third day of sitting alone in a broken lab. He had tried to pass the time by hitting the portal. Maybe that would bring something up, a beam of electricity to destroy the blast doors, maybe? He gave up on that when the crowbar shot back at him after a hard strike, cutting deep into the flesh of his shoulder. Just his luck that his suit had given out right there. He shouted in pain and dropped the metal bar, grabbing the quickly bleeding wound, as if covering it with his hand would stop the ooze of crimson. The blood stained the orange metal of his gloves, drips of the liquid falling to the floor.

“Mother fucker… You stupid mother… fucker..” He muttered, falling back against the wall and sighing as he clenched his fists. “...God..” He muttered. His vision went red and his anger exploded, “...GOD DAMMIT!” He shouted, throwing the crowbar as hard as he could. “YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER! I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOUR PARENTS!” He screamed. “YOU’RE FUCKING NOTHING, I’M GORDON FUCKING FREEMAN, I SHOULDN’T BE IN HERE! LET ME OUT!!” He shouted, throwing himself into a run, launching himself into the door. “YOU FUCKING WHORES, LET ME OUT!!!” He banged his fists on the door, kicking and shouting at it. All of a sudden, the doors outside of the blast doors blew open, and in stumbled 3 men, all donning some variation of the suit he had. He glared out of the windows in the blast doors before a booming voice came over the loudspeakers.

“Gordon. Freeman. Please step. Away from the. Door.” The voice rang around the room. “Like hell I’ll take orders from you!” He shouted, glancing around. “Let me out!” He demanded.

    “Gordon. Freeman. Please step. Away from the. Door, Now.” The voice repeated. He growled and crossed his arms. “Why should I? What are you gonna do about it, bitch?” He shouted. As soon as the words left his lips, a dart was shot into his neck. He yelped, grabbing at the prick in his neck. It was too late for it anyway, the tranquilizer had already begun pumping through his veins, his heightened heart rate not helping at all. He collapsed in a matter of moments, the heavy metal suit clanging to the floor with his limp body being dragged down with it. The blood from his shoulder painted the orange metal. After the disembodied voice was sure he was done, they allowed the three other men in, slamming the blast door behind them.

The men had been walking around the chamber quietly, inspecting it as the other man was passed out. One of them was quietly muttering to himself, more nervously than anything. One of the men was completely silent, peering around the room silently. The last one had a smug grin on his face the whole time, checking himself out in the reflection of the beaten metal. They all looked over in tandem as the waking man groaned, blinking quietly as he awoke. He looked around quietly, catching one of the men in his view. “...Who the fuck are you?” He grumbled at him. The man in question was tall, but rounder in some areas, a dad body as many would suggest. His skin was darker than the man who had spoken, most likely a mixed heritage. His hair was curly and was tied into a ponytail, streaks of gray running through the dark brown locks. His beard was a bit longer than Gordon’s, and his glasses had a crack through the lens. The other men in the room had similar features, each of them donning a beard and glasses. “Who.. Who the fuck are you?” He muttered to the men, going to stand up before almost falling again. “D-dammit..” He growled. One of the men stepped forward to help Gordon get footing but he batted him away. “Don’t touch me! Who are you?! Answer my questions!” He demanded from the three. The taller one stepped forward and cleared his throat. “I’m Gordon Freeman. I don’t know how I got here, And I have no clue who these two are.” He gestured to the silent one and the one checking himself out. The first Gordon barked out a laugh. “I know I look awesome, but you don’t gotta pretend to be me!” He smirked, but the other Gordon just raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure what you mean. I am Gordon Freeman, I’m not kidding.” 

The first man frowned. “I’m not fucking slow, dude. Just admit it, What’s your name?” The other man frowned. “I don’t think this is very funny, bro. Who are you?” He pointed at the silent one. “You. What’s your name?” The man looked him up and down silently before holding his hands up slightly. ‘My name is Gordon Freeman.’ He signed, looking between the three. Two of them stared at him like he had just grown 3 heads. He sighed quietly, this was going to be hard. He was going to try and translate before the one who hadn’t joined the conversation yet, the vain one, chimed in. “He said his name was Gordon Freeman as well.” The other three looked over to him. 

‘You can read signs?’ The silent one signed again. He nodded and looked over at the other two men. “I guess I’m the only one with a different name?” He frowned, raising an eyebrow. “Gorgeous Freeman. In the flesh.” The other three stared at him like he was an alien, and the frown etched deeper into his cheeks. “Whatever. You three seem to have a.. Naming situation. I might have an idea.” He nodded, smirking like a jackass.

    “Oh my god- Get on with it.” The first Gordon growled. Gorgeous held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, calm your tits. You can be… Freemind. Because you clearly have one of those.” He muttered, earning a growl from Freemind. “Let’s see… You.” He pointed to the taller, rounder Gordon. “Where were you before this?” He asked. “I.. was with a group of scientists.. And a security guard.” He answered, figuring specifics weren’t needed.

    “Coolio. So… I guess you could be...Hm.” He thought silently. “...What’s something people called you?”

    “Uh… The security guard called me a lot of things, mostly Gordon Feetman, but-” “Great, that’s your name.” Gorgeous cut him off with a smile. Feetman tried to protest, but he was blatantly ignored. “And you can be Freeman.” He pointed at the mute Gordon. He thought for a few seconds before giving him a thumbs up. “Great! We got names sorted. Now… How-”

    “There’s no way out.” Freemind muttered, crossing his arms. “I’ve been trying for 3 days, this room is built like it’s meant to take a damn missile.” “Well, you’ve never met me.” Gorgeous smirked, nudging  Freemind. It earned him a rough thwack to the side of his head. “Rude..” He muttered, walking over to the blast doors. He looked around and spied the crowbar that had been thrown. He picked it up, admiring it for a few seconds before shoving the sharp end between the doors. The other 3 watched silently as Gorgeous, with all of the strength in his body, forced the blast doors open. He turned back to Freemind with an asshole smirk. “I’ll wait for my applause.” “You’ll be waiting a while, then.” Freeman grunted, walking past him. Gorgeous shrugged and followed after him, Feetman and Freeman tailing behind slightly. And they were off.

#hlvrai #freemans mind #gorgeous freeman #half life #gordon freeman #gordon freemind

[itsanerdlife]

Cruel Boy 16/33

Pairing: Howie Stark x Reader

Warning: Lies. Betrayal. Just a lot of violence. Mentions of Domestic abuse. Parental abuse. Murder Suicide. Death. Guilt. Hate. Deception. Lots and lots of anger.

A/N: This is a bit darker theme, but Howie isn’t dark. Anger problems and bad choices but he’s not a bad person.

Playlist!!

First love. First heart break. Life time of hate. When the silver spoon feeding you love is taken away, you learn to lick it off the knives. Howie Stark broke you. Him and his brother ruined your life. Destroyed your dreams and crushed your soul. Your best friend is dead and your life is a mess. When you take a bartending job, it just happens to be owned by the Bastard Son’s MC. Just your fucking luck. Jokes, you haven’t had luck since Gwen died and Howie ripped out your barely beating heart. There is no way in hell you’re giving him a second chance. Hell will freeze over before you let him touch you again. Not a chance are you ever letting the Stark’s near you again. Hell might have just frozen over.

Tag List Open

You and Morgan walk into the garage, each holding an ice cream cone. Pepper smirks from her office, Howie is under the hood of one car, Peter under the body of the same car. Morgan runs off to see Pepper, you hop up on the work bench. Howie looks over, shaking his head a smirk on his mouth.

“Whatcha doing?” You smirk. He works his hands with a red rage, coming over towards you.

“Just a storage check.” He dips his head, taking a mound out of your ice cream.

“Howard.” You laugh. He grins, licking his lips. You hate him, but damn he’s too good looking.

“So much better when its yours.” He grins. Your mouth puckers, watching him.

“I’m sure you say that to every girl, who’ve let you in their pants.” You shrug, going back to your ice cream.

Peter laughs, followed by a thump and a muttered ow. You smirk, feeling smug. Till Howie’s breathe is near your ear. Your chest constricts, making you swallow hard.

“Nobody’s is ever like yours.” He chuckles, kissing your cheek before he backs away. The devilish grin on his lips says you’re forming different shades of red.

“Alright, all good.” Peter rolls out from under the car. Howie nods, reaching inside the car through the rolled down window. He comes back towards you, holding a set of keys.

“Here.” He pushes them into your hand.

“What the fuck are these?” You stare at the keys in your hand.

“To the car.” He tips his head in the cars direction. 

“Why the fuck would I need them?” You look up at him.

“I mean I’ll gladly give you a ride to work and back each night, but just in case I have to be gone.” He shrugs.

“Howard, no.” You try to shove the keys at him. He’s backing away with a grin.

“Yes. You need it. It just sits in the garage.” He shrugs.

“Howie, fuck no.” You stare at him. He grins.

“No take backs.” He takes it back to when you were kids.

“I’m going to kick your ass.” You hop down.

Shoving your ice cream cone at Peter, who laughs, leaning against the work bench. Howie darts around the side of the car, you take off after him. The two of dodging around the garage. He laughs, slipping away, he’s out the open bay door.

You run after him. Jumping on his back, your hand holding the keys, goes for his pocket. His laugh vibrates through you as he tries to fight off your hand. You slap one hand over his eyes, trying to distract him. 

“Christ it’s like they’re fifteen still.” Tony chuckles. Peter is eating your ice cream cone, grinning.

“As much as I love your hands in my pocket. I swear to god, I will super glue them to your damn hand.” Howie laughs. Your head drops on his shoulder, laughing.

“I don’t want your car.” You couldn’t stop grinning.

“Might be my fault your apartment was broken into.” He shrugs the opposite shoulder. 

“You suck.” You snort.

“Owe you a hoodie too.” He adjusts you on his back.

“I stole your T-shirt and flannel. Call it even.” Your arms slip over his shoulders.

Your chin rests on your arm, as Howie heads back into the garage. Tony helps Morgan sit on the work bench, she’s watching you and Howie. Peter holds up your ice cream cone for you. You take it back, letting Howie take another bite from it.

“How.” Morgan’s head tips, melting cone in hand. Tony takes it, cleaning it up for her.

“What’s up baby?” How grins at her.

“Momma says you both love each other since you were kids.” Morgan watches you. Tony chuckles, handing the cone back.

“We have.” He nods, biting into your ice cream again.

“Why can’t I ever date than?” She asks. You drop your head into the crook of Howie’s neck, laughing.

“Cause you’re our baby sister.” Peter explains.

“That’s stupid.” Morgan blinks at them.

“You can date, don’t let them tell you what to do.” You wink at her. She lights up. Howie’s head whips to the side to glare at you. Peter snatches your ice cream cone away, glaring as well. “Glare all you want, I stand by it.” You smirk.

“Don’t listen to Y/N.” Howie grumbles.

“Momma says she’s supposed to be my sister.” Morgan points out.

“MA!” Peter throws his hands up, looking at the office. She’s laughing so hard her face just about matches her hair.

“She’s not wrong.” Tony shrugs.

You snatch your ice cream back from Peter. You take a lick off it, Howie’s head is shaking as he watches his sister. You smash the rest of your ice cream into the side of his face. Dragging it down his cheek and jaw. You slip off his back, taking what’s left in your hand and doing the same to Peter.

You back up, licking your fingers. Morgan looks rather thrilled. Peter and Howie, less thrilled, as they fling ice cream off their hands. You shrug, winking at Morgan.

“Oh shit. I think I got my ice cream on you.” You wince.

“You’re dead.” Peter licks his thumb.

“Oh you’re going to pay so big.” Howie nods, a smirk on his lips.

“Big talk. From a couple of bikers with ice cream on their faces.” You laugh. Howie turns, plucking the ice cream cone from his sisters hand. 

“I’ll get you a new one.” He grins.

“I’ll hold her down.” Peter nods.

“Oh no.” You laugh, backing up quickly.

“Oh yes.” Howie grins, stalking towards you. You spin, taking off at a run out of the garage. Peter and Howie chasing after you.

Peter grabs hold of you. Pulling your back into his chest, your feet up off the ground. The three of you laughing, almost breathless. Howie tries to hold both of your hands, but you tug one free. Grabbing the top half of the cone in your hand and crushing it. You scream as he smashes the rest into your face. You drag your ice cream covered hand down his face.

“That didn’t work for you.” Peter laughs at Howie. You turn your face, rubbing your nose and cheek across the clean side of his face. “Mother fucker.” Peter laughs. He sets you down the three of you covered in ice cream, and still laughing.

“I think you lost.” Morgan announces from behind you. Peter looks from you to Howie and back to Morgan.

“Come here little sister.” Peter chuckles, chasing after her as she runs away screaming.

“You got a little.” You wave your hand around Howie’s face.

“Yeah, you’re ah, sporting a little.” He taps your nose, making you laugh.

His lips land on yours, cutting off your laugh. Surprise and confusion, but you find yourself kissing him back. It’s not long, not quick. It’s thrilling, comforting, and a little self hateful. Okay that was just you, hating yourself. How did you end up so weak when it came to the boy who ripped your heart out?

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

Everything Peaches 9/3/19 @mo320​ @courtmr​ @avxgers​ @eliza-kat​ @irepeldirt​ @jordan-ia​ @jcc04220​ @dumblani​ @nishanki1​ @allyp1023​ @joannie95​ @rogvewitch​ @rileyloves5​ @sarahp879​ @sexyvixen7​ @doctoranon​ @queentoffee

@abschaffer2​ @tony-stank3​ @tomhardy41​ @bookluver01​ @drayshadow​ @teller258316​ @nickimarie94​ @wandressfox​ @cutekittybast​ @amandab-ftw​ @carostar2020​ @thelostallycat​ @henrietteoaks​ @nea90sweetie​ @circusofchaos​ @bettercallsabs​ @miraclesoflove​ @queenkrissy11​ @shield-agent78​ @elite4cekalyma​ @sadyoungadult​ @destiel-artemis​ @isabelcrichards​ @iwillbeinmynest​ @sweet-honey15​ @scooby-doodoo​ @chanelmadrid13​ @killerbumblebee​ @spookygrantaire​ @geeksareunique​ @supernatural508​ @itzmegaaaaaaan​ @optimistic-babes​ @elizabethaellison​ @rainbowkisses31​ @aspiringtranslator​ @mariekoukie6661​ @pure-princess-97​ @capsheadquaters​ @youclickedthislink​ @futuremrsb-r-main​ @lovemarvelousfics​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @petersunderoos96​ @loving-life-my-way​ @itsy-bitsy-spidergirl​ @buckystolemyheart​ @booktvmoviefangirl​ @thatpeachybandgirl​ @supernatural-girl97​ @thefridgeismybestie​ @eggingamazinglove​ @deathofmissjackson​ @awkwardfangirl2014​ @queenoftheunderdark​ @laneygthememequeen​ @writingaworldofmyown​ @death-unbecomes-you​ @shann-the-artist-moon​ @supernaturallover2002​ @daughterofthenight117​ @mcuwillbethedeathofme​ @verymuchclosetedfangirl​ @for-the-love-of-the-fandom​ @ocaptain-mycaptainmorgan​ @crazy-little-thing-called-buck​ @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked​ @stupendoussciencenaturepanda​ @supernatural-strangerthings-1980​

Howie 'Damn Boy' Stark: @ml7010​ @gabile18​ @crayonwriting​ @callme-barnes​ @untoasted-ravioli​ @andycanbeemotional​

CB:

@coley0823​ @csigeoblue​ @lakamaa12​ @tomhardy41​ @ms-rogers06​ @wolfiemichele​ @eridanuswave​ @tireddork-knight​ @honey-bee-holly​ @multifandomgirl-us​ @eggingamazinglove​ @badassbeckettswan​ @fandomsstolemylife00​ @dreamingofthenightmarexrhea​ @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety​

#Marvel #OFC!Howie Stark x Reader #Avengers #OFC!Howie x Reader #Cruel Boy #Marvel Fanfiction #OFC!Howie Stark Series #Avengers Fanfiction #OFC!Howie Series

[chromecutie]

Not A Ghost - part 36

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Masterlist on my profile!

Taglist: @emma-frxst  @ra-ra-rasputiin  @holamor ​  @empressme-bitch  @marvel-is-perfection  @hazilyimagine ​ @marvelhead17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash ​ @whitewitchdown ​ @master-sass-blast ​ @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen @emberbent @leo-writer . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

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

The klaxon buzzing and screeching woke Wade from his light doze. His cell door was open. He was on his feet and in seconds was already halfway down the cell block, dodging confused inmates as they wandered from their cells. 

“Attention, Vicious 13,” Mimi’s unmistakable voice echoed over the speakers throughout the prison, “Please come to the control office in an orderly fashion. Don’t let the DMC stop you. I have presents for you all.”

It didn’t take long for every inmate, not just Vicious 13, to start running toward the office. Wade ran the opposite direction as best as his tumor-riddled lungs allowed. A cluster of inmates had piled onto an unlucky guard, beating him senseless and stripping him of his equipment. 

Every inmate was so hell bent on running toward the office, none of them spared Wade a glance as he headed for the solitary unit. His lungs burned; every inch of his body ached, but if he had to get by on raw stubbornness alone, he would get to his friend he promised to protect.

--

After Wade’s visit, Rhonda had forced herself to pour the freezing cold milk on her face to neutralize the concentrated pepper spray the guards had used. She also forced down a few bites of the food, but she wasn’t optimistic about anything. She gently worked her shoulder, still tender from getting dislocated and then wrenched back into place, and she wouldn’t count on being able to lift it to defend herself against any blow.

The hours had worn on in her isolation cell. It wasn’t her first time in solitary. The easiest way to pass the time was to either sleep or keep moving - anything to mitigate the solitude that drove people insane. It was where she’d taught herself to do a handstand and walk on her hands some years ago. Though, as much as she knew she should keep moving - keep her joints and muscles as warm as possible - she felt so heavy with shame and guilt and fear that she drifted in and out of sleep. 

When the alarm blared and screamed through the entire prison, Rhonda made a startled leap from her cot. The cell door opened, and though she wasn’t sure if it was because of Mimi or Piotr, she wouldn’t stay in her cell a second longer than she had to.

Every single cell door in the isolation unit was open. About half of the cells were occupied, and those had inmates blearily stepping out and grumbling questions. Rhonda kept her head down and walked quickly. The speaker system kicked on, but the speakers here were damaged. It was easy enough to recognize it was Mimi’s voice making announcements, but it was hard to make out exactly what she was saying, except for “presents.” Rhonda had made it past three or four inmates. She only had to glide past a few more before she was out of the solitary unit--

One man snagged her arm. “Guestbook,” he growled in a British accent, “If it ent the fucken’ scourge o’ the Icebox ‘erself.” He grinned with chipped teeth at the rest of the newly freed inmates. “Presents, indeed, boys. It’s Christmas fucken’ mornin’!”

Rhonda groaned, then dodged the incoming jab heading for her jaw. She threw the British inmate to the ground, only to be yanked backward as a second man hooked an arm around her neck from behind. A third started raining blows on her ribs. 

Thrashing her legs and with a few well-placed kicks below the belt, Rhonda was loose again and she slammed one man’s face into the concrete floor - breaking his nose, a cheekbone, and probably some teeth. It was a whirlwind of fists and feet, but Rhonda felt like the same fight she’d had dozens of times was replaying again. She knew when to hit, when to dodge, and was able to tell when she’d be able to make two enemies collide with each other, giving her an opportunity to get some space. The British inmate came at her with an improvised shiv - it looked like a piece of plexiglass scavenged from a previous riot, wrapped on one end with torn strips of yellow jumpsuit. He slashed and stabbed, and Rhonda dodged the worst of it. She couldn’t lift her right arm high enough to avoid some of the blows, and wound up with a few gashes on her arms, but she got lucky when he slipped on some of her blood. It was all she needed to grapple him to the ground and take the shiv for herself. 

She brought the jagged glass plunging into his jugular. The next moments were a blurred confusion of blood and screaming. Rhonda was down to one inmate still on his feet, the last one between her and the end of the unit. Then, something hit his head with a clank and he went down like a bag of rocks. Behind him stood Wade, absently slapping a broken segment of walkway railing in his palm. 

He let out a low whistle as he took in the mess of smeared blood and limp bodies on the hall floor. “Lucky I showed up when I did,” he pretended to be smug, then laughed despite himself. “Yeah...you definitely needed my help.”

Rhonda spat a little blood. “How is it out there?”

“Like if they made a free-for-all arena version of Mortal Kombat,” he shrugged. “Typical boys’ night.”

She took a breath and gently stretched her bad shoulder, steeling her nerves. “Let’s go.”

--

The X-Jet circled the snow-capped mountain. Kurt and Ororo were in the cockpit, with Piotr close behind them. Since they left the house, he’d felt calmer, focused. He was on his way to pull his wife out of hell, and nothing would stop him. 

Loud booms erupted from the roof of the Icebox and along the mountainside as anti aircraft guns fired on the jet. Kurt hissed some curses in German as he evaded with expert maneuvering. Pulling the jet back out of the guns’ range, he said, “Can we take out those guns, mein freund?”

--

Sensors beeped and dinged in the control office. Mimi looked for the source for a second until Robinson said, “It’s the guns outside, look.” Pointing on another screen, radar caught the jet as a rapidly circling blip.

“Is that more DMC?” she asked, ignoring the continuous noise outside the office.

Robinson shook his head, “Not with the guns firing on it like that, I don’t think so. They’re automated, look.” He showed her the control panel for the guns. “DMC usually comes in through the rail tunnels, but when the brass shows up in a helicopter, they’ve got friendly tokens. Keeps the guns from firing.” He paused. “I don’t know who this is.”

“It’s our ride out of here,” Mimi grinned. “I’ll be damned. Guestbook wasn’t lying.” As far as she was concerned, her plan was going flawlessly. “Disarm the guns. Let them through.”

Outside the office, many of the guards had been taken down. Inmates had mobbed onto them. Plenty of people laid on the floor, coughing from the pepper spray or shakily getting back to their feet after being shocked with cattle prods. Guards lay dead or unconscious as inmates took their boots, their weapons, gloves, anything they could. Then inmates started fighting among themselves as some started pounding on the office walls, demanding Mimi let them in and remove their collars.

For her part, Mimi was content to ignore them as much as possible. Janks and other high ranking V13 members stayed close to the office, fending off the more impatient prisoners with broken pieces of railing.

Rhonda and Wade elbowed their way through until they faced Janks and his smug scowl. It had been a long walk from solitary to the control office, and they had dealt with waves of guards, inmates embracing chaos, or both trying to take their vengeful pound of flesh from Rhonda. Wade was limping and leaning on her, bleeding from his side and his leg and a busted lip. She had a broken nose, a new scrape on her cheek, and splashes of blood all over her jumpsuit. She still clenched the plexiglass shiv in one hand.

Janks twisted his grip around the railing, ready to use it. Looking past him to Mimi, Rhonda yelled in a rasp, “Mimi! If you wanna get out of this shithole, let us in!” The big lieutenant in front of her turned and tapped the glass with the railing.

Mimi craned her slender neck past Robinson’s shoulder and her face lit up with exaggerated surprise. She beckoned with her long fingers and Janks let them through, guarding against anyone trying to seize an opportunity. Robinson beeped his card and Rhonda and Wade dragged themselves through the door, letting it lock behind them again.

Wade sank into the empty chair beside Robinson and sagged, groaning. Rhonda held out her hand toward Mimi, “Okay, the token.” 

In the good lighting, Mimi’s charcoal grey scales had an iridescent sheen, playing the light with hints of green and purple. She blinked, then said slowly, “One more condition.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Wade whined, lolling his head. “Always one more thing with these fuckers.” He coughed some blood.

The reptilian twirled a hard token in her long fingers. The little chunk of plastic caught the light as much as her scales as she stared down Rhonda. “He doesn’t look so good. Neither do you.”

Rhonda’s mouth twitched into a snarl. “Name it.”

She stepped closer until they were just inches apart. “Almost every DMC officer in this place is dead,” she jerked her head toward Robinson, “except this one. And it will stay that way. In fact, he’s coming with us out of here. Your friends are already circling the place, and I want assurance that Edmund will be as safe as me and you.”

Rhonda spared a seething glance for Robinson. “We’ll take as many people with us as we can. Including you and this one.”

Wade picked up his head. “Rhonda! Really? Not even a counter offer? You’re gonna fold like some origami for this shit? How many serial killers are you planning on letting loose?”

“And how many of them are like me, Wade?” she snapped. “I wasn’t like this before I got here! We’re taking as many as the jet can carry.”

He rolled his eyes and shrugged, mumbling, “You get to tell Colossus.” 

“He’ll do it,” she retorted. Her hard gaze leveled on Mimi again. “The token.”

She set it in Rhonda’s hand, but her fingers lingered just a moment before she pulled away. 

Rhonda clenched the token in her fist. It was the last thing between her and never wearing a DMC collar again. She pulled a shaky breath, and tapped Wade’s shoulder. “Okay, sit up. Lean forward a little so I can see,” she reached for his collar.

“Nuh-uh,” he feebly batted her hand away. “We did this whole thing to get your collar off--”

“Wade, you’re gonna die in the next few minutes if we don’t get this off,” she said firmly. His breathing was labored, and he could hardly speak without coughing. He had to be in terrible pain, but he didn’t act like it. They shared a hard look, then said in unison, “We won’t tell Colossus.”

Finally, Wade leaned over to let Rhonda punch the code into the block on his collar. It beeped, clicked loose, and fell away. Immediately, Wade groaned and stood up straight as his body began rapidly healing. He shimmied his shoulders, shaking off the pain, then gave Rhonda the biggest smile. “Okay, your turn.”

--

When the anti aircraft guns stopped firing, Ororo and Kurt hesitated. “You don’t think they already got into the control office, did they?” Ororo wondered. 

“Perhaps,” Colossus said from behind them. “Those two are nothing if not resourceful…”

The jet descended and over the roof of the Icebox, they could see the large skylight reinforced with metal bars. “Drop Beast and me here,” Colossus said. “You can land near the personnel tunnel and come up that way.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Kurt asked, even as he banked the jet toward the skylight.

Storm added. “You don’t know what the situation is with DMC officers and inmates.”

“I am taking the chance,” Colossus insisted. He headed to the rear of the jet, tapping Beast on the shoulder on the way. Beast unbuckled his harness and followed as the hatch opened before them. 

The icy night air came howling into the jet. Colossus glanced at Negasonic and Yukio and noticed them shiver even as they gave him a stoic nod. They would find him as soon as they landed. Fine, powdery snow swirled around them with the wind. Colossus and Beast took a breath as they neared the expansive skylight.

“Well, friend,” Beast said, genial as ever while quoting poetry, “screw your courage to the sticking place, and we’ll not fail.”

“It is not my courage I am worried about.” Colossus took one more breath and launched himself into the air. Beast followed just behind him.

They landed hard on the roof, beside the skylight, and found the glass was covered in a lattice of reinforced steel. The two strong mutants quickly got to work wrenching the bars away before they could kick out the glass and drop into the middle of the Icebox.

--

Rhonda’s hands trembled. Every horrible thing in the last two days had led up to this, and now it hardly seemed real. She gave Mimi and Robinson one last wary look before turning around to let Wade see the number pad on her collar. “You have to do it fast,” she reminded him, “It’s only ten seconds.”

Mimi watched intently, “Don’t fuck up.” Still, she took a step back, just in case.

“Just so everyone knows,” Wade raised his voice and tossed his head around for emphasis, “my drunk texting is immaculate. I’m not gonna fat-finger anything here. Thanks for the fucking vote of confidence, though.”

Each beep on the number pad felt like a church bell that was tolling either victory or doom, and Rhonda couldn’t be sure which until the collar came loose. Rhonda heard the click, but at the same time, a thundering crash resounded through the whole prison, filling Rhonda’s senses. For a moment, she was sure the collar had exploded and she had died. 

“Oh look,” Wade clicked the collar closed and tossed it nonchalantly to the floor. “Shiny Senpai is here. Ugh, with Beast. Rhonda, promise me you won’t let him hump my leg.”

Rhonda pulled in a deep breath, then another. She looked up and followed Wade’s gaze through the plexiglass walls and saw Colossus and Beast were in the yard. “They’re here,” she said softly, partly astonished, partly relieved. She realized the sickly fuzziness over her senses had dissipated, replaced with dizziness like when someone stands up too quickly after lying down. That faded too, and she took her first easy breath in two days, flexing her fingers. 

Sparks danced over her knuckles.

#not a ghost #colossus x oc #piotr rasputin x oc #xmen fanfic #deadpool fanfic #colossus #piotr rasputin

[memorydragon]

Tagged by @subtextsays   I'd planned to do this a few days ago, but the Chinese Government said No.  Also, tumblr is now giving me a major issues actually typing right now, so we'll see if I make it.  Seriously though, the fuck tumblr.  Your post function is nigh unusable right now.

🍓 what do you prefer to be called name wise?

Mem or Memory.  I answer to both irl, mostly because people who know my real name tend to just be like, no, you're Mem.  I go with the flow since there's really only one name I refuse to answer to anyway.

🍓 when is your birthday?

Same day as Dr. Suess.

🍓 where do you live?

South China.  Yeah, it's been a fun year, let me tell ya.  

🍓 Three things you are doing right now?

Fighting desktop tumblr because fuck it.  I never thought I'd say that the mobile version actually has more functionality, but 2020.

Drinking tea.  Because I need tea right now.

Trying to navigate an online teaching system that is entirely in Chinese.  It's going about as well as you'd think.  

🍓 four fandoms that have piqued your interest right now?

I'm currently in a Tales rabbit hole right now.  My Vesperia playthrough has awakened things that I thought had long past and Crestoria is tempting me with a scene of Vicious and Aegis that my brain wants me to write.  Because, ya know, there's only like, ten fics in the whole tag for Crestoria right now, so between a ten year old game and a gatcha mobile phone game, I'm totally getting a huge audience for these fics.  -_-;;;  Though the Tales game I'm currently playing is actually... not going to end up as a favorite, to be honest.  Graces isn't vibing with me at all.

DC is still on my mind as well.  Vesperia just kind of highjacked a few things.  

Whizzy, you need to join me at Relena's birthday party.  You really should.  XD  And it seems I'm not the only one who's trying to drag you down to it again.  

Not sure if I really have a fourth one at the moment?  Mostly because Tales is actually more than one fandom, I'm just grouping them all together.  I'm also currently on the fence of what to do after I finish Graces, because on one hand, I will have a shiny new gaming laptop tomorrow which I can replay the psx version of Phantasia on (or even find Destiny or Eternia on for replaying?  It's been so long and I've needed to replay those games for a while now).  On the other hand, I also have Xillia, plus the other PS3 Tales games I can buy (Xillia 2, Hearts, and apparently both Symphonia games I need to replay) and I've kind of wanted a replay of Zesty and Berseria.  And given how long all of these fuckers are, this ends up being a massive conundrum.  

🍓 how is the pandemic treating you?

So, you know how a lot of people have had major stress because their job stopped paying them properly and/or were layed off, had money issues, and anxiety/depression combo?  Yeah, I've had all of that several months in advance from everyone else, then had to watch as other people also went through all of that, knowing they were just starting what I was going through.  It's not been fun.  At least China has actual control over Covid at the moment though, so I managed a quick trip to Shanghai which was fun.  If it weren't for the pollution, I'd love to live in Shanghai, not gonna lie.  The city made a pretty big impression on me and seems to be more of a San Francisco/Austin sort of vibe.

🍓 song you can’t stop listening right now?

Honestly, screaming/crying through the lyrics of Rent was how I survived quarentine.  The lack of getting paid and living through disease combo plus a side of Queer really worked for me.  Right now though, I've kind of been on a Carole King kick?  Tapestry has been in my head a lot.  

🍓 recommend a movie.

Willow.  Because Willow is just, so good.  

🍓 how old are you?

Too old to deal with the fact that my new job wants to force me to live on the 7th floor with no elevator.  Yeah, trying to work around that right now.  

🍓 school, university, occupation, other?

University professor now.  That's right, I'm now working at a University. May be temporary though, depending on the aforementioned 7th floor business.  Mostly because I like breathing, which I can't do very well in this climate's humidity while exercising.  It'd be different if like, the stair well was air conditioned (I'm out of shape and would hate it, but I could breath), but if the building don't have an elevator, I know the answer to that...

🍓 do you prefer hot or cold?

Cold.  Yes, I live too close to the equator for my own good.  Sadly, until the pollution problem goes away, it's as far north as I can live in China.

🍓 name one fact others may not know about you.

I...  always never have any idea what to say to this sort of question.  I don't really hide things.  Like, I'm sure things just, haven't been mentioned, but like, I never know what those are?  Like, the top things I can think of that I just don't talk about often are that I travelled around the world preforming with Up With People and that I love murder mysteries (not true crime.  Give me a proper Agatha Christie).  

🍓 are you shy?

No, not really.  I'm quiet a lot of times, which is very different from shy, even though a lot of people don't understand that.  I've never had a problem chatting with new people or what not, but in a large group if I don't have anything I actually want to add to a conversation, I won't talk very much.  Which doesn't mean I'm not listening, or that if I have something to say, I won't try to speak up, but just...  don't really need to most of the time.

🍓 what are your pronouns?

she/her

🍓 any pet peeves?

Another question I never really know how to answer.  Like, I'm sure I have them.  I'm just generally pretty easy going.  At the moment, I suppose female characters who's defining characteristic is that they're in love with a dense protag.  Anaden and Graces have been giving me an overdose on those lately.

🍓 what’s your favorite “dere” type?

...I think the only one I actually know is tsundere and I wasn't aware there were more than that.  

🍓 rate your life 1-10. 1 being really crappy and 10 being the best you could ever be.

5ish.  Was doing better, but then now on top of everything else, I also need to buy a new phone... that's not from China.  Which is a lot more difficult when I can't hop the boarder.  I actually have to return the phone I just bought because despite what they promised me, googleplay doesn't work at all.  So now I have to figure out how to buy a Hong Kong phone without actually being able to go to Hong Kong.

🍓 what’s your main blog?

Random.

🍓 list your side blogs and what they are used for.

I only have Vengeancedragon, which is used incredibly rarely and is mostly for contemplating Vengeance.  

🍓 is there anything you think people need to know about you before becoming friends with you?

A friend once told me that the fact my mother put Spock ears on me and took me to a scifi convention when I was 6 months old explained everything about me.  I'm not sure if it explains Everything, but it does explain a lot.  XD

#memes and things #thanks for tagging me #but seriously the fuck tumblr #I ended up resorting to posting on mobile #because it refused to function

[vincess-princess]

What Is Lost, What Is Found

Behold, my found family!Crue au which I talked about so much :D huge thanks to @polska-tankietka for making this clusterfuck readable <3

Fandom: Motley Crue Characters, pairings: Mick Mars, teenager!Nikki Sixx, teenager!Tommy Lee, teenager!Vince Neil. Eventual Nikki/Vince. Rating: PG-13 as of now, Explicit in the future. Summary: Mick Mars is an owner of a small record shop in downtown LA and a struggling alcoholic approaching his midlife crisis. He’s been through enough to ask for nothing more from life, but life clearly has other plans for him. When three homeless teenagers break into his peaceful, stable life, Mick realises he has some more work to do on this Earth. A/N: Warnings and rating are going to change and add up in the future, please make sure to check them! I will be putting warnings in the beginning of each chapter just in case.

Chapter 1.

Word count: 5842

Trigger warnings: mild violence

There was little that Mick hated more than shoplifters. This “little” included the system, his back, and Kiss fans. A typical example of the latter had just appeared in Mick's shop, all heels and tight jeans, wearing more makeup than a hooker, eyes barely visible underneath a black messy mop of dyed hair that’d been hair-sprayed into a physically impossible shape. He hadn't done anything wrong yet, but Mick gained enough experience over the years to see through misfits like him. And this one was definitely up to no good.

It was usually quiet in his little record shop this time of the day - most people were still at work, with an exception of teenagers skipping school. Mick didn’t have much work to do and watched closely every movement of this little fucker while pretending to be stocking up the shelf nearby. Twenty minutes later his intuition yet again proved itself right. The boy grabbed a record from the farthest shelf and hid it in his oversized jacket. A swift, adroit movement of a professional, one that would go unnoticed by most people. Not by Mick, though.

"Put back what you took from the shelf," Mick said calmly, stepping right in front of the boy and blocking his way to the door. Screaming and shouting didn't work with this kind of people - they were only getting aggressive. Though the gun that Mick held in his hand worked like magic as well.

"Shit," the boy hissed, backed off to the next aisle and tried to rush past Mick to the door, only to be met with a gun pointed at his chest.

"You ain't going anywhere, bastard," Mick grabbed his arm, thin and bony inside the wide sleeve of his jacket, and pushed him to the back door, still holding him at gunpoint – who knows what the little bastard had up his sleeve, both literally and metaphorically. "You're going to stay there until the police arrive, and don't even try to pull something off!"

Of course, the boy tried anyway, attempting to push away the gun and knock it out of Mick's hand. He was desperate, and desperation made him furious but took away his reasoning and common sense. If he had them at all, of course.

Mick’s knee hit him in the stomach, pushing air out of his lungs. The boy gasped and fell to his knees, holding onto his stomach and trying to inhale. Mick didn't wait for him to recover; instead, he dragged him up onto his feet and hauled him to the back room. It had a lock, and Mick could keep the young criminal there until the police arrived.

The little misfit, being now frightened enough to not fight back openly, stumbled on every shelf and every table they passed, and a couple of times deliberately tripped over them and fell down. Mick had no mercy for him and didn’t even let him get up. Instead, he dragged him across the floor on his knees for five or six feet, every time secretly admiring the teenager’s stubbornness. They reached the back room eventually, and Mick pushed the boy inside, earnestly hoping that he wouldn't destroy its already modest furnishings in a fit of rage.

"Enjoy yourself." Mick waved around. The boy recoiled, his eyes widening, and Mick remembered he still had a gun in his hand. He decided to leave it there for effect. "While you can."

The boy followed Mick with his gaze as he left the room and locked the door behind him. Try as he might, Mick kept remembering the boy’s pale face and wide eyes. He hadn’t been able to take a good look at the boy’s features, but he was somehow absolutely sure those eyes were green.

There had been lots of teenage shoplifters that Mick had encountered in his life. A record shop was for them like honey to the bees, or, as Mick liked to think about it, a garbage can to the flies. He knew their methods, and he knew that every single one of them was a liar and a hypocrite to the core. The numerous stories they have told about their little brothers or sisters, or cousins wanting a record on their birthday had long stopped making Mick pity them. If this one started doing the same, he would have already called the police.

He didn’t. He didn't start crying or begging to let him go in a futile attempt to evoke sympathy in Mick. He didn't start coming up with excuses and sob stories. He didn’t try to justify himself. Apart from the quiet "shit" under his breath, he was completely, totally silent.

A customer entered the shop, and Mick dropped the phone he’d been holding in his hand the whole time and rushed to help him, maybe a little more eagerly than he usually would. The customer spent ages trying to decide between Fleetwood Mac or Bee Gees, getting scornful glances from Mick when he wasn’t looking. Mick wasn't a huge fan of such music, keeping it in his shop only because it generated a significant part of the revenue.

When the customer finally left, Mick returned to the register. He grabbed a phone again, looked at it for a couple of seconds, sighed and put it back.

The boy was sitting on the floor in the farthest corner from the couch, hugging his knees and staring into the distance with a detached look on his face. Startled by Mick entering the room, he turned his head to look at him, his eyes barely visible from underneath the mop of black hair, which badly needed a cut. His clothes, though obviously customized in an attempt to look fashionable, were oversized and worn, and clearly not washed in quite a while. The kid was probably white trash from the slums or even homeless, Mick realized.

"Give me back the record and I'll let you go," Mick said, approaching him carefully. He left the gun in the main room and now felt especially vulnerable, considering that the boy even at the tender age of fifteen or sixteen was already almost as tall as him and probably just as strong.

The boy blinked in surprise, squinting at Mick with suspicion. Mick stood there, waiting for him to make up his mind. He wasn't going to give him a second chance, one unexpected moment of pity was more than enough.  "Hurry up, or I'll change my mind."

The boy rose to his feet slowly, took a couple of steps towards Mick while keeping an eye on him all that time. Mick stood still, feeling like a tamer in a cage with a feral wolfling.

Then the teenager pulled out the record (Deep Purple’s "Fireball", a good choice), shoved it into Mick's hands and rushed past him to the door. A moment later Mick heard the front door slam.

He shambled back to the main room, clutching the record that was still warm from the shoplifter's hands. He felt old, old and stupid. Now every goddamn teenager in the area would think his shop is safe to steal from, and he wouldn't be able to scare all of them off even with a gun.

He didn't regret it, though. Not in the slightest.

***

A couple of days later, when Mick had already forgotten about the black-haired misfit, another shoplifter showed up. The boy, a blond Californian surfer type who Mick took for a girl at first, was dressed in all white and looked like an average middle-class kid pretending to be a rock star. It almost tricked Mick, and he barely managed to catch the moment when the boy hid a record in his bag.

"Put it back, little shit!" Mick exclaimed, rushing out from behind the register to head the shoplifter off before he reached the door (his back would later remind him of how careless this movement was). It took the boy aback, and he lingered for a second or two, missing the chance to escape.

“Put the record back,” Mick repeated slowly, now blocking his way out. The blondie's movements were far less adroit than those of a previous shoplifter, his reactions more impulsive. Not completely without experience, but definitely not as skillful as the Kiss fan. Giving his neat appearance and decent clothes, he was probably just another kid from suburbs desperately wanting to be a bad boy and getting in with the wrong people. A stupid mistake that could destroy his entire life. Mick didn’t want to be responsible for it.

The boy didn't take the chance to avoid trouble. Instead, he pushed past Mick, trying to knock him over. Trying – that was it. Mick's back problems still weren’t severe enough to not let him handle a goddamn teenager.

In response, the kid got a knee in the stomach, strong just enough to make him stagger back and give Mick an opportunity to restrain him. Mick didn’t want to actually harm the kid, just to show him who calls the shots here. It didn’t work out - the boy promptly, as though instinctively, covered his stomach with his hands. He dropped his bag right onto the floor, and Mick was sure he heard his stolen record crack inside of it. If it had broken, he would make the fucker pay double for it.

Although the kick didn’t really harm the kid, it managed to stun him enough so that he couldn’t fight back for a second or two. Mick, slightly worried that he underestimated his own strength, went on to grab a fistful of blond hair. It couldn’t cause any real damage but was painful enough to stop any further attempts to fight back.

In theory.

The second the boy felt the grip on his hair he went completely insane. He tried to punch Mick in the guts, twisting so much in his grip a good chunk of his hair remained in Mick's hand. He kicked and punched the air blindly, not even aiming at Mick. Like an animal that got into a trap and was trying to get out, he was so blinded by panic he didn't realize he just hurt himself more and more. All of this Mick would think over later while looking at a patch of blond hair tangled between his fingers. As for now, his natural reaction was to stop this self-destructive panic as fast as possible.

A loud slap rang in Mick's ears, his hand slowly started growing red. The shoplifter froze, looking at him wide-eyed, biting his lower lip so hard blood showed up.

Shame washed over Mick. Congratulations, he thought grimly, you scared a child to death.

"Whatcha looking at? I'm not gonna fucking bite your head off." Mick let go of the boy's hair and grabbed his shoulder instead. He expected the same reaction, but the boy only flinched in response, letting Mick lead him to the back room without any resistance.

"Let's go to the back room and wait for the police there, shall we?" Mick didn't feel like threats would work now, although phrasing it as a question was wrong as well. He led the shoplifter to the back room carefully, holding his shoulder like it was made of glass. He knew he’d better hold it tighter, but he’d been rough enough today already. The boy followed him silently to the back room, his face expressionless.

When Mick gently pushed him into the room and turned around to leave, the blond spoke.

"Is calling the police really that necessary?"

Good question. Mick liked the police no more than he liked shoplifters, but the former at least weren't actively trying to rob him of his hard-earned money. Passively, yes, they also did, but not paying taxes would get Mick in trouble he absolutely didn’t need at that point.

"What else am I supposed to do with a criminal like you?" he grumbled but stopped in the doorway. He could have been fooled by the boy’s perfectly mastered calm tone, by his relaxed expression, if not for the eyes, wide, terrified eyes of a child thinking he would go straight to jail for snitching a fucking record.

"A lot of things." the blond raised his eyebrow and looked Mick right in the eyes. And smiled, and damn, did he have a stunning smile. "In which the police absolutely doesn't need to be involved."

"Cut it and tell me what you want."

"No." The boy tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. "The real question is: what do you want?"

This was the last straw. Mick stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The boy was no good in shoplifting, but he surely was a professional in acting, and even thinking where he could have learned it – and even more, why would he have to use it, - made Mick sick to his stomach. He wasn't a fool. He also wasn't what this kid imagined him to be. How old the boy was, fifteen, sixteen?

He looked at the phone and barely suppressed the urge to throw it into the wall. Mick was repulsed by the mere thought of calling the police and turning in the child with such fear in his eyes and such a skill of hiding it. He groaned and sank into the chair, squeezing his head with his hands. What the fuck was going on with him that he couldn't even get a goddamn shoplifter rightfully arrested?

Mick’s mouth was dry, and he thought of making a cup of coffee, but the coffee machine was in the back room. Thank god he always kept a whiskey bottle in the counter for, hm, emergencies.

Half an hour later he opened the door after scratching around the lock with a key for a good minute. The boy was lying on the sofa with his shoes on, his back turned to the door. When Mick appeared in the doorway, he jumped up, cast a quick look over him and backed off to the farthest corner of the room.

Mick took a few unsteady steps towards him and stretched out his hand with the boy’s bag in it, which had been lying on the floor in the middle of the store the whole time.

"Check if the record is broken."

The boy looked over him with suspicion, darted towards him, wrenched the bag from his hands and jumped back out of Mick’s reach. Once in the safe zone, he pulled out the record and quickly examined it.

"Er... no."

"You're lucky then. Give it back and get the fuck out of my store."

The boy blinked in confusion, eyed him for a few moments to make sure he wasn’t joking, then shoved the record into his hands and dashed out of the room.

Mick looked down at the record in his hand. It was “Fireball”.

***

The third one was even less experienced than the second, and Mick began to wonder why would the kids be so desperate to get the record that they had sent in this absolutely hopeless case.

Unlike with the blond, the boy’s appearance only made the situation worse for him. He wore jeans with straight-up holes on the knees, which Mick would probably take for a new fashion trend if not for his sneakers that were so badly torn the kid would do better without them. His was t-shirt so dirty the original picture on it was almost impossible to make out. More than that, the kid was so stick-thin he looked like hadn't eaten in weeks, and his black hair, as though dyed sloppily in a kitchen sink, badly needed a haircut. Typical white trash, Mick would conclude, throw him out of the store the second he noticed even a slight misbehavior, and carry on with his life. Would – a week ago.

Now he examined him from behind the newspaper he was pretending to be reading and felt nothing but pity. The kid was scared shitless and didn’t even try to hide it, a mix of shame, guilt, and fear on his face. He probably was in it for the first time, or maybe he was just not quite right in the head, because even the least talented of shoplifters would have enough common sense to understand that getting on all fours and trying to crawl to the exit behind the aisle was the worst possible way of getting away with stealing. Mick even felt sorry for the boy. What were his parents thinking, letting this literal kid roam the streets and get into trouble all alone?

I should give him some food, a stray thought flashed through his mind. Mick banished it mere moments later, but it didn’t do away - just slithered to the back of his mind and holed up there. No mercy, Mick reminded himself sternly. No. Zero. None.

He took a deep breath and stepped in front of the boy. The kid froze mid-movement and went so pale Mick thought he was going to faint.

"What are you doing, kiddo? Don't you know shoplifting is a crime?" Mick barely managed to keep his voice at least somewhat hostile. He tried to evoke anger inside of himself and failed miserably. There were only curiosity and a little bit of… pity? Okay, maybe not a little bit. Whatever.

The kid as though swallowed his tongue. He only stared at him from the floor with dismay written all over his face, holding onto the record like a drowning man holds onto a lifebuoy.

"I do," the kid finally mumbled so quietly Mick barely made out the words. And then it was like a levee broke. "I'm so sorry, really - sorry, I didn't want to do that, I just wanted to show the guys I'm no worse than them, are you gonna call the police? Please don't call the police, they will send me back to... to... please, I can give you back the record, I can even pay for it - well, not the full price, but I have two dollars, and-"

"Enough!" The more the boy talked the louder he became, so Mick had to raise his voice. It came out more aggressive than he wanted, and seeing the boy flinching, his eyes filled with hopelessness, made Mick sick in the stomach. "Get up."

The boy sprung to his feet and turned out to be a full head taller than Mick. He weighed probably the same, if not less. When was the last time he ate?

"Is that your first time shoplifting?"

"Uh... is it so obvious?" The boy flushed in embarrassment.

"Absolutely.” Mick found himself suppressing a smile. There was something in the boy so energetic, so lively, as though it lighted up everything around him, not subdued even by the extreme distress he was in. “Did 'the guys' send you here?"

"No!” the kid shook his head furiously. “No, they actually tried to talk me out of it, especially Nikki, but I just wanted to show that I’m not a burden, that I can do something as well, and not just be a distraction while they do the job..." the boy fell silent, his eyes widening anxiously. It probably dawned on him that he had said too much, although he could just as well not say anything and Mick would still understand it through his facial expressions alone.

"And Nikki and another one - the black-haired, right? - usually do the lifting?"

"No, Nikki's the black-haired one. Wait, how did you know?.."

Mick pointed at the record that the boy was still clutching in his hands, fingers gripping the cover so tightly his knuckles were white. "When three kids try to steal the same album with just a few days in between, you begin to suspect they're connected in some way."

"Oh! We haven’t thought about it… we should’ve waited longer, huh?"

"You shouldn't have come at all. I’ve been running this shop for five years and no goddamn shoplifter ever managed to steal something from here yet. You three are no exception."

"Yeah, probably." The boy’s shoulders drooped. "We should’ve backed off after Nikki got caught, if he hadn’t made it then I and Vinnie had no chance at all. You're going to turn me in, right?"

Mick opened his mouth to utter a confident “yes” – and closed it. He wanted to do it. He really did. These three little bastards couldn’t even learn from their mistakes. Not to mention their absolute lack of basic fucking human decency, because when someone lets you off after you tried to steal from him, you better appreciate it and never come back. He should turn this last one in to teach them a lesson.

Then he imagined the kid in jail. He wouldn't survive there, not with his open face and naïve eyes. The black-haired one would blend in easily, the blond would probably find a way around too, but not this one. Not this literal child.

"Tell me why you wanted to do that."

"What for?" the boy mumbled, nervously tapping out a pretty consistent rhythm on the record cover. "I'll have to tell the police anyway. You can ask them afterward."

"I won't." Mick’s guts twisted in his stomach. He took a deep breath and decided to go through with it. “I want to know the reason. Be honest, and I won’t turn you in."

”What?” The boy looked up at him with disbelief and gleams of hope in his eyes. All the doubts Mick had immediately vanished. He couldn’t betray that faint hope, those first glimpses of trust. "Are you… for real?"

"For real."

The boy eyed him up with suspicion for a few more seconds, just like the black-haired one did. But then – then he smiled. Tentatively at first, with only the corners of his mouth, then, seeing that Mick wasn't going to burst into evil laughter, more confidently.

That’s when Mick realized he found the right way.

"Alright, kiddo. What's your name?"

"Tommy."

"Nice to meet you, Tommy. Well, it could’ve happened under, hm, better circumstances. Still. I'm Mick Mars." Mick stretched out his hand. He looked at it with confusion for a moment, then hurried to shake it with force Mick didn’t expect those noodle arms to have.

"Mick Mars? Is that your real name?"

"It’s been for a few years."

"Wait, you changed it? That's so cool! Just like Nikki! Well, it’s not his legal name yet, but he says he will change it once he’s twenty-one. I'd love to change my name too! But I really like my own as well, and I think maybe I'll just change my second name instead. I like Tommy Lee better than Tommy Bass. Sounds more rock n' roll. Despite, y’know, the bass being a part of rock n’ roll-"

"Speaking about rock n' roll," Mick interrupted Tommy just as he was going to go into another enthusiastic speech. The boy could probably talk for hours on end if given the chance. "I guess you all are huge fans of Deep Purple."

"Yeah, it's probably not hard to guess," the boy looked slightly abashed. "Nikki has this portable record player, he stole it... uh... well, he has that player and we can listen to music on it, and we wanted to get the record and listen to it, then sell it."

"Makes sense. Why would you sell it though?"

"We were kicked out of our last room and haven't found a new one yet."

"So you have nowhere to keep it.” Mick concluded, an icky feeling rising up in his chest. He could see where he was going with his next question and he didn’t like it at all. “And... where do you sleep?"

"Wherever we can." Tommy shrugged. "Sometimes Vince's boyfriend agrees to put me and Nikki up, but he’d rather, y’know, spend some time with Vince instead so it doesn’t happen so often. Sometimes club owners let us spend the night inside in exchange for some work done. Sometimes we sleep outdoors."

The fact that the blondie had a boyfriend surprised Mick way less than it probably should have: boys who look like girls usually behave like them as well. Tommy’s nonchalant “sometimes we sleep outdoors” was what amplified that icky feeling in his stomach tenfold. What did the lives of these kids look like that roving around the city, from one shitty apartment to another, never knowing where they would end up next night was really no big deal for them?

A wave of anger washed over Mick. No child should know homelessness, should be left to fend for themselves like that. Where were their goddamn parents, those people who should have cared for them? They had been given a chance to bring a human, a living, breathing, thinking human out in the world, and they passed up this chance knowingly and willingly?

Mick had been deprived of that chance, but oh how he wished he hadn’t.

He took a few deep breaths, trying hard not to let fury and bitterness raging inside of him leak through his facade of mild curiosity. After all, he didn’t want to scare the kid off.

"And what are you gonna do when it gets colder?"

"I dunno, it’s only been a couple of months for me." Tommy shook his head. "Nikki says he knows some places, he's much more experienced than me. He says he’s been living out in the streets his whole life."

"He does look like he has," Mick murmured. "And how have you ended up out there?"

“I?” The boy suddenly became very interested in the floor under his own feet. "I… don't really want to talk about that," he said, his expression unexpectedly stern, his voice thick. Mick definitely had just entered a danger zone.

"Alright, alright. I hope there wasn't any crime involved?"

"What? Oh... well, n-no..." Tommy mumbled absolutely unconvincingly. Something wasn’t right there.

"There was, right?"

"No! I mean... I did nothing wrong. They might think I did. I know I didn't. I was just trying to escape."

"Escape what?"

"The or-“ The kid barely managed to stop at the last moment, “-the place. I swear I only did that because It was so goddamn awful. Everyone was so mean. I couldn't handle it anymore."

"Couldn’t handle what, the jail?" Mick began to feel he could do well as a police interrogator. The boy had almost let it slip already.

"No! I said I did no crime."

"Okay, okay. And what, are “they” searching for you now?"

"I dunno. I hope they don't. The fewer of us hungry orphans - the better...” Tommy’s eyes went wide, his hand jerked up to his face in an unconscious attempt to cover his mouth. “Oh shit. I said it, yeah? Fuck. I said it." He groaned, burying his face in his palms. "Are you gonna bring me back? Tell the police?"

"I told ya, kid.” Mick sighed. So this was why the boy was so afraid of being handed to the police - he didn’t want to go back to the orphanage. “Be honest and no police will be involved. And I keep my promises."

The kid only sniffed in response but relaxed a little bit. Mick was never good with children, even with his own – in fact, they were more often than not intimidated by him. With Tommy it felt… different. He wasn’t scared of Mick himself, even now, when his fate was in Mick’s hands. He was only scared of having to go back.

It was new to Mick. And he liked the feeling.

"Okay, nevermind,” Mick said in the most casual way possible and without missing a bit changed the topic. “When did you last eat?"

Tommy looked up at Mick and frowned, but quickly figured out what’s what and dropped the topic as well. He wasn’t nearly as stupid as Mick had considered him to be at first. Too talkative, yes, a bit naïve as well, but definitely not stupid.

"Um... yesterday? Why you asking?"

"You must be hungry. I've got some snacks in the back room.” Mick said slowly, every word dragging in his throat.

"Oh." Tommy fell silent for a moment, not daring to ask the question. "You mean, I can... take them?"

"Christ, kid," Mick rolled his eyes. "Why d’you think I'm telling you that?"

"So I can?"

"Yes.” Mick barely managed to hold his laughter. “You can. Follow me, I’ll pack some up for you."

Tommy remained still, staring at him with disbelief. "That's really not necessary, Mr. Mars..."

"Just Mick. Ain't no misters here."

"Oh. Okay. That's really not necessary, M- Mick. You've already been too kind to me."

"Hush." The boy's blabbering surely was entertaining, but only to a certain extent, and Tommy had long ago overstepped it. Besides, the conversation had definitely been no easy ride.

Surprisingly, he did shut his mouth and followed Mick to the back room. Very careless of him, Mick thought grimly, hadn’t his friends told him where they’d been locked up? The boy was too trustful for his own good, a positive but absolutely inappropriate trait for kids like him. It was a miracle he hadn’t gotten into some big trouble yet.

Then Mick realized he himself was that very trouble he had just thought of and couldn’t help chuckling.

Mick went through the cupboards in the room, grabbing everything remotely edible. He needed to store more snacks for the next time. If there would be the next time, an unpleasant voice in his head reminded him.

Which Mick had to find out right there and then.

"Do you work?" he asked, handing Tommy a bag of snacks. It was mostly stuff like cookies and chips, but still better than nothing.

"Yeah, if I can find some. People usually don't really wanna hire someone like me. I guess I gotta have a haircut."

"Definitely," Mick murmured. The boy’s thick curls looked like they hadn’t seen scissors for a year or more. Mick breathed in and went for it. "You know, I run this shop all by myself and would certainly do with some assistance. Also no haircut requirements. What do you think of that?"

"Do you suggest… that I work here?" Tommy almost tripped over the couch, looking at Mick as though he offered him to become an heir to a multimillion fortune. "Like, for money?"

"No, for your CV." Mick rolled his eyes. "For money, of course. Just some chores, like cleaning the floor, stocking the shelves. I'm getting a bit old to handle all that. I can put on some records if you'd like as well."

"But you don't look old..."

"It's only on the outside. So, do you agree?"

"Do I... oh my god. Of course. Of course, I agree!" Tommy almost jumped up in the air, waving the bag around so enthusiastically Mick heard the snacks in it crunch. "Working in a record shop! I'll get to listen to all the music I want! And get money for it! Actual money! The guys won’t believe that!" Seeing Mick wince, Tommy abruptly stopped. Mick spoke before he could launch into a series of apologies.

"They can come too, by the way. Unless Nikki doesn't try to steal something, of course."

"He won’t, not after his failure. I'm not sure they'll agree, but I’ll definitely come! Tomorrow?"

"A couple of days a week will do. Which ones are up to you."

"Oh, so I can come twice a week? No more than that?”

“Well- oh, shit,” Mick’s spine chose the most inconvenient moment to remind him that he couldn’t afford to stand for so long. Concern lit up in Tommy’s eyes, but, thank god, he said nothing. “You can come any day, it’s just that there won’t be much work for you to do.”

“But I can just come and listen to records?”

“Yes, you can come and listen to records. Just don’t bring your whole gang or what kids like you have. Just you and your two, hm, friends.”

“Okay!” Tommy nodded fiercely. “Okay, I got it. Sorry for so many questions. And… thank you, Mr- Mick, thank you so much. So, so much. I can't believe... I..."

This time one look from Mick was enough to make the boy shut up. He was making progress, Mick thought with grim amusement.

"Quit that, kid. One 'thank you' is enough. Now go. Your buddies – Nikki and Vince, right? - are probably worried."

"Yeah, they probably are," Tommy nodded and finally turned towards the exit, walking slowly, his gaze still fixed on Mick. When he almost reached the door, he stopped, put the bag on the floor, ran back to Mick and wrapped his arms around him. It lasted barely a second, and then, just as fast, he dashed back to the door and disappeared behind it with a loud slam.

Mick didn’t move for a little while, still feeling the warmth of those thin arms around him. If not for the empty cardboards and the record lying on the couch in the back room (Mick hadn’t even noticed Tommy put it there) he wouldn’t believe that everything that just happened wasn’t some kind of a fever dream. Or an alcohol dream. Mick glanced at the bottle of whiskey. No, it was almost full. Couldn’t have been alcohol then.

Mick grabbed a chair and sank into it with a sigh of relief, letting his poor back rest against the soft cushion. “Fireball” was lying on the couch, black cover against bleak orange upholstery, bright purple against black, too bright, too contrasting. Mick rubbed his eyes until he started seeing colorful circles, and closed them, waiting for the black to engulf him.

It didn’t. Instead, he kept seeing Tommy’s face in front of his, that face of thousands emotions that were switching with the speed of light, from scared to desperate to sad to hopeful to happy. Another face popped up, blond curls framing pretty, girlish features. Vince, right? Vinnie, Tommy called him. It suited him. And Nikki, defiant, bristling, silent misfit. Tommy, Nikki, Vinnie. The day, the night and the moon. Wait, what the fuck was that poetic bullshit?

Mick forced himself out of the chair, shambled to the door, put the “Closed” sign on it and returned to the back room. While making himself a cup of the strongest coffee he ever had, he tried to comprehend everything that had happened over the last few days. Three shoplifters from the same gang tried to steal the same record from his shop over just a couple of days, and how did Mick react? Invited them to work there. Amazing. Brilliant. Groundbreaking.

Mick grabbed his coffee and downed it a few huge gulps. If someone had told him all that a week ago, he would have laughed them in the face. Now he didn't feel like laughing at all.

What had he gotten himself into?

#motley crue #motley crue fanfiction #nikki sixx #vince neil #tommy lee #mick mars #what is lost what is found #found family!au #fanfiction #oh GOD i can't believe im actually posting this #i've been fucking with it for the whole month #this one turned out just GIGANTIC #i couldn't make it smaller because it's introductory and should show all three of them #i had SO MUCH FUN wiriting from mick's viewpoint #he's an old (at heart) grumpy man and i relate to him so much #i will try to make next chapters smaller #because a chapter once a month is not really good #and reading almost 6k words in one sitting isn't what people usually like to do #although idk really #please please please tell me what you think of it #i've been running on spite and validation from aleks this entire month and im dry as a desert in a creative sense #god i hope the readmore works because this monster is otherwise gonna occupy poor people's dashes #i'll also post it on ao3 #want to try it at last #but tomorrow because it's already 12 am here and i have a fuckload of homework to do #because i spent the entire evening running a third round of edits on this #i probably need to shut up already

[forbetterorworsefinalspace]

Soul Case

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: Final Space

Part: 7

Link-  🌌

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While recovering from her injuries, Sheryl's past comes back in a muddle mess. What really happened and what didn't? The world may never know.

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The outbacks of Australia were hot and dusty. The wind blew harshly, pelting Sheryl with dirt specks and sand. The sun over head was broiling and her mouth felt dry. As she walked she passed abandoned vehicles and garbage, almost tripping on an exposed fender.

She licked her lips dryly, trying to shield her eyes from the sun. She didn’t recall how she got here, dad likely dumped her again. Well that was no problem, she just needed to wait for the stars to come out and follow their directions until she could see the Mountain, then trek her way home.

It was just gonna be a while.

As she went Sheryl noted something in the distance, standing on four legs. Cautiously she went closer, finally seeing it for what it was.

A Blue Heeler.

Oh bugger all! She scowled. If there was one thing she hated, it was dogs, and if there was one dog she hated, it was Blue Heelers. Fuckin things!

Almost as if it could hear her thoughts, the dog ran for her, barking and snarling. Sheryl had no time to react as it closed the distance in the blink of an eye, before coming down on her. She yelled as the dog bowled into her, teeth snapping. She kicked, trying to fight back, but she couldn’t get enough power into her hits. Somehow it snapped it jaws onto her head, starting to drag her along the ground.

She screeched, hands scrambling for something to grab onto, when one closed around something sharp. It hurt, but she quickly slashed up at the dog wildly.

It almost seemed to sense the impending attack though, as it let her go and jumped back, growling harshly.

Panting the girl got to her feet, hair a mess and head bleeding. She and the dog had a slight standoff, both snarling at each other and bearing their teeth. It was clear the dog didn’t intent to leave, so Sheryl started to back away. Thankfully it seemed disinterested in following after her now, since she could defend herself.

A few feet away, Sheryl looked down at her hand, finding an old combat knife that she was holding by the blade.

She rectified that and kept going. ……..

It was so bloody hot.

It was sunset and the temperature wasn’t much better. Sheryl stumbled along, wiping sweat and blood from her brow.

Must be 40 degrees out here at least! Odd at this time of day.

As she walked Sheryl stumbled, tried, alone and hungry.

Pull yourself together. Your pathetic.

She tried to stand straighter at the thought.

Sunset turned to twilight, everything blanketed in darkness and the sky a melted orange. The abandoned relics of the past around her were painted in the warm colours. Sheryl stopped by an overturned battle truck, licking her lips dryly. As she leaned against the truck something scuttled over her hand, glancing to it she found a cockroach running around, antennas twitching.

She quickly smash it under her hand and rammed it in her mouth, chewing the crunchy creature apart before swallowing.

Ok, got food, now she just needed water.

Thankfully if there were roaches here then that meant water was close. She went looking, until she located a small muddy puddle with an old tank barrel sticking out of it. She dropped to all fours, drinking out of it like an animal, her hair dipping in around her face and turning brown.

God it was warm, why was it so warm?!

A distal howl sent a chill down Sheryl spine, she sat up to look at her surroundings wildly, before some creatures start to emerge from the wreckage around her.

Dingos.

Sheryl stood, pulling out her knife. She didn’t really stand a chance against these things, not when there were so many! She backed up as more and more Dingos slipped from the darkness. With very little options left Sheryl turned and began to run.

They were right behind her and Sheryl was so focused on getting away, that she didn't really pay attention to where she was going. She was glancing over her shoulder at a sharp set of teeth, when she rushed right over a steep embankment. The world was a tumbling mess of dry dirt, rocks, heat and darkness before she landed in a shallow puddle. Coughing Sheryl got to her hands and knees, shaking when she heard the wild dogs scrambling down the hill towards her.

Where was her knife?! Where was it!?

Her hands splash in the thick, cloudy water for her missing weapon, as it had tumbled out of her hands during the fall. Rocks started skittered down around her as the pack got closer, Sheryl still fruitlessly searching.

BARK! BARK!

Something came from the opposite direction, leaping over Sheryl, much to her shock. She spun around, watching as a new dog started to fight off the Dingos with ease. At first the wild dogs refused to back down, but when it became clear they weren’t going to win, they finally had to retreat.

Yelping and whining the Dingos ran off, tails between their legs.

The dog snorted, shaking his fur out with a snuff before starting to walk back to where he had come from. Sheryl stared after it in disbelief, getting to her hands and knees again when it crossed the puddle to the other side. There the chocolate lab stopped to stare back at her, waiting.

Sheryl shifted, not sure what to do,

Something shimmered below her and Sheryl looked down as her reflection in the mud puddle below her swirled into an ominous shape.

‘Sheryl Goodspeed.’ The figure had deer like horns and a skull face, two burning eyes pierced her soul. Somehow she knew this demons name.

“Oreskis?” She asked in a wheezing, scratchy voice.

‘You need to wake up Sheryl Goodspeed. Your dying.’

Yip! Yip!

Sheryl looked behind her in time to see a tiny Golden puppy bounding up behind her. It jumped on top of her, submerging her face in the mud puddle- -----

“GASP!!” Sheryl’s lungs were full of water and she struggled to find the strength to sit up. She coughed and hacked harshly, shaking away a pair of tiny hands when they tried to help her.

“Mom!” Gary shouted, sounding relieved. “Your awake!”

“A-ar-” Sheryl coughed some more, body wracking heavily. “Are you trying t-to- (COUGH!) Dr-o-own me?!”

She was soaked from her head to toes, her sleep shirt heavy and sticky, even her pants and feet were wet. How much fuckin’ water had that kid poured on her.

“I’m sorry!” Gary said quickly, wringing his hands. “B-but you been sleeping for two days almost and you started talking in your sleep, and your voice was all cracking and you sounded thirsty so I grab a cup and-”

“How long?!” Sheryl looked at him in shock, only to find Gary out of focus, despite being right beside her. In Fact the entire camper was fuzzy…

Wait, confused, vision impaired, soaked even where water wasn’t poured, and the heat from her dreams hadn’t dissipated upon waking. Sheryl swore and forced herself up, despite sleep calling to her like a siren. She yanked her pants down a bit to get access to her injury, pulling off the wrap to find it red and angry.

She grunted. “Well congrats Gary, the wound you gave me is infected…”

“What?!” He looked to her leg quickly. “W-what do we do then?! We can fix this right!?”

“Get my first aid kit from my bag, the big one.” She ordered briskly, pulling on the wound a bit to see it was closing at all. Burned like a mother fucker, but it seemed to be sealing shut.

“This one?!” Gary asked, running back with a large black case.

“Give.”Sheryl took it with a nod. It opened and she pulled out a few different boxes of medical supplies until she came to the bottom. She yanked out something that looked like an air jet gun nozzle, with an empty space at the back and a large needle in front.

She heard Gary whine at the sight of it, but she didn’t look at him. Instead she tried to find the right vile inside the case, she should have multiple of them… She couldn’t read the tiny print, her vision was blurry, and Gary didn’t know what to look for, thankfully though the viles also had brail imprinted into the glass. She ran her fingers over a few before finding the one she wanted.

Rocephin.

She jammed it into the end of the gun, which beeped when the seal to the vile opened properly. She tapped the bubbles out of it, then lined it up to the wound.

Sheryl paused, taking a very, very deep breath, then rammed it into her thigh as hard as she could.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“Ahhh!” Gary screamed as well at the sight, before he dropped to the floor, almost fainting.

The gun injected the Rocephin into her once it was needle deep. Faster than the blink of an eye. Still made her vision white, especially around the injury. She pulled it back out, wheezing tightly and shuttering.

"FUCK! FUck! fuck! fuck."

Fuckin’ hell.

“T-there!” Sheryl coughed, blowing her hair out of her face. “All done.” She released the vile and tossed it into the case, then ejected the needle to be tossed in the garbage.

Gary clawed his way back to his knees with the help of the bed blankets. “Your better? Just like that?”

“What? No!” Sheryl glared at him and the boy withered. “Nothing works like that, you idiot. It takes time to recover from anything. Your mistakes never just ‘go’ away.”

“Oh…”

“God knows how much this will take me off track.” Sheryl grumbled. “I have shit to do, this is the last bloody- grah!”

“W-when will you be better?”

“I DON’T FUCKIN’ KNOW!” Sheryl snapped at him. She could see Gary’s blurry form flinch at her tone. She in turn pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to calm down. “Ok...Alright… I’ve done all I can for now. I just need more sleep… and to clean myself up.” She pulled at her sweat soaked shirt. “Go run me a bath if you want to be helpful-”

Gary was gone before she finished.

Sheryl harrumphed.

She wiped her face, thinking about her fever dream. It was a made up mess of things and she wasn’t sure what it meant… but Oreskis was in it and she wasn’t drunk this time… Did that mean he really was real?

She hoped so.

This had better be worth the trouble.