#There’s no. fucking. cure hell there’s barely even a treatment.

[justanotherfanartist]

every once in a while I read the wikipedia page for Rabies again and I get the Fear of God instilled in me

#we should have a day to remember all the people who died from rabies because holy fucking shit #I cannot overstate how miserable and sad and scary of an experience that is #rabies is such a specific fear of mine because not only is horrific and disorienting and very painful whilst you’re totally concious #There’s no. fucking. cure hell there’s barely even a treatment. #rabies legitimately has an >99% mortality rate #that’s fucking insane #we can treat cancer better then we can treat rabies #anyways. guess who freaked themselves out again #it’s the disease where genuinely the most anyone could ever do for you is contain you and sedate you and sit with you for a while

[gabessquishytum]

so it is Victorian Rural New England and Morpheus was just struck with what the doctors,believe to be TB. They tell his family that what he needs is fresh air and peace and quit, and to send him to a small hunting town in Colorado. It won't cure him, but it's been known to ease the effects of TB and make it livable.

Morpheus goes, but his mother is convinced that it's not actually TB, but a vampire feeding off of Morpheus, and insists he takes a thing of garlic flowers with him for protection. He does, but gets rid of them on the train. His parents are eastern European immigrants, and while his father just wants the family to blend in with American WASP society, his mother keeps their orthodox and traditional roots.

When Dream gets to Colorado, things don't look better, and his doctor even says Dream needs a blood transfusion.

The treatment it's done at is a Catholic hospital (his mother would have a fit if she knew) and Dream actually starts feeling better. Many of his symptoms are going away and There's even some colour back in his cheeks. After recovering, he is sent to a hunting lodge where many of the residents are also eastern Europeans. So many of them follow the same customs as his mother for protection.

Dream on the other hand feels so good that he starts taking day trips to Denver where he meets high society folks, and Hob.

Hob and Dream are "of the same sort" and Hob begins to spoil Dream. He takes Dream to dinners and shows. Dream, who grew up with nothing but stories of wealth and luxery, is enammered by this man who gives it to him freely. Most people know theyre confirmed batchalors together.

As it turns out, Hob is from a city not too far away from Dream's farm. And then Hob says something that doesn't click with Dream. Hob said he moved there when it was still new. That wasnt possible sense the town was founded befor Hob's parents could have been born. The town had been there before the revolution.

Slowly, Dream starts to notice things that also seem off.

Apparently, Hob can tell Dream's getting too close to the truth because one night when Dream and him are leaving the theater, Hob pulls him down an alleyway. Dream tries,to fight and thinks Hob is going to drain him of his blood and leave him to die.

While Hob does drink from Dream, Dream feels less like it's to feed, and more like it's an act of lust from Hob. Hell, Hob has Dream pressed against the wall and has Dream's legs lifted up and around hob's hips while holding Dreams wrists down. It's a pretty sexy position to have your meal in.

Hob admits that he saw Dream one night while he was hunting and couldn't resist him. Dream never had TB just Hob drinking from him.

Dream is really only half listening because his lover has him like this, when before they could barely give each other a kiss.

Hob notices and explains the long term goal Hob had. He wanted to make Dream a vampire so he could forever have Dream's beautiful body. Dream gasps that he wants to do what ever Hob has for him. That he wants Hob to make him what ever he is. The transformation is orgasmic. When its over, Dream is looking up at his lover with a new thirst for blood.

As a bitch who occasionally looks like a victim of TB… I feel you Morpheus. I feel you.

I love the whole backstory you’ve got here, it feels like a real setup for a historical novel. I also love the inherent sexuality of turning into a vampire. It’s really fucking hot. Hob making sure that it’s a pleasurable experience for Dream, basically fucking him through it? Yes he’s technically taking something from Dream by feeding from him, but he barely even feels the pain or loss of blood. He’s just whining softly and grinding his cock in against Hob’s hip. God he’s so pretty, Hob could easily drink him dry.

But he doesn’t, not quite. He makes sure that instead, Morpheus drinks from him in return. Hob feeds his own blood between Morpheus’s pretty pink lips until he’s squirming and full and about to cum all over the inside of his pristine trousers. Hob is so pleased with his darling, his pretty little slut. Morpheus needs blood and he also needs to be fucked - it’s like Hob has trained that into him during their warped ritual. He’s desperate for it. And Hob is delighted with the monster he’s created. His beautiful Dream will live forever and Hob never intends to let him go.

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw blood

[sinsandsweetness]

Supression (sex and zombies- chapter 12)

pairing- {Rick x fem!reader}

summary- Rick has some pent up emotions.

warnings- 18+ obviously. MDNI. rough, mean, hate sex? hair pulling, choking, a tiny bit of angst at the end.

notes- you know that song that goes "yeah, he loves me, but he fucks me like he hates my guts" ? sooo... that's basically this. enjoy!

"Ohmygod", you scrambled up from your spot on the gravel, lunging towards Daryl, wrapping your arms around him and digging your face into his jacket.

The five of you looked like absolute hell. Daryls face beaten in, bloody and bruising as the seconds passed. Carl crying as Michonne tried to comfort him. Ricks face and neck slick with another mans blood. This weird haze of something unfamiliar in his eyes. Shock probably. It didn't even look like him. Hands shaky and mind somewhere else. 

You held onto Daryl, tight. You wanted to just break down and cry into his shoulder, but you thought better of it. Trying to keep yourself together, for his sake but more for yours. He held you for a long moment, no words exchanged, just the feeling of both of your heart rates attempting to return to normal. 

Nobody slept well that night. Not for a while. Not even after finding the rest of your family.

In fact, you were so sleep deprived by the time you had all found the church, that both Michonne and Daryl had pulled you aside separately, to see if you were ok. You weren't. But neither was anyone. So you didn't make a big deal out of it.

Rick was... pissed. Angry. Mad at the world. Mad at the Claimers. Mad at Terminus. The fact that his family was put in danger, captured to be killed and eaten right beside him. And... well, mad that not everyone wanted to listen to him. The new recruits from the road had showed up, blabbing about some cure, which sounded like utter bullshit in your opinion. But it didn't matter, Rick wasn't having it either.

Actually, for some unknown reason, Rick didn't seem to be 'having it' with you either. At first you thought it was just the shock. Every event that had happened was so quick and sudden. A lot of different emotions. And it's not like you minded. You were always so understanding, especially when it came to his family, getting Judith back, making sure Carl was okay. That was important. To him and to everyone. But even after things started to cool down, he seemed... off. He barely spoke to you, wouldn't even look in your direction while sitting around the church, picking at cans of whatever vegetable hadn't been so popular. You weren't entirely used to the silent treatment. Knowing that something was wrong but being almost too scared to ask. I mean, hell everything was wrong. So what could he possibly say that would actually make you feel any better?

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

You didn’t have to turn around to know who opened the bus door. You took a breath in, awaiting the unavoidable confrontation. 

“Are you kidding me?” He growled from behind you. The bag in your hand dropped to the floor of the bus. 

“It’s not what you think, I’m just-“ 

He pushed you forward, down the aisle of the bus. Stumbling, you catch yourself on the edge of a seat, turning around to look at him. 

“Yeah you know exactly what it looks like,” 

It looked like you were helping Abe and Eugene. Going against Rick's wishes, and orders. In truth, it was the exact opposite. You were trying to find the keys and hide them. Take their bags and delay them from leaving. You wanted the bus too. For your own friends. Not to get some idiot to DC.

“I know,” you put your hands up slightly.

Rick was amped up from the nights events. Still on edge from the argument in the church only an hour ago.

“I was taking the bags out, not loading them up,” you try to explain.

He knew you were being truthful, but he was still just as unimpressed. “You shouldn’t be out here anyway,” he approached you in the dark bus.

“I was trying to help.”

“Well don’t. Stay inside where it’s safe.”

“So why are you out here then?” 

“I heard you leave. Didn’t want you getting hurt... Again.” He added. Eyes flashing down your body almost too quick to notice.

“As if that was my fault,” you gave him a little attitude. He was being aggressive. For no reason. His anger towards the world being taken out on anyone who was there. 

If looks could kill, you'd of dropped to the floor of the bus. His glare burned into you, hot and mean.

“You think it was mine?” He let out a dry laugh, stepping closer and closer, while you walked backwards until you hit the back of the bus. 

“I didn’t say that,” immediately regretting your tone.

“Mmm but you’re thinkin’ it aren’t you?” He was close now, his eyes almost black in the darkness. 

You shook your head. 

“I’ve never even thought that,” 

“Oh bullshit,”

"It's not bullshit." You were mad now. “You know what's bullshit? That I have done everything you ever wanted, stood by you even at your fucking worst and you still have the nerve to think I would blame you for all this shit." You were up in his face now.

"I have never doubted you. Not for a second. So if you have had any thought that this whole situation we have ourselves in is your fault, that’s a reflection of what you believe, not me.”

He hesitated for a moment. Jaw clenching. 

“What? You realize I’m right? Huh?” You jabbed a finger at his chest. Sick of his attitude. 

“You wanna punching bag? To take it all out on someone? You haven't even talked to me since we found Daryl, and now you wanna pick a damn fight?" You couldn't help but scoff, "Well I’m not your girl. I’ve been on your side every damn step of the way."

“I know that-"

“Then cut it out Rick. I don't deserve this shit.” Now you were the one stepping forward into him, forcing him back. “Don’t be mad at me because you feel bad about what’s happened.”

“Of course I feel bad! I’m supposed to lead this group, I'm supposed to protect you!” He hissed.

“I never asked you to.“

His scowl deepened. Oh that hit a nerve.

"I am doing everything I can to keep this group alive-"

“Well stop it. You can’t control what happens to us Rick. You can't save all of us! We are fighting for our fucking lives in this stupid church and you can’t do anything about it,” you could see his face twitch. That little head tilt. Oh my god it made you wanna climb him. Going weeks without any attention from him, it didn't matter now that he was mad, because at least he was mad at you. 

“We're stuck here with that useless priest, and that mullet wearing prick. They’re gonna get us killed. You think so too, I know you do.” 

“Shut up.” 

“You aren’t in control anymore and you can’t fucking stand it can you-"

He grabbed your face roughly. 

“I said. Shut. Up.” He wasn’t having it. At all. You were only trying to get a rise out of him. And boy was it ever working.

“Fuck you,” you growl. 

To your surprise he brought his head down to yours, smashing your lips together. Kissing you with an intensity you weren't quite familiar with. Despite your anger, you still returned the favour. I mean why else were you egging him on like that, if not to get a little relief. Almost Immediately he started to peel layers off of you. Your coat, jeans, boots. All while kissing, and biting down your neck. 

“I hate you,” you told him quietly, beard scratching at your skin as he peeled your panties off. 

He almost laughed at your comment, suppressed it into your shoulder. He didn’t believe that for a second. 

His jacket and shirt were discarded in the pile of clothes and weapons he'd stripped off of you. 

“Turn around.” He demanded. And so you did, not without a little help from Rick pushing you down onto the bus seat. You let out a sound and your arms jutted out to the window. He wasn’t being gentle. Not like he usually was. Far from it. His rough hands went straight to your hips, and he pushed you even further, face now pressed up against the window. You could only see a faint light from inside the church. Nothing else. Utter darkness of the forest surrounding the two of you. He pushed between your legs, lining himself up to your already soaking wet pussy. Your own body betraying your hostile words. The belt buckle from his jeans was cold on the back of your thigh, causing a little whimper to escape your lips. 

“What’s that about me not being in control?” His hand tangled in your hair, pulling at your scalp. 

“Ah!”

He pushed into you from behind, not giving you any time to adjust. Thrusting rough and fast. His hand digging into your ass, pulling you back against him hard. You didn’t even care to hide the sounds you were making. Unable to do anything except grasp at the man’s hand in your hair. Hoping to ease his grip.

When he did finally ease up, he pulled you back by the hips, so that he was standing and you were closer to the edge of the seat. A palm pressed down on your back, pushing your face against the seat with his other hand still gripping your hip. Pulling you back onto him. Pounding into you hard and hitting a spot inside of you that you didn't even know existed.

You moaned right into the seat. 

Hate sex had always been a favourite. Though historically it was with Daryl, after a particularly bad argument or a day of him acting like an asshole. It felt different with Rick. To feel every emotion that he was trying to hold back, through the force of his thrusts. It was exhilarating. Feeling absolutely used, like his own personal fuck doll. A punching bag to blow off steam. It was so dirty, and fucked up, and turned you on even more.

“Rick-“ you cried out when you knew you were close and your legs started to give out. He didn’t let up, instead choosing to flip you around and onto your back, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as soon as he entered you again. 

His thumb went to your clit, rubbing messy circles as he pounded into you. 

“You like that huh? Being tossed around like a little slut?” He asked. A moan In his ear let him know that yes. Yes you did. 

His hands were grabbing at your waist and your skin so hard you knew he’d leave bruises. 

You couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed at the sound that left you when he lifted both of your legs onto his shoulders. Though he quickly shut you up, with his mouth on yours, muttering something unintelligible against your lips. 

You came hard, squeezing your eyes shut and breathing all heavy, raspy moans. Hands pushing against his stomach. 

“-t’s too much - Rick please,” you couldn't take anymore. 

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” he growled into your ear. He placed his hand on your throat, pressing down on the sides, and you heard him swear under his breath. 

You let the next orgasm wash through you as you struggled to breath, your fingernails digging into his wrist, no doubt leaving marks for the next day. Seeing tiny white stars as the pleasure erupted through your core and down the muscles of your legs. He finally let go and you inhaled a sharp breath looking up at him through teary eyes. 

He pulled out and you replaced the hand stroking his cock with your own, letting him come onto your stomach, and up your breasts. 

He let out a shaky breath. 

You were cold now without him so close to you. He grabbed one of your shirts and cleaned you up, helping you get dressed with the rest. Leaving with only a layer less than when you’d gotten on the bus. He plopped down onto the seat next to you, breathing heavy, both of you silently inspecting the pattern on the back of the seat in front of you. 

"Why haven't you talked to me?" you finally just asked. Sick of the silence and sick of not knowing.

He chewed on his lip for a moment. The gears in his head turning, for only you to see.

He sighed and shook his head, not facing you, "You went to him. After they- on the road... You went to him."

He was talking about Daryl. The way you hugged him after Rick bit that guys throat out and gutted his buddy. He was right, you had went to Daryl. But in that moment you didn't even recognize Rick. There was no way he would have made you feel any better. 

Maybe that's what he was so upset about. That he couldn't have been the one to comfort you. To take care of you.

"We didn't even know he was alive I was just-" happy to see him. Scared from the situation, and your instincts told you to go to the closest comfort. Ricks unfocused gaze and the blood dripping down his beard didn't exactly scream comfort.

"It's fine. I'm just- uh," he backtracked.  "You went to him. And my mind... it never stops. I- I just can't stop thinking. Ever. And every time I even look at you...  it gets worse. Thinking about how..." He ran a hand over his face. Not wanting to talk about it anymore. All you wanted was for him to pour his heart out, and every time he got close, he would stop. Just fucking say it already. 

“You're right okay. You do listen. You do everything I say, even when I can tell you don't agree," he tried grabbing your hand but you pulled away. "If everyone else were like you... maybe... I don't know.” Maybe they'd still be alive. That's what he wanted to say. His ego had clearly gotten the best of him lately. Rick looked over at you with another unfamiliar expression. He could tell you were spent, and maybe a little upset, rubbing at your neck. 

“You're such an asshole.” you answered, almost a whisper. 

When he didn't answer, you got up and brushed past him. He tried to object, calling your name and grabbing your arm, “Come back. I didn't-“

You tugged your arm back and stormed out of the bus.

He knew that you were just as scared to lose him. He knew it, and he still couldn't even outright say it. Whatever it was. 

Only a few meters from the church, you felt a cold hand on your shoulder. Annoyed and upset, you turn around, immediately forced to dodge the jaws snapping at you. 

“Oh shit!” You push the walker to the side, scrambling for your knife. When it got back up and closer you drove your knife in through its jaw, letting it drop down by your feet. A few deep breaths. Your heart rate through the roof. 

Looking back at the bus, Rick's hand was on his gun, looking at you through the doorway. Ready to come save you. Just in case you needed it.

#rick grimes x y/n #twd fanfiction #rick grimes smut #rick grimes fanfiction #sinsandsweetness #sexandzombies #smut #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon fanfiction

[jackrrabbit]

Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #tw dubcon #tw sacrilege #tw christianity #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero imagines #my hero academia x reader #my hero imagines #boku no hero fanfic #smut

[hornime]

HIT ME LIKE YOU HATE ME | IWAIZUMI HAJIME X F!READER

a/n: hello everyone i just want to let you know that i have contracted a dangerously contagious disease called obsession-with-hard!dom-iwa and unfortunately there is no cure :( anyway here is a drabble because my brain is,, rotting

warnings: 18+, timeskip!iwaizumi, IMPACT PLAY (what can i say i’m a kinky lil shit), kinda dom/sub dynamics, use of “sir”

thinking about olympic trainer iwaizumi that just had a shitty practice with the boys. the team was off their game and morale got even worse when some old injuries (that he swore he’d assigned the treatment for) flared up. the coaches were pissed, the players were pissed, and needless to say, he was pissed, because if there’s one thing that sets him off more than anything, its not doing a job right the first time. 

there’s a red hot anger that’s pumping like blood through his veins, and he needs to take it out on something.

or someone.

you’re scrolling mindlessly on your phone when the front door creaks open, barely able to lift your head and get out a word of greeting before his warm palm is pressing into your neck.

“had a bad day, baby,” he mutters into your hair, pulling you close with his other arm. he brushes his lips along the shell of your ear, making you shiver. “might need to be a little harsher than usual.”

you hum a little, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and trying to ignore the rush of arousal pooling in your stomach at the gravel in his tone. 

he steps back, allowing some space between the two of you so he can see your face. this grip on your neck slackens and he lifts your chin to make eye contact. “that sound good?”

you nod, leaning your head into his touch. he pulls his hand away and you let out a little whine. there’s not a trace of sympathy in his eyes as he speaks.

“words, baby. what’s your color?”

“green,” you whisper airily. you clear your throat, embarrassed at how desperate you sound. “green.”

something ignites in his pupils, and you swear you can see them glint with lust. “take your clothes off. face down, ass up on the bed.” 

you open your mouth to speak, but he’s already turning away and unzipping his jacket. you hear his voice call out to you as you make your way to the bedroom: “and hands behind your back.”

you pause, heart racing and clit throbbing at the implication of his words. “yes sir.”

you’re in the position iwaizumi ordered you to be in, back arched at an angle that has your cheek smushed into the pillow and the curve of your ass teasingly high in the air. your weight shifts between your thighs in impatience, the hell is taking him so damn long, and you’re so caught up in your own head that you don’t even notice him entering the room.

“stop fucking moving.” you freeze as his gruff voice enters your ears, calloused fingers brushing against your trembling thighs. something leathery brushes against your skin and you gasp as the fabric of his belt is wrapped around your wrists, cruelly binding them together.

“sorry,” you breathe, exhaling onto the pillow below you.

his palm comes hot and heavy onto your ass cheek, and you yelp at the sudden pain flaring through your body. “did i say you could fucking talk?”

you shake your head weakly, biting at your lower lip to prevent yourself from making any more noise.

“that’s what i thought.” he smacks your ass again and you jerk forward, smothering your face into the comforter so that you don’t moan. “count.”

“one!” you cry out as he hits you again, a blunt soreness spreading through your backside. you shudder at the sensation of his palms rubbing the flesh, wishing he’d touch your neglected cunny instead, which is drooling pathetically into your panties.

“god, i had such a fucking shit day today. just wanna,” his palm makes contact with your ass again, your skin rippling at the impact. “just wanna break something.”

you choke out a “two!” as he’s hitting you again, your brain becoming increasingly jumbled as numbers tumble out from between your lips and the sounds of skin-on-skin fills the air.

at spank seven, your upper body collapses, and your knees barely support your ass as iwaizumi continues his barrage. each strike of his palm forces you forward on the bed, your frame being helplessly manipulated to his will. the push and pull of your cunt drags your clit just right on the blanket, and you barely comprehend the coil of an orgasm building in your pussy until spank thirteen. 

but by then, you’re too far gone to do anything about it.

a small “fifteen!” escapes your parted lips, glossy with drool, and you’re absolutely fucked, completely unable to control yourself as the muscles in your stomach clench tight and your pussy twitches involuntarily. a thought of holy shit i’m cumming flashes through your mind, but is quickly replaced by the overwhelming pleasure that’s shooting through your body. your wails and moans are muffled as your bury your head, your bound hands clutching futilely at air.

your mind’s far too hazy to notice that iwaizumi’s stopped his actions entirely, standing straight at the edge of the bed with his hands down at his sides as he gazes at you with a sick sense of satisfaction. 

“baby,” he purrs, his palms trailing heavily up your sides. there’s a semblance of amusement threading through the rough irritation of his voice that he’d entered the room with: “did you just cum?”

you nod, tears of humiliation and arousal streaking down your cheeks. “’m sorry sir, i didn’t mean to.” you tense as his touch leaves your back, preparing for another explosion of pain on your already-raw ass, this time as punishment, but you’re surprised (and slightly disappointed) when his hands move to your calves instead. 

he’s on his knees in front of your cunt, peering in wonder at the way your weeping hole tightens around nothing. you whimper in humiliation, trying to squirm away from the ravenous way he’s looking at you, like a predator at its prey, but he’s wrapped his hands around the front of your thighs, keeping you still.

“such a naughty girl, enjoying a spanking enough to cum from it,” he tuts, hot breath fanning against your pussy. you whimper out another apology, but he shushes you. “s’alright, baby. ‘m not in a bad mood anymore, anyway.”

you shudder as he flattens his tongue against you, flicking lightly at your sensitive clit. “actually, now i’m in a good mood.”

you can practically see his grin as he tugs you closer, teasing your hole with the pads of his fingers: “and you know how much i love making you cum when i’m in a good mood.”

© property of hornime 2021. do not plagiarize any of my writing and do not repost/copy my writing onto any other sites.

#kinky.inky #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi #haikyuu #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #tw.impact play

[creativeashproductions]

When the Pain Ends // Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Breaking up with your boyfriend ends with your broken hand, a broken heart and a trip to Canada. Getting out of Oklahoma for comfort of your younger brother Owen brings you into contact with a sweet Canadian.

Warnings: Swearing, hospital, cheating boyfriend, angst and bit of fluff

Words: 3.1k

Requested: No.

A/N: Tidbit of info is that I am a university student. I had last week off and I’m six minutes into my History Zoom Lecture. Here’s a little fic.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

The scowl glued on your face as you waited in the ER for the results from the x-ray you had gotten back from minutes ago. A bag of ice on the swollen knuckles of your right hand still splattered in drops of blood. The same blood as the small drops on your shirt as well. If that didn’t put a scowl on your face, it was the next issue.

The reason for your visit to the ER was in bed next over complaining as a nurse checked his face. His eyes meeting yours in a blend of guilt, regret and fear almost. You couldn’t meet his eyes. You didn’t want to meet his eyes.

Let’s backtrack a little for a short history.

The summer after graduation, you had met a guy on the beach playing volleyball in need of another player. You joined, and then you fell for the guy just as he did for you. For the last three years, you were now twenty-one years old. Parker had been a really good guy. Until yesterday.

“Babe!” Parker sounded congested with the bandages held up his nose. He had been fighting the nurse to come to your side.

“Don’t call me that!” You hissed glaring at the tall boy with the auburn hair colour that had once been your favourite colour.

“C’mon it was a mistake-Ow!” Parker whined at the nurse applied more pressure as she cast a sympathetic glance at you. A small smile of thanks passed to the nurse who had maybe pressed a little no hard on Parker’s nose.

Your eyes rolled at the drama that was Parker when it came to injuries that had been his entire fault, to be frank. Your fist meeting his face? His fault for cheating. What did he expect? A congratulations? Screw that.

“Say anything else I swear I’ll hit the other ball.” You glared at the boy sending him to a fit, shaking fear of stupidity.

The beach was filled up with teens and adults with children on the nice weekend day out of the loud city. Originally you hadn’t been able to join Parker with your mutual friends, but something else had spurred you there. Instead of having the weekly movie night via FaceTime with your younger brother, you had other plans. A particular video sent by Parker’s best friend and his cousin too had brought you here. Livvy had grown close in the three-year relationship you had with her cousin.

Your fury filled gaze flickered around the beach and the grass in the large opening area of the waterfront. Finally, your eyes found Parker sitting with Livvy on the blanket on the grass with Steve. Livvy was the first to see with marching through the people spreading like a curtain from the angry girl.

“Hey, Parker!” You shouted at your boyfriend in a conversation with your other two friends. Parker’s smile grew just before it falters at your expression.

“Hey, Babe,” Parker spoke, climbing to his full five-foot-ten stature. Livvy’s smile pulled up in an amused smirk while Steve looked more confused.

“How was your weekend at your sick Granny’s house?” You came to a stop a foot away from him. Arms crossed just under your chest his thick eyebrows furrowed together.

“Uh…it was okay. She’s feeling better.” Parker nodded to himself tilting his head to the side, “It was-“

“I hope she better. Her treatment must have been incredible.” You replied, unfurling your arms to grab the phone from your back pocket.

Parker grew more confused, “What?”

“The doctor sure knew what he was doing. The prescription of ‘dicked down’ cured her illness and old age.” The whistle you made after your statement sounded, but you grew more satisfied with the circle of people behind you.

“Oh.” Steve choked, raising one fist to press against his mouth. By now Livvy had started recording on her phone.

Livvy and Parker may be cousins, but she loathed cheaters when it was the cause of her parents’ divorce. Parker’s lips parted as he paled. The click of the glass screen brought up a video of Parker and a brunette in a hot tub.

“Ba-“

“Fucking look at your actions.” You hissed stepping even closer, “Was it worth it? Jeopardizing a relationship with someone you share years of memories with? Years of love and trust? All for thirty seconds of fun? We both know you tend to…get too excited.”

“Oh shit,” Steve spoke, shifting his gaze between you and Parker like he was a bobblehead of Einstein. The very bobblehead that you had laughed giving Steve with his obsession over the legendary scientist.

“It just happened. I still love you. I just needed a- “Parker stumbled back bringing his hands to his face, “OW! You broke my nose!”

“Ouch.” You hissed shaking your aching hand coated in some blood that splattered your shirt from shaking the hand.

“What the hell! You bit…holy fuck!” Parker screamed as your foot came up between his spread legs, nailing his left nut. He collapsed onto the grass, struggling to hold his bleeding broke nose and his nuts.

“That’s what you get asshole.” You shouted, turning to Livvy, “Can you take me to the hospital?”

“Parker drove, I’ll drive you both there. Steve can keep you two from fighting.” Livvy spoke, ending the video to shove everything in the oversized beach bag.

Now it was hours later as per usual in most hospitals elongating the time you were forced to spend with your now ex-boyfriend. Livvy and Steve had gone home a while back. Parker continued trying to fix the unrepairable damage he had done.

“Y-“

“That’s it!” You exclaimed jumping down from the bed to storm over to Parker. You made a few steps before arms encircled your waist.

“Okay, Slugger.” The gritty voice of your father spoke tugging you as far away from your ex-boyfriend as possible, “As much I want to kill him, I think you broke his pretty-boy face enough.”

The anger drained from your body as you slumped against your dad anguish set in with a tsunami of hurt. Time melted as you broke in your father’s arm; missing the doctor giving information. Your hand was fitted with a cast, and next thing you were aware of it was in the car.

“You bruised hits nuts. Broke his nose.” Dad nonchalantly spoke, turning the steering wheel as he exited the hospital parking lot. He didn’t bother making small talk as he let you be quiet on the drive home.

You didn’t know what hurt more, the heartache or your broken hand stabilized in the brace. The clearing of a throat had your attention is drawn to the house you had grown up no doubt holding your upset mother.

“She’s not that mad.” Dad quietly spoke, handing your phone that had died during the time in the ER. You shot him a look at the inaccuracy of his statement because you both know she was angry.

“Her daughter just spent hours in a hospital with a dead phone. We both know she probably thought I was dead in a ditch.” You deadpanned as you both walked up to the door of the home in Norman, Oklahoma.

The door opened before you could reach for it, and a flurry of blonde hair attacked you in a hug. Your mother hugged then leaned away to scan your features. Catching the dried tear stains paired with the red-rimmed eyes.

“Sweetheart.” Dinah spoke, raising her hands to wipe the tears from your face only causing more to fall, “What’s wrong?”

“Parker cheated on me.” You mumbled melting into her arms in another round of tears, breaking your parents’ hearts.

Meanwhile in Vancouver, Canada

Owen loved his job and the people he had met, but he missed the weekly movie nights with his older sister. The Joyner siblings had gotten down pat a system of sync to have the same movie playing at the same time on FaceTime. Imagine his surprise when he got a text apologizing.

Virtual movie night postponed. It put him in a slump that greatly concerned his roommate at the decrease of excitement. Even the next day, he was sad like a kicked puppy.

“Bro? You good?” Charlie asked from his place in the kitchen, scanning his emails on his computer. Owen barely made his eyes, “Wasn’t movie night with your sister yesterday?”

Owen nodded, “Yeah she-“

As Owen had gone to explain his phone had dinged with a concerning message from his mother.

Mom: Have you heard from Y/N? She hasn’t come home.

Owen swiped out of the conversation to the most used one with you shared with him to send a mass of messages. All not even coming up as read by you. It was his stipulation that you had it one for his safe of mind.

“C’mon you little shit,” Owen grumbled, pressing your contact to call. It didn’t even ring, “Dead cell.”

Charlie’s full attention shifted to the younger guy sitting on their couch in the apartment they used during filming. As Owen started pacing, Charlie was over quick as a bunny to offer comfort to him. The boys had grown so close, with Jeremy too, that they knew how to help the other.

“Owen, you need to tell me what’s going on.” Charlie soothed the blonde with his eyes pleading with the teenager.

“My parents haven’t talked to my sister. She didn’t go home.” Owen admitted scratching at his chest when his chest tightened. The other immediately finding his pulse on his neck to ensure he still had a pulse.

“Oh shit.” Charlie retorted, tapping his foot on the hardwood floor trying to find the right words to help his friend.

For the next hour, the boys kept in contact with Owen’s family and checking your social media in shifts as they filmed. It was a slow day when Owen’s phone finally rang with his mother’s contact once more.

“Mom, did you find her?” Owen asked, picking at the skin on his lips pacing as he had all day. The level of anxiety had been perfect for the scene he had filmed as Alex.

“Yeah. Look, Owen, she needs to get out of Oklahoma. Do you have room for her?” Dinah asked her son periodically glancing in the living room at the lifeless young woman.

“Yeah. We have an extra room.” Owen supplied squeezing the phone in his grip, “How is she? What happened?”

“I’m letting her settle before I ask any questions, but her flight is in a bit. It was either you take her in, or we pay for a hotel room. Oh! I got this lego-“

“I have to get back to filming. I’ll call you tonight.” Owen told his mother as his thumb hit the record circle on his phone. Kenny waving him over to film a scene with Booboo that would be the last before heading home.

The over the counter pain pill went down with a swig of water in the airport waiting for Owen and his roommate. Owen had messaged you that he would pick you up on the way from the set in perfect timing.

“Y/N!” Owen cheered catching sight of your form hunched forward on the bench you had miraculously found empty. Your blank eyes seeing the blue of your younger brother.

Owen’s eyes widened in shock, “What the hell happened to your hand?”

Noncommittal, the girl walked by her brother with her luggage in the mission to get to the car. All you wanted was to burst into years under your blankets until the world turned again, when birds sang, and the word wasn’t painted in dull colours.

Just as it had during the ride from the hospital to the house, it was dead silent in the car with the barest sound of music. Owen and Charlie had been having a conversation with expressions with the tension in the backseat stifling.

“This is our place.” Charlie spoke, opening the apartment door with a flourish for the girl and her luggage. Your eyes scanned the modest apartment with minimal mess compared to the tornado devastation of Owen’s Oklahoma room.

“Okay.” You replied, watching as Owen rolled the luggage to the room you would use for the few weeks you would be here.

Once showered, dressed and settled, you retreated to the couch to watch a film with the two boys. Your mind fluttered between Beca’s blow out with her father and Jesse to the city of Norman. As if thinking of Parker manifested something your phone buzzed with notifications.

@/livvyjo: Go, girl! [video]

@/malia134: Parker goes down like the bitch he is!!!

@/notsteverogers: I got a front-row seat to the fight.

Those three comments on Livvy’s video had more support than hate plus the video itself was hilarious. It caught the entire confrontation from greeting the cheater to being pulled away to spend the ten minutes in the same car. The car you had hooked up in the backseat of in the years you dated him.

 “-The prescription of ‘dicked down’ cured her illness and old age.” The pure anger on your expression amused you.

“What are you watching?” Owen inquired from the couch he watched the movie from. It made up for the lack of a film last night.

“A girl punching her bag of shit ex-boyfriend. She almost ripped his face off in the hospital.” You softly replied with your thumb double-tapping Livvy’s post.

Charlie’s attention shifted from the pool mashup with the Barden Bellas to the pride evident in your tone. It was the first time he had heard you laugh during the few hours he had been in your presence.

“What movie?”

“Oh, you know Parker’s Dicked Down Adventures. Filmed free with an iPhone.” You spoke sliding down to sit flush to Charlie to show the video you refreshed.

Owen’s mouth opened, “He cheated on you? How stupid is he??”

“You have a mean right hook.” Charlie supplied replaying the video for the third time with a weird feeling in his gut. The confidence stirred a body warming heat in the Canadian actor unlike anything else he had felt before.

“Dad taught me.” You replied, slouching down in the plush couch with a tiny smiling, “The nurse heard what happened. She put excessive pressure for his actions. I overheard his diagnosis; nasty bruised testicle and a broken nose.”

Both boys winced at the description. Owen ditching Charlie’s side to sit beside you, leaving you in the middle of the boys.

“I almost attacked him before Dad dragged me out of the room.” You recounted snuggling into your younger brother’s side.

“Where are my keys?” Owen questioned his roommate, “We need them to drive to the airport. I need to kill the ass that hurt my sister.”

Your deft fingers grasped Owen’s wrist when he went to get up because, in all honesty, he probably would book a flight. He wouldn’t go through with the plan to physically hurt Parker, but Owen had a wicked tongue for insults.

You spent one month in Vancouver with your brother and his castmates from helping Maddie with her homework. Movie nights with Owen changed to include Charlie too. Shopping trips with Sav and Tori. Baking with Jadah. You became family with them.

All good things come to an end. You had settled back in Norman with brighter plans that didn’t involve relying on men. Movie nights still happened with the boys, but things got hectic. Virtual movie nights shifted to texting Charlie and calls.

“Hey dork.” Charlie spoke walking down the street in Vancouver to the restaurant he was meeting the cast at. His lips pulled back in a massive grin, hearing your voice.

“Hey Char!” You enthusiastically spoke, walking out of the building with more pep in your step at the voice of the man, “What’s up?”

“On my way for food with everyone. How are you feeling?” Charlie asked, rubbing his fingertips on the dark denim pants. The sound of your voice brightening up his day more than he thought possible.

“Ooh. I should let you go, huh?” You questioned shifting to hold the phone between your shoulder and chin. Fingers unlocked the new car you had bought with the money you had saved.

A nice change of money from selling the jewellery, clothes and other miscellaneous gifts Parker had given you. The necklace he gave you that once belonged to his grandmother had been given back to him. Other than that you had no interaction with the ass.

“I’d rather talk to you.” Charlie admitted biting his lip in concentration, “I have a question.”

“Okay. What’s your question?” You questioned as your phone connected to your car—Charlie’s voice coming through the car speakers.

“Filming is almost over. Do you have plans for New Years? I’d like you to see you again.”

His words set a flutter of butterflies moving in your stomach at his nervous confidence striking the new information. The change in your friendship had been felt on his side as well and while you usually would think one-month post cheating wasn’t long enough. Something about Charlie felt comfortable as if everything had been preparing to fall for him.

“I could fly-“

“I’d like to see where you grew up. Your favourite places and where you went to school. I want to know the little things that made you who you are.” Charlie spoke coming to a stop outside the restaurant, waiting for your answer.

Owen’s eyes pulled from his debate with Sacha and Jeremy to the nervous Canadian biting his lip outside the window. By the expression on his face, Owen couldn’t guess who he was talking about. It was the smile that had been appearing on Charlie’s face for the last two weeks you had been staying with them.

Charlie had fallen for Owen’s big sister, and he couldn’t think of anyone better. The bond between you and Charlie had been natural and magical to watch. It was kinda gross seeing his best friend and sister having heart eyes with each other. Yet, Owen had never liked Parker, but he loved the idea of having Charlie as a brother.

“Y-yeah. Of course, you can Char.” The flattering blush heated up your skin at the turn in the convo—a grin splitting on the two individuals with more than three thousand kilometres between them.

“Cool. I should join the cast. I’ll text you later.”

“Bye, Charlie.” You whispered to the boy looking out the window noticing something she had been oblivious to.

The world had regained the colour, the birds sang again, and the world turned once more. All because a boy helped her heal.

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#charlie gillespie imagines #charlie gillespie fanfiction #charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie imagine #luke patterson imagines #jatp fanfic #charlie gillespie #caitsy and ash productions

[zuffer-weird-girl]

May i request for overhaul just being vulnerable because of the first time he felt "threatened" by somebody trying to steal angel away? And he feels really terrible about it? (Even if he took care of the issue...the person- already?) You may decline! Thankyou

He wasn't the best to be involved with.

Heck, he would be a hypocrite if he deny such a thing. He is arrogant, cold and capable of kill someone if they accidentaly bumo onto him. Not even mentioning the sociopath part of his persona.

Resume. He is a mess of a man. Sometimes he even question it if you were actually sane to still be with him. Say you loved him for who he is and stay by his side even on his worsts moments where he knows he is an absolute asshole if it let him.

He knew you deserved better. He knew it.... yet his selfishness was way bigger than his common sense; he didn't wanted to lose one of the only good things on his fucked up life.

He was too possesive.

Yet seing you there... smilling and actually laughing at that man's words and gestures made his stomach turn into a knot as he gripped on his glass a little bit tighter as he stared at the scene with nonchalant expression.

"Such a beautiful person like yourself involved with us? A bunch of yakusas? Pardon but I mistook you with actual royalty." The brunette haired man spoke as you giggled and waved him off.

"Please, this is beyond exaggerating sir!"

"I beg your kindness to call me Harishima. It would be a blessing to hear my name be spoken by such a sweet angel's voice."

Angel? Angel... that was his nickname for you. How dare he-

"Shit! You're okay Overhaul?" He heard Chrono's blvoice and he only let out a confused noise before looking at his own hand... despite the gloves on, that was sign of his blood dropping on the floor along with the remains of what used to be a glass.

He didn't even used his quirk to do that... impressive. His subconscious spoke louder this time.

He merely grabbed a napkin and started to wipe it off until he heard your voice. He stared down and found you with wide worried eyes directioners at his injury as his chest somehow fluttered in relief.

Your attention was on him. You carried about him.

"What happened?!" You took the napkin out of his hand and sweetly wipe while holding his hand on yours... many were shock that Overhaul didn't killed you right there for touching him without permission.

No. The man was staring down at you like it was not a big deal. Letting you treat his wound as you asked for anyone for some bandages.

The worry in your eyes were genuine... you didn't had the same look towards that filth.

"Kai I think we should go to-"

"Oh my." The man you were speaking to appeared and dares to put a hand on your shoulder "Mister we should get to the hospital. I can take both you and this lovely friend of yours there by my car."

"Would you really do that?" You asked in astonishement and relief as the man nodded with a smile.

His eye twitched at the sign. Snatching his hand back he took off his gloves and let it fall to the ground as he used hsi quirk on his own hand. Poker face present with a tinge of hate and wish to kill as he stared Harishima on the eyes.

"As you can see-" his hand returned back to normal "I dont need this stupid charity of yours. And I command you to stop this disgusting flirting on my partner. Unless of course you dont treasure your life this much." He narrowed his eyes at the quivering man before telling you to follow him since he was done of this reunion.

You looked at Hari whose shrugged before quickly apologizing to Harishima and going after your fuming boyfriend.

He could hear your footsteps after him but he didn't even dared to look behind his shoulder or to even spoke one single word. On the car it held such a tension atmosphere that could be snapped by a freacking needle.

Now, back to the safety of you guys shared room, you looked at your boyfriend changing out of his clothes before gulping and have thhe courage to speak.

"I thought we were suppose to get out of there at 10? Is still barely 9 p.m Kai..."

He stop mid track on folding his shirt. Golden eyes looking slowly at your figurine before they retreated, as well as his actions of searching something to wear at night after taking a shower.

"If you wished to pass time with that filth then you should had at least said on my face."

The time your ears got his sentence you widened your eyes and stared at him for solid minutes in shock as he refused to lock gazes once again.

"What are you... talking about?" You giggled "Wait... no. Kai you were-! Oh!!!" your giggles got into a point you were laughing, back on the bed as Chisaki arched one eyebrow up as one of his eye also twitched in anger.

Making fun of him after what happened. You were lucky enough he treasured you or else you would be around on all room and being cleaned out of it by Chronostasis.

"Quiet." He commanded and you only laughed harder, giggling when he grabbed on your shoulder and forced you to look at the murderous glare he had on his face as you smirked up at him.

"You were jealous of Harishim-"

"Spoke his entire name. Go on." He narrowed his eyes down at you and clenched his grip on warning "I dare you to do it."

Smilling up at him you giggled one last time.

"I lost count of how many times you got jealous hun." You giggled more before you stopped when he let your shoulder go, turning his back to you "Kai..?"

"... you know dearest. That... you're free to go. There's no need to remain here against your own will." That was the last thing he said before getting inside the shower, leaving you at the point of your heart to burst out of your chest.

What was he talking about?

After some torturing minutes he got out of the shower and widened his eyes at seing you, boucing your leg still waiting for him but soon they got back to normal.

"I thought you would be gone by now." He spoke nonchantly as you hesitantly looked up at him.

"Do you want me to?" His heart did a weird thing, but it seemed like it had contracted at seing your worry and how afraid you seemed to be.

"If it is against your own will and you're lying then yes." He said in the most cold tone of voice possible until you got up to look up at him, inches apart from his body.

"Why would I pretend something like that? We both know I cant even hide you that I ate a candy bar without you looking!"

"... what I am saying is..." he sighed, his pride not even allowing him to look at your eyes "I don't think I am the most suitable person to you. After all you're just so... pure."

You blinked up at him in surprise and shock... he wasn't only jealous this time, but insecure. Heavens, when was the time you ever saw your Chisaki Kai, OVERHAUL, insecure?!

"This is new..." you mumbled, finally catching his attention enough for him to look at you "Kai, you treat me well enough. Jesus you spoil me rootless since I almost beg you to not do it!"

"Is not a matter of money. Is a matter of treatment. I should at least... give enough of affection for you to not go to other males seeking for such things." He looked away, scratching the back of his neck until he let out a gasp at you hugging him tightly.

"You idiot." He narrowed his gaze at you who had your head on his chest "I couldn't ever seek attention from other guys since I have you. Germophobic and all of your package." You looked up at him as he stood with his arms out awkwardly.

"Yet you seemed quite fond of that sick-"

"Is a matter of good education. I dont even know if you noticed but everytime he tried touching me I brushed off. Just at that time when he was suggesting to take you on a hospital!"

His gaze slowly softened.

"You are the only one for my eyes dammit! I love you for you Chisaki! Sure, our affectionate touches might be rare but that's what make it so special... and you're getting better on your mysophobia! Geez last time there was a dirt on the floor instead of wanting to kill someone you went there and clean it yourself!"

"That was simply because no one else can clean something properly." He brushed it off as you again rested your head on his chest with a sigh.

"Trust me at least once Kai..." you mumbled until you gasped when you felt him hugging you back slowly with one arm as the other was occupied on petting your head.

"I dont trust on others... thinking they can take what is mine away. The wish of killing them is huge, yet I cant deny that some of them could treat you at least better."

"That's not true idiot!" You gasped when he flipped your head and pouting up at him as he looked down at you with a soft look yet lips pressed onto a thin line as always.

"You are insufferable sometimes you know that." He sighed with closed yes, detaching his arms away from you.

"And you were jealous of me some hours ago." You smiled at him "tsking" at your words and then you peeked his cheek, making him gag and press his hand on the area where your lips met his skin.

"... go to sleep already will you." He said before muttering some excuse to leave as you giggled at his attitude.

He gave only a few minutes, enough for you to sleep as he come back to the bedroom and saw you on the bed... his mind told him something and his heart another.

He decided to be bold this time. Getting behind your back and slowly putting his arms at your waist and pulling you to his chest as he breathed in the scent of you and your hair had let out a quiet exhale.

"How did I of all people deserved someone so understanding as you..? My angel."

He would only do this when you werent conscious. This way you couldn't saw how much effect you had on the most fearful and dangerous villains of Japan. A gangster. A killer.

Yet you were there... as always.

Hee could only promise he would try to be a better man, give a world cured off the diseaces for you to live.... After all, that was the minimun he could do after what you did and still do for him.

Poor man doesn't even know you were awake the whole time. He was about to live hell tommorow.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #bnha villains x readee #bnha fangiction #zuffer writings

[tomuraxashes]

Found you (part 2)

—————————————-

The morning came quickly, and the LoV members were ready for the mission. At first, it all went so smoothly.

Kurogiri teleported Dabi and Twice there, Twice successfully made some clones who copied some employees (who got kicked out by Dabi), so they could find their target easily.

The problematic part stated with the stealing. That particular room when the secret file was kept, was obviously under a high security level, so they needed to immobilise the guards at first. The system of course indicated so they had not much time for the stealing.

The file was in a safe so at first they needed to open it. It wasn't a big problem cuz one of Twice's clones already find the key, but while they were busy with the opening, the heroes got into the room as well.

So then got Dabi in charge, to fight with them while Twice can get the folder.

It was okay, but suddenly there were too much heroes out of blue, which wasn't calculated in the plan. Even with some of Twice's clones of Dabi werent enough to fight with them all. They needed to be fast and retreat as quickly as they could.

When they had the file, Kurogiri came and teleported them back home.

The only problem was, Dabi got seriously injured.

- We need to take him to the doctors! - Toga insisted almost in panic - he will die!

- And what after? They will put him in jail! - Magne argued with her.

- Well, still better to be in prison then be dead - Compress stated - we would still have a chance to rescue him, but only if he is alive.

After a while, almost the whole League agreed that they need to go to the hospital. No matter what it takes, the priority is now Dabi's life. Even if they will be caught as well, and put in a jail - while taking him to the hospital.

They were about to decide who should bring Dabi to the hospital - and taking the risk to be captured as well, when Shigaraki suddenly interrupted their plannings.

- No one will go nowhere. Take Dabi in my room now, and that's all.

- How could you say this, boss? Don't you see if he doesn't get a professional medical treatment he could die easily? - Toga almost shouted, and the rest of the League seemed to share her opinion now.

- We already decided, we will take him to the doctors even if it costs out freedom. The remaining of us will make a plan to free us, but it doesn't matter now, Dabi is barely alive, don't you see? - she continued, while almost crying.

- I said, you don't go anywhere. Just take Dabi to my room and don't fucking piss me off - Tomura was loosing his calmness - and that's not a request but a fucking order.

Toga wanted to disagree again, but then Magne caught her arms as a warning. He is the boss, that's right. They cannot act on their own, without his permission. That would be a treason - however, they all were thinking about the same thing.

Maybe Tomura wants to protect them but what it costs? They cannot let their friend die just because Shigaraki is somehow too narrow minded. They need to convince him, or if it cannot work, then they have to unite - and go against the order.

Meanwhile this silent vow was made between the members, they took Dabi into the boss's room, as he ordered.

The flame villain was barely conscious, and he really needed to be healed.

Now, all the members of the League were standing in Shigaraki's room. They were ready even to commit a treason - (well not Kurogiri but the others) - they decided they won't let Dabi die, no matter what.

They were now waiting- what is Shigaraki up to now. Why he wanted Dabi to be in his room?

- Leave us alone - that was all they got.

If they weren't too hectic, they would see how Tomura is not exactly all right. But they were only busy with Dabi now. They were almost ready to disobey their boss, when Kurogiri stopped their intentions

- Before doing any recklessness, please trust Shigaraki Tomura.

The League was now merely confused. They always trusted him and obeyed him, but now they didn't know his plans and the matter was no less than Dabi's death..

- Dont be afraid I will cure him. Just get out! - that was all they finally got from their leader.

.

His own subordinates were looking at him with a heavy gaze. They made it clear - they are ready to disobey, they are ready to risk their lives in order to save Dabi's.

But he won't allow it. He is the fucking leader, and if someone has to, than he will be the one who will put his life into a risk.

He can't figure it out but he do care. He won't let them down. And mostly - he won't let Dabi down.

No one's gonna die from his subordinates.

So in order to achieve this goal, he will use his other quirk. Which he hadn't use for years. Not since his family died...

This would be the first time he's gonna use it on somebody else than his mom, sister .. and Touya.

.

"Cure?" - Dabi barely heard his boss talking to the others. He saw them leaving the room, now there were only two of them.

Dabi was slightly breathing. He felt his body overheated and even his old injuries got worse. It was so fucking painful for him - even the breathing was somehow difficult. He didn't really wanted to be taken to the hospital but he wanted to endure the pain. His heart almost melted when he heard the League members determined to saving him. So they really consider him as a family?

And now - what are Shigaraki's plans? Will he kill him? With his given quirk Dabi couldn't really imagine anything else. Decay is not the one for healing people...

He was almost satisfied with the thought of death, when he suddenly felt some relieving feelings.

He didn't open his eyes yet, but he felt his breathing is normal again, and his burnt scars are hurting less and less.

When he finally opened his eyes, he saw Shigaraki's hand over him and he felt the energies coming trough his skin and curing his injuries.

- What the.. - he mumbled quite surprisedly.

- Dont embarrass me! - he heard his boss a little anxiously.

- I'm not doing anything, damn just lying there as half dead, what's your problem?

- Just .. don't stare at me. I'm quite anxious anyways.

- Wow, chill.. but what exactly are you doing? How am I feeling so much better?

- If it's obvious, I'm trying to cure you. But I haven't done it for years, so please.. just shut up and close your eyes.

- Mkay - Dabi agreed - but wait. No. How are you doing this? I thought your quirk is decay, and now you are .. I just don't understand.

- My quirk is decay, but you know, there are people born with two quirks as well. So am I, I do have an other quirk, which is something like a reincarnation, and I'm trying to use it, so if you'd let me I would continue it - Tomura was a little bit pissed off now.

It seemed like it took Dabi some sec to get the information, because he was silent for a bit, but not for too long.

- So.. besides the destruction, you are able to reincarnate... are you a fucking Hindu god crossover or what?

-What - the bluenette was totally lost for now on.

- You know, the Trimurti? You are basically a Brahma x Shiva - Dabi said mischievously.

- I don't really believe in any gods but okay, think whatever you want. Just be silent for a bit and let me heal you finally!

Dabi somehow managed to not to speak, even if his mind was full of questions and conspiracy now, he let his boss doing his thing, what was.. really comfortable. The warmth coming from his hands were truly magical, he felt all his injuries healing - they felt like they never existed before.

That feeling was somehow familiar...

Tomura was almost done, when he noticed Dabi has a short but deep cut on his face. There was a liquid dripping out of it, and Tomura was certain it was a poison.

- Oh fuck... he mumbled.

- Sup? - Dabi asked immediately.

- You really got it rough - Tomura said a little worried - it seems to me that someone cut you with a poisoned blade. And they call themselves as "heroes", fucking ridiculous...

- Oh, I guess that was a guy with the ninja stuff - Dabi answered loosely - ladys and gens, just top hero things.

- Stop messing around, I need to deal with that - Shigaraki mumbled - the hell is that so small, I almost can't see a thing.

- Maybe just put the hand off and you will see? - Dabi suggested

- You... - Shigaraki started angrily ... but after thinking it over, the burnt man had a point. With "father" on his face he can't see the details and now he has to be punctual. He promised himself, he will save Dabi. - Ok. But fucking close your eyes and if you dare to open them I swear I will decay you at that very second.

- As you wish, my king - Dabi smiled

- Shut up!

Tomura - after seeing Dabi really closed his eyes and he is not watching him in secret, carefully took "Father" off of his face, and leaned closer to Dabis face. Firstly he carefully took off the poison and then he healed the cut itself. At the end, it looked like it was never there.

He did it, actually he did it well - he thought. He didn't exactly trust himself that much, he wasn't sure about the results, but here it was. Everything all right. So he can still do it.

He can save the people he want to.

He can save his League.

He can save Dabi..

At that very moment he suddenly felt a warm kiss on his cheek. He was so distracted he didn't notice Dabi is now all right, with his eyes opened - looking at him with an admired gaze.

Tomura instantly jumped off his bed and he felt he will die now. His words abandoned him, nothing came up his mind - he had no clue what to say.

This fucking bastard - not only he saw his face, he even dared to kiss him? How? Why?

He wanted to disintegrate him at least, and shouting his head off, but before he could do that, he felt two strong arms hugging him tightly, and when he looked up to the other man, those beautiful turquoise eyes just kept him as he was their prisoner.

- What.. are you thinking you are doing? - Tomura said but rather shyly than angrily. He wanted to free himself from the embrace of the other man, but his body wasn't obeying. He just stood there helplessly.

- I just want to thank you properly - the flame villain smiled adorably - for saving my life, and treating my injuries, well, again.

- What do you mean by again? - Tomura was quite confused right now.

But instead of an answer, he now got a longer but soft kiss on his lips.

- You know - Dabi finally spoke up - Deep down I always knew you didn't die, and that I will find you.

It's so wonderful I finally found you, Tenko!

#bnha #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki x dabi #Dabi #touya todoroki #tenko shimura #nana shimura #league of villains #shigarakiweek #shigaraki fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #mha fluff #shigadabi #shigadabi fluff

[wickedsingularity]

Can’t Sleep Without You [One-shot]

Fandom: Star Trek Pairings/characters: Jim Kirk x reader (but not really), Leonard McCoy, mention of Spock Words: 2359 Warnings: Use of medication, use of possible addictive medication, insomnia, nightmares, almost graphic description of a disturbing dream

Note: A somewhat self-indulgent story that I posted a little while ago, but had panic about after a few hours and then deleted. It felt too personal, too self-indulgent, amongst other things. I planned on giving it some time, and then rewrite it so it was less personal. I did give it time, but I haven't rewritten it, just edited. And now I'm giving it another go, hoping that I don't panic this time around and telling myself so fucking what if it's self-indulgent. And hopefully people enjoy it because I do like this story.

Summary: Having suffered from insomnia for a long time, Jim is the only thing that manages to calm me enough to function when it gets bad. But Jim is off on a mission...

"You look like something the cat dragged in, Commander."

"Thanks a lot, Doctor." I glared up at Leonard McCoy as he towered over me. Even if I couldn't stand the stuff, I was now on my third cup of coffee of the day. But I was also on my fourth day of barely any sleep, and I was desperate for something to keep me alert.

"Have you had trouble sleeping again?"

I downed the last of the coffee, cringing as the bitter liquid made its way down and sat the cup down on my empty lunch tray. I closed my eyes for a moment and grit my teeth, trying not to snap at the obvious question. "Looks that way."

The doctor sat down at the other side of the table and looked at me with worry, not even phased by my annoyance. "I've seen you getting worse the last few days, Commander. Why haven't you come to see me?"

"What you gave me three days ago made me wake up after four hours with a nightmare from hell. I'm still seeing ghosts in broad daylight."

He pursed his lips. "Please stop by the medbay at 2200 hours. We'll try something else."

I sighed, knowing that there was only one thing that would help, and it was not something our Chief Medical Officer could provide no matter how good he was. But I nodded. "Yes, doc." Then I pulled myself to my feet, grabbed the tray and went to put it back in the replicator for recycling.

For as long as I could remember, I'd had some form of insomnia. It hadn't been a problem when I was younger, I had been more energetic, more durable, not to mention more careless. But as I got older it got worse. Most of the time I managed to keep it under control, but sometimes it took on a life of its own. And when it did that, there was no medication, meditation or treatment that worked better than the captain of the ship, my boyfriend.

There was just something about Jim that calmed my mind like nothing else.

Funnily enough, insomnia was what brought us together. I had been wandering around the ship one night, after several nights of little sleep. Finding myself in the briefing room, I had sat down in the chair reserved for the captain, put my feet up on the table and gazed out at the streaking stars. After a few minutes of silence, the door had slid open and Captain Kirk had walked in. We were already on friendly terms, so I hadn't bothered taking my feet off the table or giving him the chair, even when he made a joke about it being his.

He'd been having trouble sleeping too, claiming his mind was running at warp 5 after an exhausting meeting in that very briefing room earlier in the day. He'd chosen to go back there in the hopes that it would clear his head.

We sat next to each other, him in the First Officer's chair and I kept occupying his, and chatted for a while. All the while we both seemed to gravitate more and more towards each other and I got sleepier at the same time, until I fell asleep with my head on his shoulder. He had gathered me up in his arms and ordered a site to site transport, dropped me off on my bed and pulled a blanket over me, before going back to his quarters, falling asleep as well. After that, our friendship had shifted and things escalated quickly from there.

Now though, he and Spock and several admirals were trying to work out a peace treaty between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. We had dropped them off on a colony near the Neutral Zone and had then gone off to survey a newborn nebula a couple of systems over. We weren't scheduled to go back for them for another two or three days, the trip itself took a whole day. And my body was kind enough to refuse to sleep properly without Jim now, no matter how much in control of the insomnia I was.

I made it through the day somehow, with at least two more disgusting cups of coffee. Thankfully, there was more than enough to do in Engineering that I decided to not leave once my shift was over, it was better to keep working than sitting in my quarters and feeling like I had been in the middle of a warp core breach. As soon as Jim and Spock came back, Starfleet wanted us to check out an uninhabited planet that a passing cargo ship had detected held large deposits of deuterium and our long-range sensors had detected too much atmospheric disturbance for transporting, so we had to adjust the shielding on several shuttlepods. I was barely conscious when I stumbled into the medbay at 2200 hours.

"Not looking any better, I see." Bones appeared out of nowhere and would have scared the daylights out of me if I hadn't been so sluggish.

"Your bedside manners are always so lovely."

He ushered me over to a biobed and pulled a tricorder from one of his pockets.

"There's no need to scan me. We both know what's wrong. Just give me what you think I need and I'll be off." I looked at the tricorder with annoyance.

He didn't answer but started scanning me anyway, so I sat there patiently, closing my tired eyes and listening to the whirring of the device. "It's a wonder they haven't found a cure for this yet, after 200 years of research," he muttered to himself.

I looked up at him and saw him analysing the results. "You've found a cure for some pretty serious viruses on your career, why don't you find the cure for this?" I argued.

"This isn't a virus, sweetheart."

"Still, I'm sure you're brilliant enough to find a solution." Bones always said that flattery would get you nowhere with him, but I found that more often than not, he enjoyed having his ego stroked. He was that good too.

He just huffed and went over to a cabinet. I saw him pull out a vial and fill up a hypospray. "I know you have tried this before and it didn't work so well. But that was a few years ago, it might work better for you now." I nodded and obediently bared my neck to him. One touch of the cold metal to my skin and it was done. "I want you to go straight to bed now. It should work quickly and you have to be in bed when it does."

"Yes, sir."

It did not work. Or, I did sleep through the night, but the dreams had me waking up more exhausted than if I hadn't slept at all. It had been worse than last time, the irrational, weird and disgusting dreams had just come at me, one after the other. I would honestly prefer good old-fashioned nightmares over this. I called Bones as soon as I had showered away the night and he was at my door by the time I had dressed.

"Sit down," he barked, the tricorder out and a deep furrow between his brows. "What happened?"

I told him all about the night, even gave him some snippets of the nasty dreams for emphasis, each one of them still crystal clear and disturbing in my mind. The way he cringed at some of it, told me just how disturbing they had been. It wasn't normal to dream that you're pooping out severed arms, after all. *

"This is very strange," he said after he was done scanning. "Barely any light or deep sleep at all. Dream sleep almost all night. I've heard about a few phenomena that cause a person to not have any dream sleep at all, but not nothing but dream sleep. You're not getting any more of this medication, and I'm making a note in your medical file."

I sighed, trying to think about what I could do to help myself that night. But Bones had suddenly gone very quiet. I looked up at him and there was a deep furrow between his brows, his eyes gazing down at the tricorder, but it looked like he was mentally lightyears away. "What's wrong, doc?"

He didn't react right away, but then he blinked and looked down at me. "There is something we can try, but it can be highly addictive if the dosage is off by even a fraction. Call Scotty and tell him you'll be a bit late. I need to take some blood for analysing."

All through that day, I felt a bit apprehensive about what Bones was planning on giving me later. And I missed Jim so much it ached. This was the worst it had been without him and it was also the longest we had gone without each other since we got together. I missed him because of his absence, of course. But in my sleep-deprived state, it felt a million times worse. It felt like there was a gaping, bleeding hole inside me where he should be. I needed him to calm my mind, to kiss me and tell me it's okay if I can't sleep, that I'll sleep when I'm ready and he would be there with me all the while. I needed him to breathe with me. I needed to feel him. He was able to relax me enough that I could function.

After working well past my shift again and forcing down too many cups of coffee, I forced back tears of exhaustion and desperation and went to the medbay, got the mysterious hypospray and went straight to bed.

Apart from the fact that I woke up every ten to fifteen minutes, this one worked a lot better. In the morning, I felt less like I had been hit with a meteor shower and more like I had just tumbled through a thick atmosphere without a spacesuit. Bones came to check up on me in engineering after lunch and I asked if I could get a higher dosage, hoping that maybe that would finally be what helped me sleep through the night. But he refused, he had given me as much as my body could handle without becoming addicted or suffering other nasty side effects. In defeat, I told him if I couldn't have a higher dosage, I didn't want it at all. Then I started counting the hours until Jim came home, and drank all the coffee I could stomach so I wouldn't feel like a zombie.

I was just starting to doze off. It was probably just an hour or so until my alarm, but I let sleep take me. I would take anything I could get. What felt like just a minute later though, the computer spoke to me.

"The time is 0630 hours. The time is 0630 hours."

"No no no," I moaned in annoyance, screwing my eyes shut to the illumination in the room becoming stronger. But then a pair of lips landed on my cheek.

"Forgot to turn that off," someone said.

I didn't process this right away, but in the back of my head I knew that voice and knew it was important, so I forced myself to open my eyes to the way too bright room. Jim was there next to me and judging by his one barely open eye, he had just woken up too. "Hi..."

My heart was beating wildly in my chest, the room seemed to be spinning a little, my vision getting blurry, but then he smiled with his eyes closed and started to clumsily kiss my cheek and jaw and everything cleared up.

"When did you come home?" I whispered.

Jim didn't answer but kept trying to kiss me, but he was struggling, he too seemed exhausted, not able to aim. "A while. Laid down minutes ago. Tired. Want lips."

I made a happy sound and rolled around to face him. He opened his eyes a fraction, revealing the brilliant blue I loved so much. His lips landed on my nose, then my cheek before finally finding my lips. The gaping aching hole inside me seemed to vanish. I moved closer, pressing my lips and my body to his and everything inside me seemed to settle down, mind was quiet, all tension washed away. When I needed air, I pulled back just enough so I could stare into his eyes and see every little shade of blue in them. "You're home."

"The time is 0635 hours. The time is 0635 hours."

"Home and tired." His breath washed over me when he spoke and I wanted to breathe nothing but him for the rest of my life.

"Ditto. Haven't slept since you left."

"I know, Bones told me. I'm so sorry, Supernova."

"'s okay. Just missed you." My voice broke, and all the frustrations from the past week made a few tears fall. Jim snuck one of his arms around my waist and I moved even closer, burying my face into his neck, breathing in the smell of stars and nebulas and galaxies. "How were the peace talks?" I asked between lazy kisses to the soft skin on the side of his neck.

Jim didn't reply right away. Instead, he kissed my hair, breathing it in for a moment. "Exhausting. I'll tell you all about it later."

"The time is 0640 hours. The time is 0640 hours."

"Have to get up," I mumbled against his skin, but my entire body felt like lead in Jim's arms.

"Computer, turn off the alarm." A gentle beep confirmed it was now turned off. Then Jim pulled back just enough to look into my eyes. "Bones told me to tell you that he has declared you not fit for duty today and that he has ordered bed rest, and if you disobey his orders, he will not hesitate to have you strapped to a biobed with a force field."

I blinked. "But..."

"And your Captain concurs. He recommends you spend the day with him in bed and sleep." He was grinning at me. "He's been flying fancy admirals in a shuttle all night and is in need of some tender loving care from the love of his life."

I knew there were things I had to do in Engineering. It would take time and almost all the Engineering staff to get the shuttlepods ready in time for exploring the deuterium planet. But as I looked into Jim's eyes, I felt exhaustion all the way to my bone marrow, and there was no point arguing with that, or the Captain and the Chief Medical Officer. I teared up with relief and buried my face in Jim's neck again.

Jim settled down on his back and pulled me halfway on top of him. I swallowed down my emotions and rested my head on his shoulder, tangled my legs with his, and laid my arm across his stomach. Peace filled me and I barely had time to mumble love you before I was fast asleep.

Note: * Yes, I have actually dreamed that as a side effect of taking melatonin.

#jim kirk x reader #chris pine x reader #jim kirk imagine #chris pine imagine #star trek imagine #jim kirk #jim kirk x oc #jim kirk x you #jim kirk fanfiction #jim kirk angst #jim kirk fluff #chris pine #chris pine x oc #chris pine x you #chris pine fanfiction #chris pine angst #chris pine fluff #star trek fanfiction

[popculturebuffet]

The Legend of the Three Caballeros: Shangri-La-Di-Da and Sheldgoose Squaredance Reviews: The Last Ride (Comissoned by WeirdKev27)

SALUDOS AMGIOS.. THIS IS IT! The finale review of my retrospective on the Three Caballeros THE RIDE OF THE THREE CABLLEROS. It’s the final ride. While there will be, as i’ve said the last few time, a little epilogue to celebrate finishing this, as clocking in at 15 reviews, one best of list coming next week and covering a film, two sizeable comic book stories, and 18 episodes of television, this has been one of my largest projects and one of my proudest. But there will be time to look back next week. For now i’m amped up, excited about this series and excited to finish. So after the cut join me for one last full ride as our heroes face their final hour! 

Shangri-La-De-Da: Our penultimate adventure begins with the Cabs returning home after training with King Arthur, where they apparently got a years worth of training in a day.. because apparently Camelot is one giant hyperbolic time chamber. But the training’s paid off as our heroes are now at their most skilled and most powerful: As a result Jose skifully and perfectly cuts an orange in seconds, Panchito ropes an apple from a nearbye stand (and the owner’s really cool about it since Panchito gives him the money for it “Thanks magic rope!”) and Donald.. breaks everything but in a really impressive ways. Our heroes are at their best and ready to take on Feldrake when the time comes, while Ari and the Bear.. are hiding what happened last episode with the girls investigating. Hey can’t win em all. Meanwhile Sheldrake is leading Sheldgoose into the Manor.. after a few goofs on him running into the barrier because he’s a petty asshole. They decsend into the depths bellow leaving Leopold to guard. 

Back at the Cabana Donald just wants one more thing... Daisy. 

I’ve.. gone on about why he shouldn’t do this last time. He deserves better. Xandra is right there and while she’s treated him shabbily from time to time. it’s more human error versus... everything with Daisy just everything. This plot point has been nothing but pain and suffering for me and it’s not changing that track record in these last two episodes, though thankfully it’s barely in the finale, so my own track record of screaming about daisy in text form every time she shows up will also remain in tact. He does this because Xandra offered them a vacation so he won’t be distracted.. again why isn’t she the love intrest? I dunno maybe sh’es more into Jose.  And Daisy sucks on arrival, phrasing, as her response to Donald’s call wasn’t to just.. tell him no but to go to his place to clearly tell him no to his place saying “Let’s recap, you abandoned me in a bad part of town, spent our date in the bathroom all night in a hula skirt, then brainwashed my nieces into helping you trick me with a dummy”. Okay Daisy, you want to recap, you insufferable, pompus, selfish, self absorbed, overly demanding, overly haughty, golddigging rose colored shrew?

Let’s fucking recap: He left you in a bad part of town because he got FIRED from his job and found out his house burned down, something you REFUSED to let him explain. You found out about this and then proceded to berate him over dinner, saying he couldn’t possibly help people. While he did spend a while in the bathroom with a hula skirt nad never explained it the ONE point you have.. he LEFT to go help his friends, with you once again leaving instead of letting him come back and explain later or leaving but going to his place to hash this out or just dump him. THEN, something you CAREFULLY omitted, you moved on which is fine.. as a way to make him jealous, bringing the guy to his door to rub his beak in your new relationship with not a hint of shame,a nd ran off whie he was fighting for his life clearly. Now seeing things were more complicated, you asked NO follow up questions, imposed a date on him and while he did lie your nieces WERE NOT FUCKING BRAINWASHED. This was of their own free will you unbleivible she demon. You are so up your own ass you can’t even see the obvious. And then you came here JUST to say all this and be mean to Donald one more time. While Donald shoudln’t of called you up it’s not because of all that it’s because your a heartlress, selfish, shrivled husk of a person. You care about NO ONE but yourself, and that includes Donald. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. 

So Xandra just zaps them away and says she’s perfect for Donald. 

Donald and Daisy end up in the himlayas.. cue the music. 

Why isn’t this game on Switch? Questions for later. Point is our heroes find a cave to duck in and a yeti.. who after clearing their throat reveals Xandra left them at the entrance for Shangri-La, and the inside is intorduced.. with a very lackluster musical number. A weak note for the songs to go out on but not bad, though Donald is pissed off because that’s his schtick here.. though credit where it’s do: Since I didn’t know everything and hadn’t finished it turns out his anger was delebrate.. but we’ll get to that and why it dosen’t work in a moment.  Back at the Cabana the boys fence with bread before Panchito gets a flash as Sheldgoose puts the first amulet into..some kind of melting pool... and the girls confirm what happened seconds later. Feldrake has the amulets, which were used to seal him last time as revealed in last episode, and is melting them into his own power. The final battle is nigh! So Xandra goes to fetch Donald.. and comes back as she CAN’T. Donald and Daisy signed a contract and they can’t leave till ALL their problems are solved. And given Donald is carried off after his anger issues not only are evident when, given a pillow representing his frustratoins he destroys it, but he DENIES having anger issues, he’s dragged off to some extreme thereapy.. i.e. a Self Reflecting reflecting pool that manifests his anger as a giant, sausgey, pissed off version of himself and he reacts as you’d expect and gets flattned.  Back at the Cabana, Xandra breaks the bad news.. and whie Jose TRIES to reassure them, his amulet is next to go so he gets a flash of it being destroyed and our heroes now have to scramble to take on Sheldgoose.. WITHOUT Donald.  Back at donald’s inner hulk.. man I love this fucking job, Donald is pounding away until his own flash breaks things for a moment.. and sends him into his own head. We’re then treated to an acid sequece, an homage to Donald’s surreal reverire from the original movie that while not as wild, is still gloriously bizzare. Donald rencounters the teapot ghost thing that’s apparently part of his psyche from the first episode that gets him to consider why his life is like this and he goes through a lot of moments of the first episodes.. conviently eddting out daisy’s questionable behavior and the fact some things had actual catalysits.  See the idea of Donald FACING his anger issues and growing from them is fine. But this has two faults. One, it assuems you can just.. cure anger issues. You can’t. Anger is a normal emotion and as someone with them I hope to generally work thorugh mine with a therapist.. but I know they just don’t magically go away and therapy is a process and your mental issues are lifelong things you have to grapple away. It’s not the MOST insulting treatment of emtoinal issues i’ve seen, as Total Drama you know had someone with MPD cured with a fucking button press, but it’s not great.  And the second is this was poorly set up. Donald was an angry asshole all series yes and it was an issue.. but it wasn’t really FRAMED as a character arc. Just Donald being donald. So while having that be the source of his issues is a good idea for a character arc for im it comes off sloppy and forced because it’s been treated more like a joke or a character trait and less like a SERIOUS issue or the problem with him and Daisy. Hell they put the whole Dapper duck thing in there when he was fine that episode and is rightfully angry about that if at the wrong person. This whole thing just feels rushed, forced and unsatsifying and is a hsame for such a good idea

The payoff is good though, as when Donald awakens and let’s his anger wash away.. he just stands as the anger donald tries to beat the crap out of him.. but can’t do anything to him since he’s calm. He’s fine, and he’s released.. and his shock collar is disabled. Good quick gag.  Meanwhile our heroes aren’t sure what to do despite having tons of magical items.. until they think what would donald do.. and he’d just at least try and thus corm a GIANT FUCKING MAGIC CANON OUT OF THEM. Very nice. They blow the doors off.. and through the back.. and into the money bin where we get a scrooge cameo. 

And he’s voiced by Eric Bauza.. which is sadly not great because it’s far from his best work and dosen’t even really attempt a scottish accent. 

But our heroes storm the gate.. after Xandra easily disposes of the dog guards.. who Sheldgosoe apparently raised to do this... still not entirely over that. They find the staircase and the triplets op to go back while the rest charge in and prepare to fight leopold. 

Back at the Cabana, Donald and Daisy return via tub and Donald, seeing the swirling vortex of darkness outside sheldgoose manor, tells daisy he has to go his friends need him it’s his destiny, gives her one hell of a kiss she dosen’t deserve.. oh and earlier he told her “Thanks for being patient with me” and she tells him it was worth the wait. Ha ha... I hope you get hit by a rusty tractor you unfathomable blight on duck kind. 

So part one ends with Donald heading for the treasure chamber to armor up. 

Sheldgoose Square Dance:  Part two begins with Sheldgoose putting the staff in place, and an egg emerging. Weird.. and as a result of that Leopold sense his ‘Daddy’ and leaves, and before the cabs can charge in donald shows up, now confident, at full strength and after tripping as you’d epxct, with the other cabs armor and in his. The guys suit up, and we get to see both jose’s.. amazing.. toned.. stomach. 

And Panchito’s big belly.. which I have one of those so we’re twinsies. And Xandra of course watches Jose change slyly. Eh i’ts a bit creepy but I can’t blame her for sneaking a peak as long as she didn’t linger. 

So our heroes are suited up, look awesome and have their trademark weapons Let’s fucking go!

Back at the ranch, the Nieces talk to daisy and having grabbed a weird document last time, are trying to piece it together. Daisy.. is suddenly really good with puzzles and helps them with it. They reform it and.. don’t really do much until after the danger has passed and I avoid another cornary yelling innterally at this unpleasant pile of hippo excrement. 

So while the Cabs dash to stop feldrake feldrake awakens.. as a demon baby. And Sheldgoose has about a minute of mockery before feldrake smacks him around with telekensis and agrees while his mind’s affected by his current state, he’s still fully aware and can talk and seeing the cabs are coming gives him a bit of power, i’d say about as much or a little more than what feldrake had as a staff, and sends him after the cabs. 

So we get one of the most awesome moments if not THE most awesome moment in the entire series as something from EVERY episode makes a come back as shelgoose, after trying some zaps, back in full robe and cloak, MAKES HIS OWN ZOOM POINT. Thus it becomes an utterly awesome back and forth as sheldgoose summons one thing from the past and xandra summons another to counter. And it avoids reptititon as the sheer sight of characters from each episode battling it out, and never knowing which ones next, keeps it intresting. 

In order: Sheldgoose summons the moon bots, Xandra summons the roman gods to hack them to pieces, after the boys get some shots in too. Sheldgoose blocks the way with lava lizards, the cabs respond with a goblin army who block the lava river and use a cat launcher against them, courtsey of king vomit. Sheldgosoe unleashes the tengu, the cabs unleash king arthur.. and we get the immortal line from donald “Thanks king arthur!”. Sheldgoose summons his ancestors, the cabs summon the ghost presidents! And in a call back that had me clapping Sheld summons the termintes.. and xandra summons THE MINOTAUR! And Sheldgoose thirsts over him. .huh.. so shledgosoe is bi good for him. And for a final distraction sheldgoose summons.. the dragon.. that was from the adventure they just had he had no way of knowing about. 

So with that out fo the way our heroes and villians both reach feldrake.. whose awakened and is.. this

Really.. weird , if still threanting, deisgn aside, Feldrake now at full power turns new quackmore into the psycadelic starry battlefield we saw in the intro to the series and thus the final battle begins. We see the fight from the start.. but it’s now even MORE beautiful and glorious with context. Before we saw three strangers, if ones we knew from other works fighting some evil we never met. Now we’ve seen our heroes grow, both as people, and as heroes, learning from every encounter, getting stronger with every fight and slowly getting noticably more compitent: going from falling all over themselves just to work a ship, to defeating dragons, tengu, and other horrors as a team. And we’ve seen jus thow petty and cruel feldrake is.. and how serious the stakes are and what our heroes tand to loose should they fail. It’s not perfect.. we could stand to loose daisy and new quackmore dosen’t mean much, though Sheldgoose gets to zap regina into a worm, but it’s still AWESOME and feels like a tremendous payoff and Donald’s predator bro fist thing with Panchito has more weight. Our heroes have risen to their peak and now they face one last obstacle to becoming legends.  The fight is fluid, awesome and gorgeously animated and utterly epic in every sense of the word and we catch up to their seeming defeat.. only for something we DIDN’T know about last time to help.. Xandra who gets htem out of the way. It’s a long and fantastic fight, with our heroes eventaully getting knocked over to a pool while Xandra tries her best to hold feldrake off, but is clearly wearing down despite doing her best. 

Yeah while itw as established Feldrake was melting down the amulets and we saw a pool of resdiual magic, so teh magical pool of stuff the cabs find them at WAS set up.. but what happens next remotely wasn’t. The cabs fall in and commuincate with blazebeak the creator of the amulets who embues them with their power. Where he came from, why he’s just showing up n ow.. I dunno, it comes off as a really badly setup deus ex machina.. but it still dosen’t hurt the finale that bad. A little yes, as everything else is so well paced and feels like so much payoff.. but the awesomeness of our heroes glowing with their signture colors, rushing in to save xandra and then ari, who swiped the rest of the magic goop, giving it to xandra to reivvie her.. overrides it. Sometiems somethings too stupid to be awesome.. and sometimes it’s so awesome it overides common sense. So yeah poorly set up yes.. still fucking awesome also yes. 

Our heroes tear feldrake apart and realize once they see the now empty staff floating in the void they can simply reseal him. Sheldgoose interupts it.. but the nieces arrive riding on humphrey and knock him inot a golden toilet... again I fucking love this job. Our heroes then try ghost bustering him back into the staff and SHeldgoose tries saving him by breaking it.  And it seemingly fails.. new quackmore is restored, Sheldrake’s gone and the town remembered EVERYTHING, cheering at their new heroes and saviors. Sheldgoose finds the staff gone and bemoans his lost master.. and soon looses his presidency as regina strips him of it. With his own powers gone Sheldgoose flees on Leopold, and while Regina tries to take the presdiency for herself.. the girls reveal the document explains if a sheldgoose is absent.. a coot takes his place. And since Donald is the only remaning coot apart from Della and she’s busy actually raising her kids in this continuity apparently, Donald is the new president. While Regina vows to beat him in an election.. our heroes are now happy, with the lawyer from the first episode backing Donald’s claim up. So Donald now has a new job, a new purpose in life, his girlfriend back, which is negiably a good thing, and a new family he dearly loves and tells them as much. Awww. Also he gets the mansion, which our heroes promptly plan to move into. Donald and Daisy fight, of fucking course, our heroes claim roms and Xandra and Jose share a moment. The series gets a truly satsifyign and happy ending.. and a sequel hook as it turns out feldrake is now in sheldgooses body and the tow are going ot have to share it as Sheldgoose has leopold take them to a house with legs.. so the baba yaga then. Sadly we’ll probably never see with this leads.. and this is the end. 

Final Thoughts on the finale two parter: While the first half is a bit weak in the yeti stuff, the rest of it is incredibly strong and Sheldgoose Square Danc,e while having the worst name of the series.. is easily it’s best episode, tying everythign together greatly and being one, tense and epic finale the whole way through. A true masterpiece and a clear sign the series would be even BETTER going forward had it actually been allowed to live and a true shame.. but even with the sequel hooks aside.. it’s still an utterly sastifying, joyous note to go out on and i’m GLAD I saved this one for last, as it provided a great capper for both the series and this retrospective. 

Final thoughts on Legend of the Three Cablleros:

This series.. was excellent. While at first I wasn’t sure it’s rep was warranted, as the first three episodes were good but had flaws and four and five were not great.. everything after that is sublime. The series has it’s flaws, the character devlopment is uneven, the characters can be made into caractures of themselves once in a while and the writing on Daisy is horrid and i’ve said enough on that to last me a lifetime and is easily the worst part of an otherwise fantastic show. But yeah.. as I said OTHERWISE fantastic, as while the daisy stuff is very bad, it’s for the most part in the background of a VERY good show with great voice acting, fun pacing, and beautiful animation.  It’s a loveletter to clasic disney animation, holding tons of mythology gags and refrences and having humphrey as a main character, but with unquie touches like letting the nieces have a starring roll and everything about xandra and sheldgoose. It’s a unique, wonderful and awesome addition to the disney animated canon and deserves a second season or some other sort of revivial. This was a wonderful note to go out on and I’m throughly glad I finally watched it.  So with this the Ride of the Three Cablleros is almost over.. but come back, let’s say next week, for one last party as we count down the top 12 cabs moments and celebrate these happy chappies in matching serapes one last time. Until then.. it’s been a pleasure.. and Kevin.. thank you. 

#the legend of the three caballeros #the three caballeros #donald duck #panchito romero miguel junipero francisco quintero gonzalez #panchito pistoles #jose carioca #daisy duck #april duck #may duck #june duck #xandra the goddes of adventure #baron von sheldgoose #lord feldrake #leopold #regina #ari #the arcuan bird #humphrey the bear #new uackmore #ride of the three cablleros #comissions #reviews #disney plus

[ambiguousdisorderken]

what i'm saying is, with his luck, surely dean twisted his ankle during one of the last hunts before retiring, and could barely take a step without hissing in pain so naturally cas tried to heal him forgetting he was, well.. human, and very much graceless,,,,, which... made cas feel all kinds of useless :/

but what i'm really saying is the next best thing (which in cas' opinion isn't even remotely close to enough – seriously while still an angel he could've cured dean from any malady in a fraction of a second) is this: cas carrying dean bride-style ignoring dean's embarrassed protests, driving them back to their motel, helping dean into the shower without looking and leaving him to it (because despite his flirty and sexual persona dean gets adorably bashful around his best friend), then helping a red-faced, wet-haired hunter to one of the beds, and finally proceeding to massage the sore muscles

ah. maybe it'd go like,

'you don't have to this, man'

and cas smiles, applies more lotion, and says 'i know'

or maybe, dean closes his eyes and sighs or moans, pleased at the touch, but then his brain catches up, and he pulls back his foot, another harsh, abrupt movement that intensifies the pain,

'just stop it, okay? i've had way worse. i've literally died and been tortured. in hell'

and cas stops and squints in that way he does, 'but you like this. and it does seem to help'

and dean rolls his eyes, stubborn as ever, 'yeah, well. it's humiliating. for both of us. so just- stop'

'would you feel humiliated were our places reversed and you were the one tending to my injury?'

and the answer to that is, of course, no. dean would be doing exactly what cas is doing, maybe even running to the pharmacy for some meds and compression bandages, not to mention hitting the nearest grocery store to buy actual ingredients and feed cas the convalescent's classic soup, homemade. ish. so that's the end of it

... so... cas' attention focuses on feeling the tendons and ligaments beneath patches of smooth and calloused skin, and the happy, strained sounds dean won't ever admit he's making. once done cas does what he now does when a toddler-sized jack has an ouchy or an owie or a boo boo, he kisses it better

obviously the injury doesn't magically go away, they never do, not with the futile treatments he procures nowadays. maybe he shouldn't have done that because this is definitely not his easily amused and openly affectionate child, and dean has not made any clear comments on wanting to pursue this thing between them,,, and that was too forward... , and. he needs a shower. there's blood - not his- on his sleeve. he needs to take a shower. so he does that. he flees to the bathroom and scalds his skin for a good 20 minutes

perhaps, when cas comes out of the bathroom in a haze of vapor, and much to his dismay, dean is still awake.. in fact, dean lifts his head up immediately, droopy eyes betraying his fatigue, and then he taps the empty spot next to him

goodness fuck

it's something quick, something that could be brushed off,, but it isn't

i guess cas lies next to dean and it's nice and warm under the covers, and dean goes to turn sideways, but cas says he should keep his foot propped up on the pillow to aid circulation. and boy..... would dean feel like a fool. because he thought surely this was going elsewhere. or rather, they were finally going there

the 'dean and cas only' place everyone seems to know about

i'm just.. dean overthinks and so he overworries. but cas... maybe he does that sometimes too, but this is simple. he scoots closer so dean can stay right where he is, and he says 'good night dean' and soon there's a weight on his chest just above his heart and... that's dean's hand, which he grazes and then.... holds

it's like, they're in bed and they're holding hands and dean says 'good night', then dean breathes in quickly (read: nervously), loosens and switches his grasp, and then kisses the palm of cas' hand, as if that's something they normally do

dean's ankle takes some days to heal and it hurts like a bitch too, but it's all right

ps, cuddling is a very effective treatment for a sore ankle, dean insists. although he does not call it that

pps, by the time dean's recovered, wounds are wounds, and not an excuse to sneak in kisses. at least not the only one. they kiss for everything and for nothing, because they can and because they want to and because apparently they're sappy and they're in love and as it turns out kissing does make it, or everything, a million times better

#im in pain. i can't walk properly :( #so the idea of a hurt ankle dean has been in my drafts forever and now that im in ouch city i needed to finish it #destiel fanfic #im so messy this was supposed to be three short paragraphs tops

[imagining-supernatural]

The Fourth Check-In

Part 21 of Seventy Percent

Series Summary: When you left on your trip to Vegas, you’d planned on letting loose for one last weekend before heading back to reality and getting your affairs in order so your best friend wouldn’t be left cleaning up your mess when your cancer finally ended your life. What you hadn’t counted on was waking up married to a celebrity who has a knight-in-shining-armor complex, connections with an oncologist, and amazing insurance…

Chapter Summary:  You get more news from your doctor and you and Seb take some Buzzfeed quizzes

Word Count: 2,834

“You sure you wanna stop here?” Sean asked, pulling up to the store you’d asked him to detour to before dropping you off back at the apartment. “I remember you talking about how you don’t drink while you’re in treatment.”

Smiling, you patted his shoulder before opening the door. “It’s a one-time thing, Sean. And you can hold me to that. Seb’ll be home tomorrow morning and he can monitor me. Don’t worry about it.”

He wasn’t sold, but you left the car before he could argue more.

You were a realist. It was your biggest strength and your biggest failing.

And right now, it was the only part of yourself that you were listening to.

You had your scans yesterday, and today Dr. Chowdhury dropped the news that they weren’t as good as you’d been hoping. Tomorrow, you would begin the most intense round of treatment yet. It was your last resort. Tomorrow, your energy would be yanked away and you wouldn’t have any energy until 1) the treatment worked, you had your surgery, and you were cancer free, or 2) the treatment stopped working again and you died.

So tonight was the last night you had to feel like yourself.

And that called for getting wine-drunk.

Since Sebastian had taken you at your word when you first moved in that you didn’t want to drink while on treatment in order to stay as healthy as you could, he’d gotten rid of all alcohol in his apartment.

So, when you unlocked the door and let yourself in half an hour later, it was the first time in nearly two months that a drop of alcohol was in his place.

You had to climb on the counter to grab a wine glass from the top shelf of a cabinet, but the effort was worth it when you watched the pale pink wine splash into the crystal glass. You sure hoped it was a good wine, but after a glass or two, you knew you wouldn’t mind.

And, a glass or two (or four) later, you were correct.

You had a nice wine-drunk going on and had successfully forgotten all about your problems. At the moment, all that mattered was the Youtube playlist titled “Dance Pop Bangers” you’d found, the volume up loud, and the wine glass in your hand.

“Y/N?”

Sebastian’s voice startled you and you stumbled out of your dance for a moment.

“Hi!” Were you yelling? It was entirely possible. The music was way too loud, but you couldn’t be bothered. “What are you doing here? I thought your flight didn’t come in until, like, four in the fucking morning.”

Had you not been an entire bottle of wine into the night, you might have noticed how worried he became when his eyes fell on the empty bottle. As it was, you danced your way over to him and looped your arms around his neck.

His hand landed on your hip and he accepted your kiss on his cheek. “I caught an earlier flight. Are you drunk?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Bad scans. I’ll tell you in the morning, but short story is that I’m starting the really intense treatment in the morning and this is my last night with energy so… dance party. And wine drunk is my best drunk.”

“Bad scans?”

You offered him the last few sips of your wine and pouted up at him. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Can you just dance with me tonight? Please?”

God, those blue eyes… you were lost. It was Thanksgiving week and by god you were fucking thankful for his fucking eyes. Even as skeptical as he was right now, you were so fucking thankful.

“Seb?” You asked when he didn’t reply. “I need tonight. Please. I need to get drunk and pretend I don’t have cancer and just dance. Please?”

His eyes darted to the empty bottle on the coffee table and a grin took over his face. “I hope you got more than that one, because it looks like I have to catch up.”

Your smile lit your face and you couldn’t help but kiss his cheek again.

“God, I love you. Okay, I have another bottle in the fridge, but I only bought two because I thought you weren’t coming home and I needed make sure I stopped drinking. So you’re gonna have to fight me for it.”

“We can also order some for delivery, you know?”

You halted in your tracks to the fridge and snapped to face him. “What? You can do that here?”

He laughed. “Yeah, sweetheart. This isn’t Utah.”

“Holy shit, I love New York.”

“Fuck me,” you groaned when your alarm went off the next morning. “I forgot about the hangover.”

“Shhh,” Sebastian whispered, pulling you closer. “You’re too loud.”

“Babe, I gotta get up. I need to go to the hospital.”

“Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. I thought you had the rest of the week off.”

The reminder of the reason behind your hangover brought a dark cloud over your head. With a groan, you shrugged out of Seb’s arms and pushed off the bed. Your head was fuzzy with the hangover, but with all of your tumor-induced headaches over the past year, you barely thought anything of it. “The scans we ran on Monday weren’t good. The treatment stopped shrinking the tumor again. Well, not stopped entirely, I guess. It just is slowing down again and Dr. Chowdhury wants to get ahead of this so we’re moving onto the round of treatment he wanted to a few weeks ago. I won’t have to go in tomorrow, since it’s Thanksgiving, but other than that… it’s six days a week til this sucker shrinks enough to take it out. I’m gonna be so fucking sick of that hospital.”

There was warmth at your back moments before Sebastian’s arms circled you. “You’re rambling again, sweetheart.”

“That’s cause I’m scared.” Your voice was barely audible. Saying the words aloud made everything suddenly seem so real. “This is it. If this doesn’t work…”

“It’s gonna work.”

“Seb, I—”

“It is going to work,” he repeated forcefully, tightening his hold on you. “You’ve planned for every outcome. You have everything in order if it doesn’t work. There isn’t anything left you can do to change the outcome. So ignore that part of your brain that wants to calculate your odds and that wants to plan for the most likely outcome and just focus on the outcome you want. Baby, you said yourself that treatment is seventy percent attitude.”

You weren’t aware that you were crying until you licked your lips and tasted salt. “I asked Dr. Chowdhury what my chances were. Yesterday when he broke the news, I asked how likely it was that my tumor would shrink enough to take it out.”

“And he gave you some answer based off of science and statistics. I don’t know if you’ve really been listening to Jasmin, but your odds from the universe are astronomically high.”

A humorless laugh escaped your lips and you leaned back against him. “Well, my statistical chance is less than ten percent now.”

“And your universal odds are a hundred and ten percent.” He kissed your cheek before pushing you towards the bathroom. “Grab a shower. I’ll have a hangover cure breakfast ready when you’re done. Then we can head to the hospital.”

“You saying I stink?”

“I’m saying your attitude stinks.”

You glared at him before giving in and heading to the bathroom. As soon as you were under the warm spray of water, you let your mind wander.

Sebastian was right. Your attitude sucked. Sure, your body was trying to kill you, but that didn’t mean that you had to give in. Not when you had a chance.

Two months ago, you had accepted your fate. You’d turned down a twenty percent chance, and now you were in treatment with a less than ten percent chance. Maybe Sebastian was right about this too. Maybe it was time to ignore the stats and focus on the outcome you wanted.

You wanted to live.

That much you knew for sure.

And afterward? You were supposed to get a divorce. That was the deal, right? It’s what you both signed up for.

But… it wasn’t what you wanted.

Sebastian.

You wanted Sebastian. As more than just a friend or-or-or whatever it was you two had going on right now.

“Just the Way You Are, We R Who We R, Like a G6, OMG, California Gurls, or Rude Boy?” Sebastian asked while you were at the hospital.

“Kesha. Duh. What’s this quiz?”

He didn’t answer, just kept on. “Hold it Against Me, Moves Like Jagger, We Found Love, Party Rock Anthem, Rolling in the Deep, or Born This Way.”

“Hmm… Born This Way.”

He continued this way until you finished the quiz. “According to Buzzfeed, you haven’t peaked yet.” He grinned brightly at you. “See? This treatment’s gonna work. You still need to peak.”

“What the hell kind of quiz was that?”

“Uh, the songs you picked from the 2010s told Buzzfeed which year you peaked.”

“Ah, well, we all know that Buzzfeed quizzes are the modern-day Oracle of Delphi.” You pulled out your phone to find a quiz of your own. “Okay, Seb. Come over here. You have to pick which picture of these foods looks best.”

“What will this quiz tell me about myself?”

You grinned. “It’s a secret. Now, which crepe looks best?”

After a few minutes of joking about the various deserts in the quiz, you got to the end and laughed out loud. “I think you need to talk to your casting directors because, baby, you should have been Black Widow.”

“I could never pull off those stunts.”

“I’d kill to see you try.”

He rolled his eyes and clicked around on his phone before pulling up another quiz. You didn’t trust the spark in his eye when he landed on one. “Not to be dramatic, but your result to this quiz will define our entire relationship from this point forward.”

“Not to be dramatic,” you mocked. “Then he goes off and is all dramatic. Alright, fine. What’s the first question?”

“Would you rather spend the rest of your life with a sailboat or an RV as your home?”

“RV.”

“Would you rather be the first person to explore a new planet or bet he inventor of a drug that cures a deadly disease?”

“Cure. Definitely.”

You continued on until you answered the last question. A grin overtook his face and he sat back. “Well, well, well…”

“What? What’d I get? What was the quiz?”

He tossed handed you his phone and you saw a picture of him on the screen. “Sebastian Stan,” you read aloud. “You’re more of the quiet type and need to find the right person to be totally comfortable with, which is why Sebastian is the perfect guy for you. You two are both adorkable and appreciate the little things in life. Who were my other options? The entire Marvel cast?”

“Nah, it was just me and Anthony.”

“Oooh, imagine how tense set would be on Monday if I’d gotten Anthony.”

“Not a chance, darling. You and I are far too adorkable.”

“Fucking Buzzfeed,” you laughed.

“You telling me you don’t find me adorkable?”

“I think you’re a dork. Does that count?”

He just laughed and toyed around with his phone for a moment. “You sure you’re fine with our plans tomorrow?”

“Of course. You said Heather said there’s a spare room if I need to lay down. And I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving usually, so I’m not missing out on any of my usual traditions. ‘Sides, it’ll be good to be around other people.”

Sebastian twisted his wedding ring around his finger a few times before looking up at you. The mood instantly sobered in the room. “You’ve mentioned that a few times. That you don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah,” you murmured. You supposed Sebastian deserved an explanation. Not that it would change anything, of course. “Uh, growing up my family didn’t have the money for a big meal like that. And if we did, my dad would drink it all away anyway. Then he died in November. And then my mom died in November a few years later as well. Then Eliza, my sister, got arrested two years later in November and I guess I just never really felt very thankful considering everyone in my hometown wouldn’t shut up and blamed me for everything and I just always hated November.”

“Sweetheart, you should have told me sooner.” Sebastian shifted to sit on the arm of your chair. “You know I could have, I don’t know, done something to make this month better. Now it’s almost over.”

You grabbed his hand in yours and smiled up at him. “You did, Seb. By this time last year, I had yelled at Jasmin probably ten times. Like, actually screaming at her. And I didn’t even know I had cancer then. It was just all of the memories fucking with me.”

“So what did I do this year that helped? I figure I should know so I can do it again next year.”

Your heart skipped. By this time next year, if the surgery went well, you should be mostly fully recovered. You should be able to at least finish recovery back in Utah. If he was insinuating that you’d still be around…

“You just gave me a lot of good memories to think about at night, instead of the bad ones. I mean, I’ve dreamt of going to the Met, and you gave me two whole weekends there. You put up with me reading every single plaque. You, uh.” You glanced away with a shy smile. “You made me laugh every damn day with stories about what pranks got pulled on set and I don’t think even Jasmin has hugged me as much as you have.”

“Jasmin was around you every day,” Seb shrugged. “I only get two days a week with you. Gotta make up for lost time.”

Even though you’d been... whatever you’d been since that first kiss in the elevator for a month, you still had to force yourself to ignore that part of you that wanted to be invisible and make yourself flirt with him like you truly wanted So, you took a breath and turned your face up to his. “You saying if you were around me more than just two days you wouldn’t hug me as much? Or kiss me?”

And your flirting paid off when Sebastian got that spark in his eye. With his arm planted on the back of the back of the recliner, he leaned down until his face was mere centimeters from yours. “Course not, sweetheart. I’d probably just kiss you more.”

“That so?”

“Mmhmm.” Just as his lips brushed yours, there was a knock on the door and it started opening. Sebastian grimaced and pulled back, muttering a soft, “Dammit.”

“Good afternoon,” Dr. Chowdhury greeted as he walked in. “Ah, Sebastian. It has been a while since I have seen you. I hope all is well.”

“No complaints here.”

“Good, good. Well, I wanted to check in on you before you left, Y/N.”

“I’m fine. Though I’m sure my answer will change by tomorrow. Will my infusions take this long every time now?”

He nodded. “And with the aggressive cocktail, I would expect that your body will take at least a month to adjust.”

This time it was you who nodded. He’d told you all of this yesterday.

“I also wanted to ask you about your plans for tomorrow. I do not think I need to warn you about your weak immune system.”

Sebastian dropped his arm from the back of the recliner to your shoulders and squeezed. “A few of my friends are hosting a dinner tomorrow. It won’t be too crowded.”

“And I will make sure to listen to my body and go lay down before I need to. I’ve been through this before, Doctor. I know the risks and I know how to manage them.”

Dr. Chowdhury inclined his head and regarded you for a moment. “I was concerned yesterday,” he said slowly, “When you asked what your chance at making it to surgery was. I just wanted to check in and make sure you are still fighting as much as you were when I told you over seventy percent.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. The reminder at how far your odds had fallen still stung. “Yeah, no. It’s, uh… I get it. Trust me, I get it. But I’m here and I’m putting my all into this. Uh, my odds statistically speaking might not be that great, but this guy here…” You nudged Seb and grinned up at him briefly before turning your attention back to Dr. Chowdhury. “He keeps reminding me that my universal odds are out of this world. So… those are the odds I’m backing.”

Drunken dancing and buzzfeed quizzes, what more can you ask for? Also, did you catch the reader’s little slipup that I snuck in there?? Huh????

CHAPTER 22: THE THANKSGIVING PARTY

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan x reader fluff #marvel fanfic

[thatnerdwolfnell]

I'm calling the apprentice here MJ which stands for Main Jcharacter. I wanted to give them something of a proper name and my autocorrect hates MC anyway. They aren't my apprentice they're just supposed to be a generic MC for people to insert their apprentice in for. They are entirely androgynous and completely non descript. I just got sick of typing MC and I refuse to put y/n into shit I write because it looks stupid and keeps fucking with my dyslexic ass.

**trigger warning: suicide**

Lies

For @wilddarkchocolate

Asra was different before he left. Nobody acts like themselves these days. Well, that's not really true. I just didn't know them well enough, I guess. Asra's a caring person, I know he is, he can just act so damn heartless sometimes. When the plague hit everything light and airy about just became streamlined and sharp, calculated. It triggered the part of him that was still living on the streets, that taught him to prioritize. to be kind and generous and give everything you have everytime you can but be ready to cut your losses, and grab what you can and get the hell out. When things go to shit he picks his battles, prioritizes his objectives, protects what he can and damn the rest if he can get his people out alive. I didn't think he'd leave me too though. There's nothing more important to him than the people he cares about. I thought there was nobody on earth more loyal than Asra, that there was no bridge he wouldn't cross and we'd fight everything together. Die together if we had to. Apparently I was wrong. I guess it was selfish to assume that of someone.

"This thing destroyed several villages in the south, we saw it leave Nopal in shambles, and now it's happening here!" He had said. "Remember when we saw them hauling cartfulls of bodies away in Nopal? People rotting away in the streets? In their homes? Remember when I said if that happens here we're getting out? It's been happening here for weeks now! We've done what we can but there's nothing we can do!"

I sighed. "Just stay a little longer, Julian's close to finding a cure and—"

"NO HE'S NOT!" he shouted. "HES COMPLETELY LOST! HE HAS NO IDEA WHAT HE'S DEALING WITH!"

He flung a jar of sage off the counter letting it shatter on the ground like he was brushing away a mosquito. Like he didn't care.

"ASRA!" He just shook his head and leaned against the wall. Resigned. His face was red. He was crying. "What the hell are you talking about? You've been working on this for months you know that's not true!"

"No. I haven't. Because I can't. All I know is that it's something of magical origin and that it's way out my league. It's more powerful than anything I've ever seen in my life –or even heard of, and Julian's barking up the completely wrong tree."

I had known it had some kind of dark magic attached to it, but so does death. So does lots of things. With the amount of tragedy this plague had caused it wasn't shocking that it had a dark energy around it. But what Asra had said...

"What is it like a curse or something?"

He shook his head again. "No. I don't know. When I was little my parents used to talk about God." He wouldn't look at me. "Then they disappeared. And on the docks... I don't know, I stopped taking it seriously." He shuddered "But this? If it's not the wrath of God I don't what else it could be. It's like somebody knocked a cosmic balance into shit and now its just... spilling."

My hands grew cold. "Is there any way we can balance it?"

He scoffed "Not unless you're a fucking arcana. Or ten."

"Why didn't you say any of this before?"

He slumped down against the wall and sighed. "Well what good would it have done, MJ? I can't just tell them 'hey nobody can do anything to save your children have fun dying!' now can I?"

"You could have at least told Julian! He's been killing himself trying to find a cure! He'll blame himself for-"

"He'd blame himself for the damn RAIN if he could, MJ. I already told him and he said all that meant was there no magical cure, but SCIENCE still had the answer."

I paused. "He's crazy."

Asra wiped his face on his sleeve. "I know." He stood up pulling his bag back over his shoulder. "That's why we need to leave. Now."

"Asra..."

That was all I said. Just his name. How could go with him when people were dying? For all he knew Julian could be right. And there was still something I wanted... I NEEDED to do. I just didn't have the heart to tell him.

That was almost a year ago. We fought more of course, but we didn't really say anything after that. If I'm honest I don't even remember. Just the anger and the magic sparking from the raw emotion in the room.

I am so fucking sick of this dungeon.

Julian's already here of course. I doubt he even left, I don't think he ever does. He's muttering, reading some paper he wrote.

"Samples?" I say as I pass his desk.

He shakes his head. Which means I need to collect them myself. That's not really an inconvenience, especially since I'm going down to the cells anyway.

I haven't felt anything in months, but when I see those people in cages like animals slamming their faces against the bars shrieking at their hallucinations I can at least remember one part of me that's still human. The part that knows that this is fundamentally wrong. And I thought maybe it could be worth it if we found a cure, but now... Now there's nothing left to justify this.

Believe it or not, these are vesuvia's richest, the "lucky" ones if you will. The ones who's families could afford access to "experimental treatments" rather than simply dying surrounded by living corpses in the lazaret. I know I'm going to die here. It's only a matter of time before I catch it and maybe if I can do this, my life will have been worth something. Today's the day I get the plague. I should feel something about that. I don't. Like I said, I haven't felt anything in a long time. Still it took forever to get the guts to do this though.

I take the syringe and walk up to the first cell. I barely even hear the screaming.

"Hi, Miss Walker?" The woman in the cell freezes. Guilt twinges in my gut. It's been a while since anybody has used her name –or even addressed her directly. I actually had to look up her name in the file just now. "I have to take a blood sample, is that okay?" It doesn't actually matter if it's okay or not I have to take it anyway.

"NOOOO!" she wails. "ALEX YOUR FACE! YOUR FACE THEY'RE ON YOUR FACE!" Her cries fade into fitful muttering that I can't make out.

"Okay ma'am, I'm coming in now."

She's huddled in a ball in the back corner of her cell. I grab her arm in the standard method that keeps her from moving away, but she doesn't even react. Which means she'll probably be dead by tonight. I tuck the sample vial in my bag and take off my mask. This part is not standard procedure.

"Hey, you're okay." I try to use the most soothing voice I can. I'm definitely not the ideal choice for comforting people, but nobody else will do it, and I can't watch another person die like this. Scared and alone. I pull off my gloves and gently rub her back. She flinches. Maybe this was a bad idea but it's definitely too late to go back. I'm probably already infected. "You're okay. Where does it hurt?"

"My Alex!" Her hand swats weakly at my face. It was probably supposed to be a loving gesture if she still had her strength.

"Sure. Fine. It's me, Alex" I have no clue who Alex is, I'm just trying to make dying a little nicer.

"You're all grown up, why are you grown? They were eating your face..." She breaks down into sobs.

"Hey, hey don't cry it's okay. Alex is fine, I'm fine." She throws herself into my arms sobbing and blubbering. I pull her close into a hug and I feel her start to calm down. "Yeah I'm fine, we're all fine. it's okay."

"I-I love you –I miss you so much i-" she shudders.

I hesitate. This is what I came here for. There's not much left of her and she needs comfort. "Um...I love you too... Here." I do a quick spell that should take away her pain for a while. She sighs and closes her eyes. "Alright

You get some rest now okay?" She doesn't respond she's already asleep.

I continue down the row of cells in much the same way. Blood sample. Mask off. Lie. "You're okay", "See? No more pain.", "I love you."

I drop off the samples before heading over to the lazaret to do the same there. I'm probably just being selfish. Just trying to feel like a good person. Like this MEANS anything. Maybe staying here at all was selfish. Maybe Asra was right and this was all a naive ego trip to make me feel better about myself. Maybe this is the only way I can justify killing myself. Or the only way I have the courage to do It. I'm being selfish.

I feel nausea twist in my gut as I land at the lazaret.

Looks like I'm not leaving.

It's for the best.

"Hi, I'm MJ.", "Its alright, you're okay.", "You want to see something cool?" "Go to sleep now." "I love you." "Yes your mommy is right here." , "I won't leave you.", "You're not going to die.", "You're safe.", "I love you."

The last thing I remember is a toddler, or maybe a corpse curled up in my lap. Humming softly. I'm holding a tiny hand. I don't quite have the strength to do the spell that will make it hurt less. Not that I deserve it. God it hurts. Where's Asra? What happened to him? The small hand drops. And everything fades to red.

#the arcana mc #fic requests #angst #the acrana #the arcane game #arcana game #the arcana #arcana #the arcana asra #asra the arcana #sad #yeah idk

[saxxxology]

A Different Kind of Therapy: 1

When the strains of life, broken relationships, an angry boss, and other stresses get a bit too much to bear, you seek a very particular kind of treatment. 

PAIRING: Sexual Therapist!Sam x Reader WARNINGS: mentions of a breakup, stress/anxiety, sexual therapy, smut, slow burn

This work is 18+ only. Do not save or repost my work without my consent.

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It’s just another Tuesday. You’ve been yelled at by your boss over something out of your control, spilled hot coffee on yourself on your break, and had an irate client holler at you over the phone until you were so on edge that you burst into tears at your desk for a good ten minutes after hanging up. 

It’s been like this for the last three years of your life: a day-to-day agony of getting up and going to work only to get berated and abused by your employer over the slightest mishap. 

Finally, you’re allowed to go home. Charlie, your roommate, is in the living room when you get there, and she notices your red-rimmed eyes.

“Rough day?” she asks sympathetically. 

“He was worse,” you groan, kicking off your heels and slumping down on the couch. “I made one little mistake with scheduling a client for the bank merger and he just… I’m surprised I walked away with my job.”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “Why do you still work for him?”

“I need the money,” you sniff, “since Caleb and I broke up, I have to pay my bills in full, not splitting everything evenly. Plus, if I get a promotion I don’t have to work as his secretary.”

“Ah.” She’s silent for a long while. “I might be able to help.”

“Really?”

“There’s this guy that my friend Brenda knows,” she gets up and goes to her purse, “he’s a therapist.”

“Charlie, I don't need therapy.”

“You’re stressed to hell, Y/N,” she says, “you come home crying every other day and you’ve been having the worst anxiety attacks since Caleb dumped you. You don’t even try to meet other people, that’s how bad it is.” She rummages in the front pocket before pulling out a dog-eared business card. You accept it when she holds it out and glance at the black lettering on the front.

         SAM WINCHESTER - SEXUAL THERAPIST

“Sexual therapist?” you raise your eyebrows, “what the hell does that mean?”

“Look, all I know is Brenda says he’s amazing,” she grins, “and his costs are lower than regular therapists. She’s gone there just to talk, get stuff off her chest, get advice… but also what he does physically is supposedly incredible.”

“Physically?” Shaking your head, you set the card down on the coffee table. “I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“Oh, it’s not a requirement,” Charlie covers, “it’s just an option for his clients. C’mon, make an appointment, at least.”

You shrug. “I don’t know… I’m just gonna take a shower and go to bed early.”

“Okay.” Charlie’s face falls slightly, but she shakes it off. “Sleep well, Y/N.”

***

That night, long after Charlie’s fallen asleep and you’ve been struggling to even close your eyes, you pull your laptop out from underneath the bed and type in a Google search for Sam’s name. He’s got a website that looks extremely professional considering what he does. No alluring or inappropriate photos of women, ads for self-produced medications for bigger dicks or wetter pussies… it looks like a normal website. 

There’s a headshot of him in the center of the home page, along with a paragraph of his biography. 

He’s gorgeous; shiny brown hair curling around the middle of his neck, eyes that sparkle a dazzling combination of green and blue and gold, pink lips that look positively sinful, a decent dusting of stubble across his jaw...

...Fuck, you’d meet up with this man just to see him in person. 

His slogan shines in a light type font on the header of the page.

     FEEL GOOD.

Within minutes there are multiple tabs open on your computer; YouTube links to two TED talks he’s given in the last couple of years, a full biography including his education at various universities and internships at larger sexual-health facilities around the United States, and most importantly, his philosophies.

You’ve never encountered a more female-positive man in your life. 

Sam focuses on all aspects of human sexuality and health, but his primary specialty is sexual therapy in women. There are numerous testimonies from past female clients, many citing him as a “quick learner” and “perfect listener” to everything from sexual desires to the most basic aspects of mental health. He’s helped trauma survivors, PTSD-ridden veterans, even just women who want something more than what the average male is capable of offering them.  

Clicking on one of his TED talks titled Sex and Violence: Using Pleasure to Overcome Trauma and lower the volume to where you can just barely hear his voice. He’s surprisingly comfortable onstage, pacing slowly back and forth as he engages with his audience.

“...there’s more to overcoming trauma and anxieties than we think,” he’s saying, pressing the tips of his fingers together, “when our mind is triggered, we automatically move towards the easiest temporary cures, prescriptions and harsh medical methods to force it back into submission. Granted, in some cases, prescriptions are needed and are useful. However, my studies have found that women who have suffered a trauma are more likely to regain full control of their minds and bodies through the use of self-pleasure or engaging a partner in sexual activities that focus primarily on them, where they are in complete control.”

You watch him talk, completely captivated by the way he talks and moves. Several women in the audience are watching him with hungry eyes. The entire talk lasts for thirty-five minutes, and when it’s over, you find yourself entranced. 

Maybe this guy can help.

After two days of mulling it over, Charlie finally convinces you to make an appointment. You lock yourself in your car after work and dial the number on the front of the card. It rings four times before a woman’s voice answers.

“Winchester Therapy Services, this is Ruby, how can I help you?”

“H-hi,” you stammer, chest going suddenly tight, “I, uh, my friend gave me your card and I was, uh… I was wondering if I could make an appointment with you.”

“Of course, give me one moment.” You hear papers shuffling and then the dull click of a pen on the other end of the line. “We have openings this Friday and Saturday at four o’clock in the afternoon.”

You nod even though the woman on the other end of the line can’t see you. “Saturday works.”

“Perfect. May I have your name and phone number, please?”

“Y/N L/N,” you supply before rattling off your phone number. 

“Great. I’ll be giving you a call to confirm your appointment on Friday.”

“Okay.” You swallow thickly. “Thank you.”

“Have a great day, Y/N.”

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#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader smut #sam winchester reader insert #sam winchester fanfiction

[floralkittygambler]

Reposting for reasons

Response to Honest’s post here: Doing this to spread this awareness more as I know theres a bit of a rift in the critical community - plus I really fucking go on. Im PISSED and I do apologise however it NEEDS urgent addressing. I know people will hate me for it but Im used to hate and honestly? Hating rather than helping to solve the issue only furthers my fucking point here. So yeah this is so more people are aware (no offense to any of those involved in said rift either, but this is an important message. Thank you for understanding and if I can do anything to make all sides comfortable, then please message me and I’ll do my upmost.) “ More awareness of this is needed. Even if it’s your favourite, you can’t justify their shit but rally against another’s shit. Have people tell you you’re experiences arent real or invalid because, like Husk, people have - in real life - shipped you with someone you are far from comfortable with but you still treat them like a person. Because you have basic respect. And people force you to accept harassment, touching, stalking, advances for THEIR satisfaction. People use you for their fantasies. But you’re just a ‘tsundere’ for it. Or you have addiction issues but people think being with another addict will ‘save’ you because you’re apparently too incompetent to save yourself. Love isnt some magic fuckin cure so stop romanticising it as a fuckin saviour. It’s gross and fuckin creepy. Get stalked and have someone NEVER accept your no just because you show youre still decent enough to not treat them shitty or any different from anyone else. Try having someone way older or way younger (both in morally fucked up ways) advance on you and people encourage that. People you’re supposed to feel safe around.

People touch you when you pull away or show discomfort. Follow you home. Have pictures of you and wont accept you dont like them like that and it’s not ‘playing hard to get’ or ‘the thrill of the chase’. Fuck. OFF. In fact, Im not only disappointed in the fandom. Im disappointed in the entire team who some should know better from their OWN personal experiences - or at least the bare minimal of being a fucking adult. Im disappointed in especially females (sorry idk whether girl or woman is more appropriate here-) who statistically are more likely to have experienced something similar at some point in their lives think this is a cute gay moment. No. Angel is made out as a fucking predator - Im not saying he is, Im saying that his persistence is very fucking unwelcome like one. People like Husk dont need that fucking invasiveness. They/We need patience and someone on our level. Angel’s I know are the fuckin polar opposite - and some of them I know are very sexually harassing, including unwanted touching. It’s a shitty way to present gay people. Gays are fuckin people. Some are cunts and some arent. It’s a HUMAN thing. But considering the shit theyve been subjected to, presenting a gay as a victim only to also show them as a perpetrator is insulting! And for those Ive seen argue this about how people like AD wouldnt know how to express their love normally and whatnot? His pig. His best friend. He’s in his fucking 30s. There are literal real life criminals who get molested as kids and then go on to molest kids. Not all who grow up like that turn into nonces. Stop just fucking STOP justifying and romanticising this bullshit! I used to see the good in AD but now he makes me fucking sick. Especially with my verrrrrry fucking real traumas and connections. But fuck me, eh? Because this fictional guy matters so much more. Fuck real victims. And whilst we’re at it, fuck AD too when it suits your fetishes! Sarcasm aside, the fans and the team need to straighten up their abhorrent behaviour. Stolas. Fucking clearly having an affair, knowingly fucking up his daughter’s mental health and bribing a guy into sex who only wants the book and nothing more. He even has a fucking warning button over Stolas- Guys, how do you think any of this is cute? Even the team gross me out- I genuinely see potential and talent and it’s all gone to shit to satisfy horny teens, horny adults, and literally everyone who doesnt for the life of them understand being an adult is more than sex, drugs, violence and swears! I REALLY want to keep enjoying HB/HH but it’s getting harder and harder with such ignorant and bordering lazy creators (note: lazy as in wont do the fucking research or actually listen to real criticism and victims), such despicable fans (yeah, some HDers fuckin mocked that they triggered my ED, yet they had the fucking NERVE to support Angel’s potential ED AND laugh and blame me for me getting treated so badly for actually having the balls to call Angel and the teams hypocrisy. I got told to kill myself, that my problems arent real - oh but Angels apparently is! Which... They *are* but AD isnt real so technically only onlookers will suffer and not a drawing  - and they just excused their toxic behaviours. These people are like “aww poor angie babey!” yet fuckin INSULT sex workers. All this red in Hazbin yet it feels everyone and they mama colour blind. The issues are getting worse and fans are outright becoming EVIL, VILE, Vindictive little bullies - from kids to adults. You SHOULD be ashamed of yourself if you conduct yourself in such a manner. And you need to readjust your attitudes and behaviours because the only fuckers getting hurt are actual fucking victims. Ever been violated and been gaslit so much you STILL fucking question it’s reality? So you drown that shit out yet somehow it’s effects still hit you? Fetishise it. Make it your uwu gae couple goals, you’re no better than people believing Harley and the Joker werent toxic af. If this shit happened to you, most of you would actually SEE where we’re all coming from. Also, stop making gay a fetish - you’re like those creepy old men in the alley heckling lesbians to make out so they can wank off. Gays, no ALL the LGBT+ are fucking people too. So dont give me that bullshit then start turning everything just gay or just straight to mentally wank off to. It’s degrading and dehumanising. And yes, fiction does effect reality. You crush on a fictional character? Mourn one? Support one? Hell, fuckin jerk off to one - that’s affecting reality. Remember how in fiction all blacks were treated as villians? Look how theyre treated IRL. JAWS, great classic unfortunately their was a spike in shark killings over a fucking movie - the shark in the movie wasnt even real for the most part because they dont behave like that! (Also the animatronic was so shit they genuinely had so many issues - I think they even took to naming each one! Some fun trivia there!). Tiger sharks are more nasty than great whites as tiger sharks will hunt and eat a human. Great whites prefer seals and dislike human flesh, they just mistake us for seals. Hell, theres the toothless basking shark - theyre often SWAM WITH by divers for being so friendly. Yet Jaws made people think all sharks are bloodlusting over humans. Slenderman was created for a fucking contest and that influenced a stabbing (NOT Victor’s fault). Watch a horror movie that isnt based on a real life event and tell me that at least ONE has left you peaking over your shoulder. Stella may be a bitch - we dont know for certain - but try getting cheated on. Y’know what? Try growing up in such a broken home like Octavia. Yeah reaaaaaal fucking cute now, huh? Funny how as well y’all petition for male victims to be taken seriously then laugh when fictional males experience this abuse, further adding to stigma. You can be hit on by the hottest mf on the planet but if you arent interested, that should be respected! Also we’ve all been inspired by at least one fictional character so yeah. Yknow, since I was little Ive been fighting for sex worker and homeless rights. But HH/HB treatment of both leave a bitter taste in my mouth. I’ll still fully support sex workers and the homeless, but that’s the fucking effect this show is having. Bearing in mind I wont ever share everything Ive been through - and I shouldnt fucking have to in order to be believed and validated (obvs proof is required in a legal case but that’s a whole other topic). Why should I share MY fucking pain especially when you fuckers have belittled and triggered it more so? We have our rights to our secrets but fuck ME you lot NEED to start acting appropriately and like decent fucking humans. ‘iTs HeLl’ yeah and welcome to Earth- the team and yourselves live HERE. You obide by THESE rules. And as someone with beliefs (and a LOT of ancient fucking texts and studies on this shit) their Hell isnt even a proper Hell! It’s closer to purgatory and even then it’s not. Regardless, it’s a poorly built world with the lore consistently changing per episode and tweet, with many plot holes, and is apparently easy to get into - even via accidentally watching porn according to a stream. If youre gonna parade youre a fucking expert and research into demonology and use real believed figures, at least get THAT right. In fact, Lucifer and Lilith (and Stolas tbf) are ESPECIALLY risky as theyre a lot more complex than most easy access texts will tell you. Likewise, Stolas’s first introduction and main focus is sex. He’s one of the FEW Goetia demons that dont have some involvement in relationship issues at ALL. He’s known for astrology, crystals and herbs but hes also known to aid MONEY troubles (it’s lesser known but it’s true! HB Stolas is an insult to the Prince). Turning Vodou into something evil is vile considering it’s powerful and liberated slaves. Pentagrams are nothing to do with Satan, they’re magic based sigils. Upside down cross is the symbol of a SAINT. It’s just some edgy attempt to trick people into believing they know more than they do. Also you should NEVER dabble and doodle sigils without knowing the meanings or respecting what they behold. Vox and Val, real fuckin cute way to make them look like a stupid fucking highschool drama instead of a fucking SEX TRAFFICKER (note: real pimps often target YOUNG folks too - aka minors - and groom them into sex work. Theres different types of pimp. Viv has shown barely any understanding of ‘the game’ and its a fucking insult to injury. Yes we KNOW what a fucking pimp and prozzie are! We dont need to see it. We need REAL AWARENESS.) and a fucking scheming bastard of a CEO salesman botman. And yet even THEN lets go a step further and make some yandere wuv on boyfweind aboose! Fuck off- Now I love a good anime but these tropes are getting fucking dangerous now. And unrealistic to real love and relationships. Kids nowadays know fuck all on a healthy relationship (neither did the fuckin 50s tbf) and Im seeing more romaticism and glorifying abusive situations. Like the show ‘You’. Ok, there’s a fuckin bloke online who slaughtered innocents and kidnapped yet people commented how cute he is on his IG and that they want to be kidnapped or killed by him next. Dont believe me? Look up Peter Manfredonia Connecticut and the comments people left him and then tell me why shit like whats being presented in HH/HB ISNT fucking concerning - because it is. For a series about redemption, it’s brilliant at the opposite (Quote from the creator herself, Viv has posted that it’s influencing her bad choices. Even as a joke, proof’s in the pudding). And the overall focus on sex in the way Viv does is so immature and really creepy, and this is from an ADULTS perspective. From one adult to another, Im concerned as to why any of them think this is a normal fixation. Then again they’ve hired quite a large amount of dodgy folks and even a child. Most of this shit gets avoided with a basic background check like most companies run. I DO like Hazbin. Or the premise. I love some of the cast and spite the others. In Helluva, I just like a tiny portion of the cast. And I critique it so harshly because Viv DOES need a wakeup slap, grounding to reality, people who arent going to big her up or kiss her arse for once and shape her up to be the best she can be. The actually reach and even surpass her potential. And to reach where you need to be, there’s a lot of harsh lessons youll face. That’s life. Shes chosen one of the most HEARTLESS industries and if she blocks out critique as ‘hate’ then she’s not strong enough and wont last. It’s just another unprepped YanDev again (except I dont believe Viv to be a nonce. Even with her dodgy past and dodgy present, I think her perspective on sex and relationship with sexuality is FAR from healthy BUT I dont believe she’s a pedophile. Ive bled my fair share and so far, I just think her sex perspective isnt healthy or mature for her age. But there’s little to nothing to suggest actual noncery - dont worry about accusations there. But YanDev is totally a dirty predator. Just clearing that up). Viv NEEDS some harshness and stability if she wants to do things right. And it’ll make her fucking cry but if she loves these projects as much as she claims to, then you’ll sacrifice blood, sweat and tears for that shit. Even the strongest points are mediocre at best when properly observed. She CAN do more, but she’ll have to face the harsh music. Viv wont see this, but if she does, I dont care if it upsets her. Why? Because this is that much of an issue - something she’s cultivated - that she needs to take action and not ignore it or be secretive about it. She needs to grow up and get tougher skin. Im not saying this to cause her pain. In fact, I wouldnt waste my fucking limited time if I DIDNT care. Trust me, I have duties to be met at a certain quota every single day. I say this shit only because I give a shit and care. If we met, she’d fucking hate me. But people like me are good for shaping people up to their potential. And we arent always this ‘tough love’ either. But when someone needs that level of harshness to help themselves, we’re not afraid to lose people or cause upset if the results end up being the best for them. If she ever saw this, she needs to re fucking evaluate her message, her story, and those she’s choosing to welcome into her circle. And all Im seeing is one rookie mistake after the other. Her paid patreon discord. Just like the messages Honest has posted on her side of being harassed (not in Vivs fyi), Ive experienced shit and bullying and even stay silent on their for being attacked for a group I fuckin paid to be in and yet I feel isolated. It’s all arsekissing and ‘thank you viv’ (thats an actual channel-) and it feels like a place of borderline worship and people trying to appease her 24/7 whilst kicking others with different opinions down. There’s so many I love but I aint kissin yer fuckin arse. Ask the closest friend I have - we’re fucking raw and wont just side with each other just because. We’ll call each other out if we think they’ve fucked up and then help each other build themselves up better. Because real fuckin people who actually care wont just want to be adored by you. They’ll care enough to point out your bullshit and help you, even if they upset you at the time. They’re real and upfront with you. People like us arent always the easiest to be close to either because we arent afraid of upsetting someone if it’s in their best interest and to help them. Likewise, we dont go out looking for fights either. Most times, we’re fuckin soft bastards- All this shit listed is the fuckin surface level of the real life hell of this fandom. And unsurprisingly, those who experience little to no toxicity have always been higher on that popularity ‘food chain’ - enough admirers and shared opinions that people wanna arse kiss regardless of their OWN feelings as well as neutral perspectives. I’d say you’re the lucky fans, but you’re not. You’re sheltered, and that isnt always the best way to be sadly. As for the fans. If Ive upset you. Well... I dont care. Because many of you have actively sought me out and weaponised my traumas against me. You never cared about my feelings then. Why should I care about yours? Im not doing this out of malice. Im fed up of humans behaving so pathetically yet claiming to be high and mighty. Most of you have been arseholes to those in and out of the community. The victims and non-victims alike. Hardly any of you considered once my real suffering. You put a drawing over a life. Many lives. You had the audacity to tell me Im full of shit. Some even using my real traumas to make a mockery of me and those Im around with a very similar history. Some with traumatic histories that differ from my own. You hardly ever considered the real lives of those effected. So no, Im not sorry for having the fucking balls to this day to still stand up for our rights and give us a voice that’s long been stolen. Im not sorry for being a fucking victim. Im not sorry for saying what desperately NEEDS voicing. And Im not sorry for not conforming to you or any fandom just to belong. We deserve better than to constantly be your fuckin arse monkeys (well... the trope is butt monkey but yknow-) and to be mistreated, misrepresented and harmed by you. You’re no different to the school bullies who give speeches on anti-bullying day. And I hope every single one of you starts looking into yourselves and improving. PS: Depending on the texts you read, Lucifer is said to have been redeemed or to be redeemed. Fun fact to haunt yalls with~ “

#warning long #long post #hazbin critical #very long rant #important #hear victims voices #just sick of how awful people can treat one another and believe this is acceptable #everyone is accountable #toxic fanbase #Toxic shippers #toxic ships #im literally too fucking old for this #forgive the anger but after years and years it gets so cumbersome and tiring #im happy to be the pariah if it means victims actually get heard and helped

[segenassefa]

2: On Consumerism, Fighting Demons, and Societies Inevitable Collapse

Quarantine has been lowkey surreal. My constant complaint of never having enough time to do all the things I want/should be doing has now left me bored in the house, bored in the house, bored with nothing but time to get said things done. However, it is a dual edged sword - with the collapse and subsequent reformation of civil society outside my doors, it leaves me wondering – as well as a lot of other people – in the words of Miss Juicy…what the hell we gone do now?

Nearing the end of the first leg of my university career, I should be thinking about getting ready to transition to the next logical stages of adulthood - saving for an apartment, applying for permanent residency, as well as graduate schools and part time jobs. Yet, I’m worried about if these things will even be a possibility within the next month, six months, or even the next year.

On top of ALL of that, the recent BLM protests and the way that people (read: white people, Latinxs, Black men, homo/transphobes, etc.) have shown their asses the past few months is beyond mortifying - especially regarding the treatment of black women and how our value as individuals as well as a collective to society is really perceived.* This is not to downplay the murder of numerous black men in society, BUT who the fuck is riding for black women aside from other black women? And not just the ones who find attractive, or are racially ambiguous, or the ones you feel as if you get “guilted” into supporting and demanding justice for, I mean each and every black woman. I’m just saying, it gets pretty disheartening to feel like the legwork of the revolution is on the back of one category of people, and that your value to society is measured by the amount of emotional labour you’re ready to do for others, or how fat your ass is (but I digress…).

I feel like most people have used material things as coping mechanisms instead of actually facing their feelings and dealing with the things that bother them. Just think of the number of packages that have arrived on your doorstep the past few months. Breaking the glossy seal of packing tape is similar to therapy, until all the boxes are open, and you start feeling like shit again. And now, more than ever, there’s a lot to be bothered about. Western society has dedicated phrases based on the phenomenon of substituting true self-work with figurative emotional bandages (Phrases like comfort eating and retail therapy come to mind).

It’s nice to think that we – the people entering their adolescent and young adult years – will be the one to change these things, but suddenly it’s 2 am, you have twenty different things in your Amazon cart, (who the fuck needs a metal straw cleaning kit?) and you’re trying to see how far you can stretch and grab your debit card before falling off of the bed.

The conflicting messages pushed by society don’t help all that much either. If you look up “Kondo method” or “decluttering my closet” on YouTube, the numbers of videos that come up is astounding. Pages and pages of sweaty-faced, smiling YouTubers monetizing from this kind of faux “minimalism” only to post haul videos a few days later because “I threw everything out and now I have to rebuild from scratch sksksk!”. Does this not just perpetuate a cycle of buying and throwing and buying? I am....confusion, to say the least. Still I watch them, because I’m a hypocrite, and am also easily amused.

I will be the first to admit I have always had a very unhealthy relationship with money, with self-image, and with measuring my self-worth in proximity with “stuff that stems from a complicated relationship with physical self. Follow along:

Growing up, I was a fat kid. We don’t even have to sugar coat it. Think Terrio, but better eyebrows and more hair. Except I was not killin’ em, just myself. I always envied my friends who were able to go shopping at regular stores – read: Hollister, Abercrombie, Urban Outfitters (yes my friends were white), meanwhile I was condemned to shopping in the women’s department.

So, to compensate, I would buy trinkets – things like nail polish, lip gloss, journals, you get the point. My proximity to worthiness was measured not by the things that I bought, but within the act of buying. Growing up with parents who were also financially frugal also altered my relationship with money and blessed me with crippling buyers’ remorse after every purchase, even on things that are important (read: groceries).  

But as a kid, buying “stuff” was fun for me – it gave me some sort of purpose, and the acquisition of things (even if they weren’t the same things my peers had) made me feel like, to some extent, I could compete on the same playing field. As I got older, and I started to have real expenses, I moved towards second-hand shopping. I would religiously find myself at Goodwill on weekend, after school, or with friends. I could literally feel an endorphin rush when I would find something that I would consider a “good deal”, and it made me feel (again) purposeful, to be spending money, even if I didn’t need whatever I was buying.

I should also add that the people in my immediate family does not believe in thrift stores (“Why am I working for you to wear other people’s clothing?”, I remember my dad asking me one day), so the act of second-hand shopping was also my form of rebellion.

I began to amass a collection of clothing that would put Kylie’s closet to shame. I began buying things for events and situations that were yet to happen, for other people, for when I lose ten pounds. It was a madness.

In freshman year of university, I had an unhealthy relationship with clubbing clothes. Did I have the figure for clubbing clothes? Absolutely not. The funnier part is, I couldn’t even go clubbing because I wasn’t 19 at the time. And yet I had drawers and drawers full of the stuff. Not to mention that clubbing clothes is incredibly similar to summer clothing and living between Minnesota and Canada meant that these things were barely seeing the light of day.

The moral of this was – I could never figure out my relationship with stuff, This quarantine has forced me to try and break down the compulsion behind my behaviour.  I felt like I was spiralling the six weeks that they closed thrift stores, and I knew myself well enough to not try and online shop with the same kind of frequency as that. But the crazy part was, I didn’t die. I didn’t go into withdrawal (ok, I did a little bit, but whatever), and I was able to take the time to go through the things I already owned and find some hidden gems that were routinely buried in the cracks and crevices of my closet. It was like the episode of Family Guy when Peter realizes he has a vestigial twin – alarming and cool at first, but then it’s just alarming and annoying.

Its more embarrassing to realize that some semblance of myself image is tied to the frequency with which I am able to spend money. I would never say that participating in capitalist society gives me some kind of purpose as a black woman because God forbid. Also, considering that a lot of big names companies are actually racist and fatphobic as hell creates a whole new dimension for analyzing the power of my black dollar, sometimes creating another spiral of guilt leading to you guessed it – more spending.

As much as it seems like it, however, this self-reflection was not in vain. In the past month, I’ve cut down my closet from +200 pieces of clothing and shoes to about 40. If you ever want a fun, humbling activity this quarantine, just clean out your closet and be honest with yourself about how often you wear certain things. It was revolting to see the number of shirts, dresses, pants, skirts that I had bought and convinced myself wholeheartedly I was going to wear, only to pull them out of my closet months later with the tags attached *insert Marge Simpson covering her face meme*.

But at the end of the whole ordeal, it felt really good to look at my space and not feel burden or guilt. It was somewhat philanthropic realizing that not only will these clothes make someone else happier (I donated pretty much everything because it’s not always about money), but that my quality of life was not dramatically impacted in owning (or not owning) certain things. The past few weeks, I’ve spent more money on going out and sharing experiences with friends, but still nowhere near the same amount of money I would have spent buying clothes and other material possession.

Youtuber Kelly Stamps has a video on how minimalism “cured” her depression**, and the whole thesis boils down to the idea that owning less things gives you less to compare yourself too, thus making you happier (in a sense) and allowing you to focus the energy and time that would have been centered around maintaining and building your collection of possessions other things.

This still doesn’t break down the root of the issue, but it’s a start. I think when you have traits or patterns that you’ve participated in for so long, it becomes hard to step back and be objective enough to realize that you – yes, you – are part of the problem. I can blame my habits on a lot of things but at the end of the day, it’s important to realize that certain cycles seem never-ending because I actively choose to participate in these kinds of behaviours (accountability is sexy, huh?). While I’m not ready to face all my demons quite yet, it’s easier to do it with a nice wardrobe and a streamlined sense of mind.

Notes

*When I say black women, I mean ALL black women. Not some limited, cis-gendered, heteronormative view of what a woman is. Over here we ride for all those who identify as women.

**She emphasizes that she doesn’t actually means that it cured anything, but rather helped with her anxiety, and in turn, helped with her depression.

Links

That Family Guy Episode

The Kelly Stamps video

#cms #selfhelp? #consumerism