#Wood Fake Gaug

[garfunklefield]

can you do a full hunter/pray smut ; but with gojo!

?

Run Devil Run

18+ viewer discretion is advised

fem!reader/dom!Satoru Gojo Warnings: we actually have a dom gojo today, canon universe, hunter/pray, CNC, exhibitionism, biting, animalistic tendencies, dacryphilia, blow job, gagging, you're about to get chased in the woods by gojo on all fours at 4 AM xx Word count: 1759 DESC: Your boyfriend proposes something new and you, well, don't realize what you're getting into

This was heavily inspired by my post How Perverted Are The JJK Men? in the Toji section!

Satoru had given you an outline as to what exactly would happen, what location you’d meet at, and what would happen. 

You had been dating him for three years before he proposed something called CNC. You had heard about it but you never really thought he’d be the type to like that stuff. You didn’t want to admit it had piqued your curiosity too. The thought of him ravishing you and not stopping, even when you begged to, turned you on. So you agreed and the two of you worked on a list of guidelines, what to do and what not to. There were certain things off limits and your boyfriend was going to respect that, and you two even came up with a safe word. 

So don’t worry reader, all of this is consensual. 

You pulled up to the hiking trail at about 11:45 PM, fifteen minutes before it was to begin. You wore something you didn’t mind getting ruined. If it got ripped or covered in dirt you didn’t care. Your hair was up in a ponytail and you left your phone in the car. You wouldn’t need it. On foot, you traveled quietly in the darkness. The only thing illuminating your pathway was a rickety flashlight, a flashlight that would go off at any minute and leave you clueless. 

Then you heard it, a snap followed by loud breathing. He was there, he was so close you could practically smell him. And it scared you. Of course, not actually, but in the moment you felt a kind of psycho-sexual fear, being aroused by the fake danger in that moment. A large hand snaked around the back of your neck and pulled you to a large chest, making you shiver out of pleasure, “You have five minutes,” he whispered, warm breath brushing against your ear. Then your flashlight was taken from your sweaty palms and dropped on the ground. You gasped and began to struggle, trying to escape his grasp. It was no use. Satoru had always been stronger than you, although he’d never used his strength on you. “Remember… I can see your cursed energy. I can see … you,” his voice ghosted your neck and then he dropped you, using his other hand to push you into the dirt.

You turned your head around and he was gone. Nothing but a flashing flashlight peering out of the corner of your eye. You had five minutes to run as fast as you could before he caught up to you and did whatever the hell he wanted to you. Fear ran down your back and into your pussy, making you clench your thighs together. Of course, you both knew you would never be able to outrun him. You’d never be able to even see him coming. Your cursed technique wasn’t as strong as his- I mean, hello, he is the strongest! You could sense his presence even when he wasn’t near you, and it never wavered when he was far or close. So you couldn’t gauge where he was … at all. 

You got up and began to run, not bothering to grab that flashlight. All it would do would bring more attention to you than you needed. You pushed your way through the brush and bushes, trying to find somewhere to hide, somewhere he couldn’t see you. But he could see you. He could sense you. As he watched you, from floating above the forest. He watched your every move with a perverted and sick smile. Your fear turned him on. He wanted to hear you scream and beg him to stop as he continued to fill you with his seed, and then as he fucked it back into you. It had been a few minutes, and all you could hear was your racing heartbeat filling your ears and the sound of your heavy breathing.

You didn’t notice the figure slowly walking towards you, you could barely see your own hands in front of you. You didn’t notice him, how could you? He still had on that blindfold. That black blindfold that hid his icy orbs from the world. He was invisible in the darkness that surrounded the two of you. Then large hands grabbed your shoulders and began to wander, making it known you couldn’t hide now. You gasped and let out a scream, throwing your head back to try and get a good look at him. Nothing. You could see nothing. 

“Let go!” You whined, struggling against the hold he had on your shoulders, as they moved to suction against your waist. One arm anchored you to his front, while the other ran up to his blindfold. There you saw it. There you saw his eyes. Of course, you had seen them before, you were his girlfriend! But this was … terrifying. Satoru stared at you with a lust you had never seen before and it made your thighs clench together. There was a sense of unhinged admiration in his stare as well, eyeing you like a piece of meat. 

“I told you to run,” he whispered, causing a shiver to go down your neck. You pulled back, staring at his face. His eyes were the only thing you could see within the surrounding blackness. Not even his features, just his glowing eyes. You wanted so badly to kiss him and grind against his legs as he purred more sweet nothings into your ear, but you had to keep up this roleplay. So you began to struggle again, fighting to get out of his grasp. “I told you I’d find you, pretty…” He cooed, using his free hand to trail up your neck, caressing your jaw, “Now you’re mine.” 

And his teeth sunk into your neck. You inhaled sharply before sobbing uncontrollably when he continued to bite down. It hurt more than any love bite he had ever given you before, breaking your skin within seconds. You screamed in pain as he pulled back and you could hear him laugh… manically.

A terrified whimper escaped your mouth as he forced his onto yours. It wasn’t the type of kissing you and your boyfriend typically engaged in. This was forceful, not letting you breathe or even moan in pleasure. His tongue found its way inside your mouth and made a home there, invading your personal space and making you gag. You had never gagged in a kiss before, trying your hardest to pull away to catch your breath. But Satoru didn’t let you. Both hands were in your hair, grabbing fistfuls and forcing you to stay put. You pushed two hands against his chest and whined, your kissing getting weaker and weaker. You could barely keep up with the mouth-lock he kept you in, making you dizzy.

Then you realized, your hands weren’t on his chest anymore, they were hovering. How was that even possible? He was holding you yet his infinity prevented you from laying a finger on him. You gasped and turned your head, sucking down as much air as you could before Gojo forced your mouths together again. It hurt, it hurt so good. His tongue slid into your mouth again and you felt yourself gag again. You didn’t want to admit how utterly wet you had become. 

Satoru finally pulled away, grabbing your ponytail and forcing you onto the ground. You cried out as your knees buckled and dropped underneath you, finding yourself face-to-face with his cock. Had he been completely naked this whole time? You couldn’t see but you could feel it brush against your face, the precum smearing against your tear-soaked cheek. “Take it. Take it in your fucking mouth,” he spat, holding the shaft of his penis and hitting your cheek with it. You sniffed and opened your mouth. You hadn’t even finished opening it when he shoved his massive length inside. Instantly, his tip touched the back of your throat and you gagged, trying to pull your head back. But his hold on your ponytail was strong, using you like a fleshlight.

He thrust into your mouth as if you weren’t a living person with thoughts and god you loved it. Like the whore you were, you clenched your thighs together and rubbed them feverishly, trying to get off in some way or another. One of your hands trailed in between your thighs and began to rub quick circles around your clit, making you whimper as he mouth-fucked you like a sex object. It didn’t take your boyfriend long before his groans got louder and more consistent, giving you an audible warning he was getting close.

However, when he did cum he gave you no warning. You felt his thrusts get faster and as you gagged, he came, sending the cum hitting the back of your throat. You gasped and gagged again, trying your hardest to pull away and swallow it without choking. For once, he showed a sign of mercy and let go, letting you fall on your backside and gasp for air. Swallowing Satoru’s cum was fine, you’ve done it several times, so it didn’t take you long to recuperate. You coughed a few times and looked around, only hearing his breathing. That was the only sign he was even there, his eyes closed. “Baby…” Satoru whispered, now you could feel his presence crouched in front of you, “Are you okay? Was I too rough?” His voice was different, it had a remorseful edge, taking you out of the fantasy. You must have looked a complete and utter mess, or you sounded like you were dying there for a minute to him. But no, you were fine. Sure, he was being rough, but it turned you on so bad it was starting to make your pussy hurt. His hands delicately touched the sides of your face, cupping it. His eyes opened and you saw them stare back at you like a whole other person was in front of you. 

“...Do it again,” you mumbled, a smile appearing on your lips. Gojo blinked a few times before laughing, muttering something about how you had scared him there for a second. His hands trailed around your head and pulled you into a gentle hug, letting his body warmth take you from this steamy fantasy. 

“Maybe we should stop for today… I don’t want to keep hurting my precious girl…” Satoru purred into your ear, lightly stroking your hair, which was a huge mess. You nodded and closed your eyes, feeling safe in your loving boyfriend's arms.

#gojo saturo #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojo jjk #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jjk satoru #satorugojo #jujutsu satoru #x reader #x reader smut #smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #garfunklefield writing

[bigasswritingmagnet]

Stop. Talking.

Fandom: Girl Genius Pairing: Gil/Tarvek/Agatha Summary: Tarvek and Gil are perfectly happy sharing Agatha. They're getting along really well these days. Except...for some reason, all of a sudden, Gil just can't seem to stop insulting Tarvek. He's not even trying to do it! It's just like when he was trying to propose to Agatha-

Uh oh.

AO3 link

‘The consorts are fighting again.’

Agatha didn’t look up from the clockwork spread out on the workbench in front of her.

“They do that,” she said, distractedly.

‘In my experience, such restlessness is usually caused by particular needs going unfullfi-’

Without looking up, Agatha picked up a small death ray from a nearby stool and pointed it at a particularly pretty mosaic on the wall.

“What is my rule?” she asked, using her free to hand to rearrange the cogs.

‘My presence and opinion are unwelcome in the bedroom,’ the castle said, quickly.

“Correct,” Agatha said, and set the death ray back down.  “Don’t worry about it. Bantering is how they communicate.”

‘It seems a little one-sided for bantering…’ the castle said, uncertainly.

.

Gil’s plaintive calls fell on deaf ears as Tarvek stormed down the hallway.

“It was a compliment,” Gil insisted, hurrying after him.

“It was not,” Tarvek snapped, white-faced. “My family practically invented the art of devious, backhanded fake compliments so believe me, Holtzfӓller, when I say that that was an insult.”

Gil winced. Tarvek only made that particular nominal slip-up when he was really, really mad.

“Well, it was supposed to be a compliment!”

Travek entered his study and slammed the door shut so abruptly Gil nearly walked right into it. Gil opened the door and immediately ducked as a letter opener sliced by, directly where his ear would have been.

Gil stared in shock at the letter opener—apparently having been sharpened more than Gil felt was necessary for merely cutting paper—vibrating half-buried in the wood of the far wall.

“Were you trying to—”

Stars burst in his eyes as something heavy slammed into the back of his head.

“Ow!”

Rubbing the back of his head, Gil turned around and had just enough time to dodge volume 2 of the Encyclopedia Horrifica (which covered chanting, ominous through corn)

“Get! Out!”

“I’m trying to apologize!” Gil protested.

“No, you’re not!” Tarvek shot back. “You’re explaining to me why I shouldn’t be angry! That is not the same thing!”

“I—! Okay, fine! I’m sorry that you thought my compliment came across like an insult!”

He managed to avoid volume 3 (cosh through dzyzxs) but not volume 4, 5, or 6 (all of the letter E), which knocked him straight off his feet. Before Gil could rise, Tarvek slammed the door shut again. This time, Gil heard him lock it.

.

Agatha’s tongue stuck out in concentration as she picked up the fragile blown-glass bulb with the tips of her gloved fingers. Slowly, she lifted it up and set it in the gap between two pipes, holding it in place with one hand. With the other, she turned a dial, fraction by fraction, slowly increasing the pressure on the seal that would lock the whisper-thin—but extremely necessary—bulb into place.

Gil burst into the room with a crash of the door.

“You have to talk to Tarvek!”

Agatha didn’t even flinch.

“What did you do now?” she asked, keeping her eyes fixed on the task at hand.

“Wh-! Why do you think I did anything?” he demanded, indignantly.

“Because when he starts it, you have no problem finishing it. You only ever come to me when it’s your fault.”

“Wh-! You-! That-!” Gil sputtered.

“There!” Agatha said, as the pressure gauge clicked green. She locked the mechanism in place and stepped back, tugging off her gloves and looking at Gil.

“So. What did you do?”

“I gave him a compliment!” Gil said. “And he got mad at me!”  

Agatha gave him an I do not believe you look.

“We were talking about that big conference with the neighboring city states, and he made a couple of suggestions that were, y’know, Tarvek level sneaky.”

“Mm-hmm…”

“And I said…I don’t remember exactly what I said, but he asked me what I meant and I said we all know you’re a devious underhanded weasel, but this is the best double-crossing you’ve done since Sturmhalten’. And he—” Gil paused at the look on Agatha’s face. “What? It was a compliment! He managed to outplay the Other! That’s impressive!”

“He was also outplaying me!" 

Gil scoffed.

“Well, yeah, but I wasn’t talking about that.”

“You didn’t specify!”

“Why should I? We forgave him for that, he knows that!”

Agatha shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“He’s sensitive about it.”

Gil snorted.

“Yeah, no kidding.”

Agatha pointed back at the door.

“Go apologize.”

“But I didn’t do anything—!”

“You know what he’s like! He expects double meanings and power plays everywhere, all the time! You gave a compliment; he heard you trying to dig in the knife by reminding him of what he considers one of the worst things he’s ever done.”

Gil opened his mouth, outraged. Gil considered what Agatha had said. Gil closed his mouth.

“What is with you lately?” Agatha demanded. “It’s like every time I turn around you’ve said something stupid enough to make him go storming off—Gil?"

Gil had gone pale.

“Oh no,” he whispered.

“What? Gil, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Gil did not answer. He was staring into space, gazing at some unseen horror. Agatha took him by the shoulders and shook him.

“Gil!”

“It’s pathological,” he said, hoarsely. “It has to be. I thought it was just you, but no, this is, this is just what I’m like—”

“What are you talking about?” Agatha exclaimed. He lowered his head slowly to look at her, his eyes haunted and hollow.

“I’m in love with Tarvek.”

Agatha stared at him for a moment...then she put her hand to her mouth and let out a soft gasp. “Oh, it is pathological.”

“This is all my father’s fault,” he snarled, fists clenching. “All that work he put into protecting me and making me physically stronger and faster and he didn’t do anything that could save me from my own big fat mouth!” He collapsed forward, head on the workbench, arms flung over his head.

Agatha put her hands on his shoulders, patting reassuringly.

“I’m doomed,” Gil wailed.

“No, no, you’re not. Come on, Gil, you weren’t thinking about it before, but now that you know—”

“No!” Gil said, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. “Don't you understand? Tarvek and I hated each other for years! It took dying to get us to have a civil conversation, and now—!”

He clutched at his face, his imagination dancing nightmare scenarios before his eyes.

“I’m going to ruin everything,” he moaned. “I’m going to destroy everything we’ve built. You’re going to have to choose between us. When we have dinner he’s going to ask you to ask me to pass the salt because he won’t even want to talk to me enough to–Ack!”

Agatha spritzed him with the squirt bottle again.

“Stop that!” she said.

“You stop that!” he said, blinking water out of his eyes. “What is that?”

“It’s von Zinzer’s. He uses it when I start talking about dismantling the town for parts. Now listen to me.” She set the bottle down firmly and put her hands on her hips. “You are not going to ruin everything. You managed it with me, you can manage it with him.”

“Are you joking? We had to be trapped in the castle and almost permanently die about ten different times before you could trust me! And then we had all the–" Gil waved his hands around in a gesture that quite succinctly managed to sum up the overlay, his father freezing the town, two years of Agatha being missing in time, the collapsing empire, Martellus, Paris, England, god queens, inter-dimensional disasters, exorcism engines, and Martellus again. "–everything before we could be together!"  

"You and Tarvek were mad at each other for years, and it took you two days in the castle to get over it."

"By dying!"

'If you think it might help, I could always kill you again,' the castle suggested.

Without looking away from Gil, Agatha picked up the death ray and shot out a light.

"Gil, relax. You're overthinking this. Give Tarvek time to cool off, then go to him, and tell him you love him. No big explanation, just 'I love you'. You can do that, can't you?"

"Yes," Gil said. "I can do that."

He straightened up.

"I can do that," he said, confidently. Then he sagged "No I can't."

"Gil."

"I'll just start babbling! You know me! I'll open my mouth to say it and explanations will come out! Can't you tell him for me? He likes you." 

"He likes you, too!"

"But he doesn't love me!"

Silence.

Gil swallowed hard, his eyes going overbright.

"I can't tell him," he whispered. "Not when he doesn't...and he doesn't."

Agatha sighed, softly.

"Gil..." She picked up her gloves and began whacking him with them. "Are you joking? After everything you two have been through together? Of course he loves you! That's why he doesn't stab you when you're an idiot!" 

Gil caught the gloves and pulled them out of her hand.

"You don't know that!" he insisted.

"I absolutely do! You, me, and Violetta might be the only people in the world who really know Tarvek, and I hear the way he talks about you when you're not there–" She grabbed the gloves back and punctuated her statement with three solid whacks. "So I am telling you! With confidence! That he loves you!"

She pointed at the door.

"Now go think about what you're doing to say to him. Plan it out. Give him time to cool off. And then go tell him how you feel, or so help me Gilgamesh Wulfenbach, I will tell the Jӓgers you want their help."

.

Gil waited two days. Not because it took Tarvek two days to stop being mad at Gil, but because Gil was sure his nerves would eat him alive if he waited any longer. Tarvek had stopped leaving the room when Gil walked in, and Gil would just have to hope that that would be enough.

Tarvek was in the library, flipping idly through a book on poisons and occasionally making corrections in red ink. He didn't look up when Gil cleared his throat.

"I'm busy."

"I need to talk to you."

"Write me a note."

"Would you please just—" Gil sighed. "Just hear me out?"

Tarvek, every motion extremely pointed and deliberate, set the pen aside, slid the bookmark between the pages, shut the book, and gave Gil his full attention.

Gil's palms began to sweat.

“And let me actually finish, before you start yelling at me.” Gil said, and winced internally. No, that was much too rude, now Tarvek was narrowing his eyes and bristling. Quick, quick, the speech! You practiced the speech! What was the speech?

“The reason I've been so rude lately is because you—” No, no, no, no, you are NOT starting a love confession with it's your fault I'm insulting you. “I know I’ve been acting like an idiot lately—”

He paused, expecting Tarvek to make a comment, but Tarvek just raised his eyebrows.

“The thing is,” Gil said. “The thing is, I…” He took a deep breath. “I’m—”

“You’re in love with me,” Tarvek finished for him.

Gil’s jaw dropped.

“You knew?”

Tarvek snorted.

“Of course I knew. I knew months ago. It was so obvious.”

“It wasn’t obvious to me!” Gil blustered.

“Really? You didn’t notice that you’ve been acting exactly like you used to act around Agatha?”

“Eventually!” Gil sputtered. “So all of this being mad and throwing things at me, you were just winding me up?”

“No,” Tarvek said, plainly. “You were genuinely insulting and I didn’t see any reason to let you off the hook just because I knew why it was happening.”

Gil stared at him, and Tarvek’s mouth curled up into a smirk, the cat construct that ate the mutant canary.

"And I was winding you up."

Gil stared, speechlessly. Tarvek tossed his book onto the cushion beside him and stood. 

"Actually, I was kind of hoping you'd take longer to put it together—it’s fun watching you flail around.”

“I take it back,” Gil said, flatly. “I hate you. I hate you forever and ever and ever.”

Tarvek put his hand on the back of Gil’s head, and kissed him.

It was a very, very good kiss. Gil was relieved to find he enjoyed it exactly as much as he enjoyed kissing Agatha, which had been a concern, but then Tarvek put his arm around Gil and pressed in close and opened his mouth against Gil’s and that was about it for any sort of higher brain function for Gil for the remainder of the kiss.

“Um,” Gil said, finally. “You’re. Very good at that.”

“I am,” Tarvek said, sweetly.

“I still hate you.”

“Sure you do.”

#gilgamesh wulfenbach #tarvek sturmvoraus #agatha heterodyne #gil/tarvek/agatha #girl genius #gil/tarvek #gil/agatha #tarvek/agatha

[meshlasolus]

The Winner Takes It All

Episode 4

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Tribute(OC)!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Canon typical violence, mentions of bullying, Finnick being a warning again (for good reasons tho) Mentions of drowning, or fears of water. Mild mention of foreseeing death.

Chapter Summary: It's time to make allies. Being from a career district makes it a bit easier, at least it does if you don't say a word.

Word Count: 5.0k

Imagine being afraid of swimming pools lmaooo couldn't be me *internalizes my eight year old self's irrational fear of sharks in swimming pools*

“You climb a lot of ropes in four?” Rodey asked, but you shook your head, laughing it off. The group was impressed, or they seemed to be. The only odd one out was Estelle, still reeling from her failure to do what you had done.  The others continued to take turns, the boys scaling the rope much quicker due to their upper body advantages. They still slowed eventually, but all of them hit the buzzer. 

Four days left. 

In those four days, you would need to learn to swim, get your stutter under control, and convince the capitol that you were worthy of the sponsors they so generously endowed the tributes with. 

The day after the parade was slow. An introduction of sorts to the tribute center, and the other tributes. This is also very important, Finnick had said in the morning. A chance to make allies. 

You weren’t sure who would actually take you as an ally, but from what he told you, the careers stick together. 

“W-we aren’t careers,” you mumbled to Lukas when he brought it up to you in a whisper. You looked around, standing as tall as you possibly can, not giving anyone a reason to think you’re afraid of them. 

“Finnick said it doesn’t matter. As long as we can show them what we bring to the table, they’ll take us.”

So, that means districts one and two. The tributes are a fine group this year, all four are volunteers, eighteen years of age and strong in body. The female tributes look far more lethal than even the boys do. They have an anger in their eyes that is not easily missed. 

The two of you stop walking when you reach one of the outdoor preparation stations. You can build a fire, and you can pitch a temporary shelter… but there’s nothing wrong with refreshing your memory. So, while you sit, you look around to see what the others are doing, trying to gauge an impression of each of them. What is their physicality? How smart are they? Do they have other skills outside of wielding a weapon? 

It seems that Finnick was right about the other careers, they mostly practice what they are already good at, mainly just to intimidate those they see as their prey. It’s a horrible thing, and yet, you can’t help but think it’s a good idea. The more tributes that would rather stay away from you, the better. Of course, you figure, the reasoning for always keeping the careers together is somewhat like that, too. Keep the other tributes out in the elements long enough to die off, then the careers have a better shot at winning. It’s a rigged system, but it gives you a chance. 

“It looks like a fire to me,” Lukas said, his cheery smile of accomplishment drawing your eyes back from around the room. He blew on the wood a bit more, getting the embers to spark to life. 

You playfully warmed yourself against it, acting as if you were shivering in the coldness of this warehouse-like setting. 

“It f-feels like a fire t-to me,” you joked, standing up afterwards and giving him a hand up. You both quickly extinguished the flames on the ground, and started walking again. “Wish they had a l-lake, could’ve t-taught me how to fish.”

“Sorry, sweetheart… but it takes years to learn to fish as well as me.”

“I b-believe it.”

Coming up on another station surrounded by careers, you put on a fake smile, your shoulders back and your mouth closed shut to keep your confidence looming. 

“The sea creatures decided to join us,” the male tribute from two said. He was seemingly laid back, his relaxed smile and light-hearted joke had made you feel as though he could be trusted as an ally. He didn’t seem to harbor a secret ill-will towards you both as tributes. He probably firmly believed in the careers as allies rule, however unspoken it was. 

Lukas nodded, a small laugh escaping from both of you. “Didn’t wanna miss out on this party, it seems really interesting,” he replied, pointing up in front of him at the rope hanging from the ceiling, one of the female tributes trying her hardest to reach the top. None of the other female tributes had done so yet, but she was a career, and was very motivated. 

“Well, it would be if Estelle would ever reach the top!” The female tribute from two responded this time, her chuckle filling her words as they were shouted towards the other female career. 

“You’re just mad you didn’t make it up,” the male tribute said, nudging her in the arm. She gave him a playful look, and immediately, you understood they were close. Just like you and Lukas. He turned back to you both and offered a hand to shake for each of you. “I’m Copelin, this is Freeda, that’s Rodey, and up there is Estelle.”

“Nice,” Lukas reached out first to shake the other two’s hands, you followed after with a smile. “I’m Lukas, this is Mercedes.”

The group nodded back to you and looked back up to Estelle, but Rodey seemed stuck on you for a minute. 

“I saw you at the parade,” he tilted his head, remembering just exactly what you were wearing. “You had that swimsuit on, right?” 

You nodded again, an embarrassed laugh falling from your lips. Well, you thought, at least I made an impression. 

“It was hot,” he winked, getting a small shove from Copelin as a result. 

At that you ducked your head to hide the redness in your cheeks. He seemed like he might have been kidding, but maybe he wasn’t. You did, after all, have the most revealing outfit at the parade. It was bound to happen that comments like these would fly about. You weren’t so sure you minded it anymore.

Rodey was still staring at you when you looked back up. He was cute, nice and tall, with wispy blonde hair… He had pretty hazel eyes, too. 

You hadn’t looked away from one another, completely ignoring the conversation happening amongst your new colleagues. They kept on, ranting about, until Estelle’s sudden drop to the ground interrupted. She’d let go maybe ten feet above ground, catching herself in a squat on her feet. She seemed angry, and the reasoning lied in the conversation you missed. 

“Told you so,” Copelin shook his head, hands on his hips and a slanted look on his face. 

Estelle turned to face the group with a fire in her eyes. “You know damn well that you’re the reason my hand still hurts.”

He whistled low, catching her death glare towards him with a smirk of his own. She rolled her eyes then fell in line with the group. 

“Why don’t you go then, huh? Show us all how it’s done,” she went beside him and shoved, hearing the group chuckle a bit when she used enough force to make him stutter step over his own toes. 

“Nuh uh, rules are still ladies first.”

“And we went,” she argued, her anger falling off a little and turning more into a salty annoyance. 

“Got one more,” Rodey nodded over to you, and you hesitated, feeling all eyes now shifting to your form, staying still and trying to avoid confrontation by all means. You pointed to yourself and asked with only your eyes if they were meaning you, and of course they were… you were just stalling. Your hands did rather good with rope, having woven several nets, and carried several boxes in your career as a loader. Your calloused and worn hands were practically made for this sort of thing, however stupid it was. Maybe this could give you a leg up on some of the competition. 

“You gonna go?” Freeda asked encouragingly, while Estelle stomped her foot impatiently on her other side. 

You took a deep breath and started climbing, the bottom several feet being an easy obstacle to overtake. The shoes you wore made it a bit harder to grip the rope between your feet, but you replied mostly on your hands and arms, trying to have them carry you to the top. It was about the upper middle of the rope when the burning started to settle in, the redness of your palms spreading to the sides of your hands for you to see. Still, you didn’t give up, you just went slower, trying to ignore the calls from the ground. They were mostly just taunts from the boys, anyway. You were only a few feet from the top when you had to pause, taking deep breaths and trying not to let go of the rope entirely. You wrapped your legs around the rope, letting go with one hand at a time in order to give them a shake into the air. 

“She’s not gonna make it,” Copelin mumbled, looking up at how close you were, but how much you were struggling. You had maybe five feet to go, but you were stuck. 

“Wanna bet?” Lukas looked to the boy beside him with a smirk, fully knowing your capabilities, but maybe overestimating you, even just for the sake of it. He didn’t want anyone here to think that there was something you could not do. He was going to be your greatest ally in hiding your secret. 

“Given that you know her better, not really.”

You sighed, realizing that if you didn’t at least try to make it past this point, you’d be a quitter. Who cares if you fall? You’re gonna die in a few days, anyway… might as well take a risk and speed up the process.

You reached up again, pulling with all your might, reaching one hand in front of the other and finally pushing with your feet to hit the small buzzer implanted to the ceiling. You clung back to the rope, starting to climb down, sliding most of the way due to the muscle exhaustion you just induced. When you hit the ground, they all seemed to be in agreement on something, but you couldn’t possibly know what it was. 

“You climb a lot of ropes in four?” Rodey asked, but you shook your head, laughing it off. The group was impressed, or they seemed to be. The only odd one out was Estelle, still reeling from her failure to do what you had done. 

The others continued to take turns, the boys scaling the rope much quicker due to their upper body advantages. They still slowed eventually, but all of them hit the buzzer. 

You watched on, trying to listen in on what each of them said while doing so. You were completely oblivious to the holes that Estelle was burning into your head with her stare. She was the district one female. She was the pick of the litter. She volunteered, and had been hoisted to the favorites list as soon as she did… but then at the parade yesterday. You outshined her… and today, you proved you were stronger. You were better. You had a more likely chance to receive sponsors, and you were more likely to win over another female tribute. And given that the boy from her district had taken a liking to you, she doubted she could convince him to off you for her. And the boy from four… he looked like he’d do nearly anything to protect you. It wasn’t fair. She was supposed to be the top pick… but here you came. Not even volunteering, just having been reaped from the crowd. You’d never spoken a word to her, or anyone else in the group for that matter, and she already hated you more than anyone ever had. The worst part? You are technically a career district, so she has to pretend to like you. She has to ally with you and act like you don’t bother her to immense lengths. She has to make camp with you, share weapons with you, and kill others before getting to kill you. And that’s really all she’s thinking about right now. Killing you.

-

The sparring mats were constantly filled, because obviously, combat training was the most desired by the other districts. The ones who are not trained or prepared otherwise. They need it the most, want to learn it the most. 

You found yourself there at the end of the day, waiting in line on the female tribute mat. Two others went at it, a girl from eight and a girl from eleven. They both seemed like they had an idea of what they were doing, but they both were equal in strength, and didn’t seem to be making any ground in any attack they faced. Finally, the girl from eleven had sneakily grabbed onto the ankle of the other while she was bent down, and pushed with all her might to take her down. She bashed her elbow into the side of her opponent, placing the strike and winning the match. The attendant of the mat awarded eleven the victory, and then it was your turn to step onto the mat. 

It was a girl from seven, and you stood her down, trying to have the confidence from before flow through your veins. She looked strong, and her shoulders squared up, her hands raising in defense. You copied her movements, but didn’t attack first. She had expected you to, but you didn’t really know what you were doing. You’d not been trained for this. 

After waiting long enough, she came at you, watching you back up, she was confused… you were a career, weren’t you? Why did you back away? She tried it again, and you stood your ground this time, but had been engaged. She wrapped her arms around your middle, trying to use her own weight to drag you down. You didn’t sink, but instead pushed back, your strength easily taking her over, especially since she wasn’t expecting it. You had her down, but you technically had to make a strike for it to count as a win. You raised a fist, aiming towards her chest, but then stopped. What were you doing? You’d never hurt someone like this before… You promised yourself you weren’t going to change, but here you were, the circumstances completely unnecessary, and you’re about to punch a girl that’s trapped beneath you. You haven’t even set foot in that arena and already you’re different from the nonviolent and innocent girl you were before you got on that train. You’ll be completely corrupted by the time the first canon goes off if you don’t stop yourself.

So you stop yourself.

 You get up off of her, and help her up, not caring if a victory is awarded or not. This isn’t the games. And you’re not here to make enemies. She doesn’t say a word, she just nods to you and walks away. You do the same, running off to find Lukas and the rest of the careers. As it would happen, they weren’t far. 

Surrounding the corner of the mat, they had been watching you, arms crossed as they listened to the words of Estelle. You can’t understand what it is, but she seems to not enjoy anyone’s company, and you don’t think she’s fond of you at all. You don’t blame her for being bitter, this whole thing is a cause to be bitter, but you wished she did a better job at hiding it like the rest of you. Besides, she’s district one, wasn’t she supposed to like these games? Wasn’t she supposed to be thriving in her element?

“Mercedes Blythe,” she scoffed, looking at the others and chuckling before turning back to you with a mocking expression. “More like Mercy Blythe.”

The others chuckled a bit, but only because they assumed it was a joke. They had all been in a joking mood, so to have anything break that was not predicted. 

“No real harm done until the arena, I respect it,” Copelin said, reaching his fist towards you for you to bump yours against it. You did sheepishly, ducking your head as you stepped off the mat and into the group. 

“She’s probably just hiding her secret skills,” Rodey nudged you, his smile a nice contrast from the sneer you’d received from Estelle. “Ain’t that right, Mercy?”

“She’s got more to her than meets the eye,” Lukas responded on your behalf, just like he’s done all day. 

It’s common knowledge by now that you don’t like to speak, whatever the reason is, they don’t really dwell on it. They just ignore that fact and have a good time anyway. The careers seem to be the only ones enjoying themselves, as it were. They feel the most prepared, they sometimes forget they’re here to die.

Maybe that’s why they’re happier. They know that they have done everything in their own power to prepare themselves, so they won’t waste their last days sulking. 

“I think it’s time to wrap up,” Freeda notices the attendants ushering tributes away from certain stations, letting the lines finish up before closing the facility. Since you all are standing around, you make your way to the exit, letting the woman with a tablet check you all out. 

The careers go their separate ways, and you sigh in relief after turning down a hall. 

“That wasn’t so bad,” he said, even though he was probably more tired and worn than you were. You both had visited nearly every station you could, working on your strengths and weaknesses alike, in order to gain the upper hand. Finnick’s advice would pay off, but it would cost you both a sore muscle or two. “You did good.”

“Thanks,” you were happy that no one had found out about your stutter yet. You figured that was a step for another day of training. Maybe it would even be a good idea to hold off until it was absolutely necessary. Like the interviews. Those would be coming up soon. You didn’t even want to think about those. “A-and also, for helping m-me talk.”

He knew what you meant, Thank you, Lukas… for being my voice when I’m so scared to use my own. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

-

Dinner was short, and neither Finnick nor Arbin bothered to show up. Mags signed an excuse to you, about them taking care of some things, but it was far too vague to be believable. You didn’t fuss about it, going upstairs after and looking to get ready for bed. They had set out a beautiful pair of silken pajamas for you on the bed, the fabric being an icy blue in color. It nearly matched the light color of the walls in your room. 

You were about to change when came a knock on the door. 

“C-come in.”

And when the door opened, Arbin let himself in, a sneaky smile on his face. 

“Hello, dearest,” he waltzed in, holding something of a black fabric in his hands. “I bring good news. We may have found a solution to your swimming debacle.”

He held out to you a black one piece swimsuit and clapped his hands. 

“As it turns out, it’s not against the rules for a mentor to privately book the pool area.”

You sighed. You were so tired. Perhaps this would have been a better idea tomorrow… but tomorrow is testing day. You suppose that tonight is as good a night as any to try and get into the water. 

You gently took the material from him, thanking him under your breath before kicking off your shoes. 

“Once you’ve changed, go into the west wing pool on the first floor. Finnick is waiting for you,” he finished his information ramble and bid you goodnight, giving a smile and a nod before leaving and closing your door. 

You fell back onto your bed in exasperation before doing as he said. 

It was colder at night, and the swimsuit made it more evident. You had your arms around yourself as you searched the first floor, careful not to make your way into the district one housing. You didn’t want to accidentally run into Estelle and have her cut off your head prematurely. 

When you found the pool, you relaxed a bit, or at least you did until you turned the corner. Your steps slowed when you saw the water. The shallow end read four feet, and the deep end read twelve. 

He’d already been in the water, doing laps as he waited for you to come down. The splashing and sloshing of the water imitated small waves, and it scared you. He wouldn’t let you drown, you know that, but you didn’t trust yourself to even step into the pool. It was too intimidating, and every memory came rushing back, trying to hold you from taking another step… but then he appeared at the edge of the pool, breaking you out of your trance. He leaned up on his elbows, holding himself on the concrete to look at you, scared as hell. His eyes were calming though, the sea green and the long wet lashes they peered through. 

He shook his head to rid himself of some of the water, looking back to you and this time speaking. 

“You coming in?” 

You hadn’t dropped your arms from their place of security around your body. It was far too alarming to even be in a room with this much open water. 

“I-I don’t want t-to.”

“Too bad,” he hoisted himself up and out of the pool, taking a step towards you, only for you to take two steps back. “Do you trust me?” 

“I would s-say yes, but I t-think it’s a trap.” 

He rolled his eyes, holding a hand out to you. You looked at him honestly, showing your distrust but also sheer anxiety. He still held it out, and would likely not drop it until you took it. 

“I won’t let anything bad happen, I swear.” His eyes told the truth, and so did his words. He’s your mentor, he’s trying to help you. 

“Okay,” you took his hand, letting him drag you closer to the water. He noticed you became unmoving when he dropped down onto the first pool step. 

“We’re gonna take it slow, yeah? One step at a time.”

You nodded, letting out your inhaled breath and trying to let yourself relax. His job is to help you, he won’t hurt you. 

Your hand shook within his as he pulled you to step onto the first level, and then the second, lastly, letting you stand on the third. The water was to your mid thigh, and it was cold. Not quite like the ocean, but cold enough to send chills all over your body. He let you stand there, getting accustomed to the feeling of the water before tugging gently at your hand again. 

He tried pulling you off the last step, where the water would rise above your hips, but you snatched your hand away, unable to take the last leap without that horrid tightness in your throat and the threat of panic in your chest. 

“Hey, look at me,” he took your hand back, not pulling yet, but just gaining your attention. “You wanna hear a joke?”

You understood right away that he was attempting to ease the tension you held, and you wanted more than anything to lose it, but even the thought of that was strange and foreign. You made up your mind. You’d agreed to this, and you had come down to the pool. You had to try and cooperate. 

You nodded, keeping your eyes on him and trying to ignore the subtle pressure of the water that completely overtook your legs. Should they get swept from under you, you’re certain you’ll never touch water higher than that of a bathtub ever again. 

“Why is the ocean so friendly?” He asked, momentarily unfocused as he sank you further into the water. You complied, stiff and anxious as the water got higher with the last step. You kept your breathing even, and avoided looking at the small sloshes against your body from the movement. 

“Why?” 

“Because it waves,” he chuckled. He genuinely thought it was funny, which was ultimately the thing you found amusing. You laughed too, feeling more relaxed by his help. 

“That’s t-terrible,” you muttered, but he caught you in a giggle, so obviously he felt that your statement wasn’t true. 

“If it was terrible you wouldn’t be laughing.”

“I’m laughing at y-you.”

“Sure you are.”

He didn’t mention the fact that you were now several inches deeper in the water, nor that he was slowly dragging you along until the water was around your shoulders. 

“T-tell me another o-one.”

He nodded, trying to think his best and come up with something. He smiled with a ducked head before looking back up, smirking to you before he tried it out. 

“Why is the beach so confident?” 

“Why?” 

He had to try not the laugh while delivering the punchline. He didn’t even find it that funny, but he was struggling to hold it together, just because of how stupid it sounded. 

“Because it’s always one hundred percent shore.”

You had to fight to urge to roll your eyes. Who taught him these? He couldn’t have come up with them on his own, you refused to believe that… but they weren’t so bad, and you found it endearing that he was attempting to soothe your nerves about the water- The water!

You looked around you and realized how deep you’d gotten, arms flailing back in an attempt to pull you back to shallower waters. You almost lost control when you felt a hand at the small of your back, stopping you from getting away. 

“Hey, hey,” He grabbed your arm with his other hand, rubbing small circles over it to try and calm your erratic breathing. You had tears coming back to your eyes, the fear of being held beneath this water at the front of your mind. It was all you could think about. All you could feel. The memory of your lungs burning made it even harder to breathe, but he grabbed under your chin, trying to make you reach his eyeline. “It’s okay, just breathe. You’re okay, don’t worry.” 

You saw the sea green again, and it made the water seem less scary. The feeling of it around you was still evident, but more peaceful, less restraining. His eyes were the color of the waters back home, and those were much more harsh and dangerous than this. You took deeper breaths, slower and in time with him. 

“That’s it, see?” He was unsure of how good of an idea this had been. Why was he doing all of this anyway?

Well, he reminds himself, if you want a victor, this is the special work that goes into it.

Except it’s not. Because, understand, he already has the perfect shot at a victor. Lukas is strong, smart, handsome, and good at making friends. He shows much promise, not only in his physical skill, but in his wit. People in the capitol could quite literally start betting on him if they wanted to, but Finnick can’t do that. 

Of course, the question that begs to be asked is… why not?

Finnick is selfish. It’s why he promised himself a victor in the first place, knowing the cost it comes at. He’s competitive, and it stands to why he’s still alive, and not trapped in the memory of the sixty-fifth arena. Most of all, Finnick has chosen a favorite this year, regardless of skill or wit, and it isn’t Lukas.

You’re an excellent tribute, too. He knows it. He sees the strength and intelligence. He sees the hesitant will of someone who understands what they are fighting for. Not fighting to win, not fighting for the attention and glory, but fighting to live. 

If only he can fix this one problem, maybe the other will sort itself out. You’re quite charming, and rather sweet. He deems it very possibly that the stutter may go unspoken about as long as the cards are played right. 

“That’s good, you’ve got it.”

The more steps you took forward, the closer you were to being submerged, but he wasn’t going to let you sink. His hand still on your back had stayed in the same spot, just for safety and for comfort. Your hands grabbed at his forearms now, taking steps of your own without his lead, until you were as low as you could get without swimming. 

“I c-can’t swim yet,” you told him, and he nodded, already proud of how much progress had been made, considering Lukas told him you hadn’t gone above two inches of water in years. 

“That’s alright.” He shook his head, completely silencing any doubts you had. He was helping you, not forcing you. He did have an idea, though. “You wanna go for a ride?”

Your face screwed up in confusion, until he turned his back to you, bending his knees to get lower. You thought it childish at first, but didn’t hesitate after that. What could possibly be considered childish anymore? Anything fun from this point forward would be just that. Fun, that distracted from the reason you were here, from the reason you even stood in this water. 

Climbing onto his back, hooking your arms over his shoulders, you felt calm, but happy. He swam forward, taking you into deeper water, but you never sank beneath the surface. Your laugh echoed in his ears every time his head was above the water, and he enjoyed the sound. It was pleasant, and so were you. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he actually bonded with a tribute. Not as just a mentor, but as a friend. He was young, but sometimes forgot it was okay to still make friends. In this line of work, people come and go. He hopes he can keep his promise to himself, and he prays that it will be in the way he wants. 

“My own p-personal seahorse,” you exclaimed, enjoying the slight splashes of mist around your arms every time he paddled further. 

“Is that all I am, now?” He said in a mockingly sad tone, setting you down once the waters were shallow enough to stand in comfortably. “Could’ve sworn I was a famous victor.”

“That was y-years ago, t-times are changing.”

“How sad. I guess you’re gonna be the next big thing then, huh?” 

“Guess-so.”

And now he wants more than anything for it to not be a joke. 

-

tags(open): @thepassionatereader @i-voluntears @secretsicanthideanymore @mystargirl-interlude @c4ttheart @lilibrn

#finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick odair x oc #finnick odair #thg finnick #sam claflin x reader #sam claflin #thg #the hunger games

[birdsaretoddlers]

OKAY SO. first chapter got an overhaul and i finished the second chapter, so i'm reposting both to. more or less gauge interest? thank you to everyone who's been so nice

Red Vixen Returns! After what appears to have been a two year hiatus, famed cat burglar ‘Red Vixen’ has struck again, this time taking a stab at Overeasy Industries! Newest reports claim that the Phosphoril Rose was stolen last night out of its exhibit at the Museum of Earth Sciences. The CEO of Overeasy Industries has promised that any information that leads to the recovery of the artifact will be rewarded handsomely-

“Turn that off, would you, Vette?”

The television cycled off the news and on to a different news station, then more news, and finally, a gossip tabloid that, again, was covering the news. With a disgruntled hock in her throat, the bartender tossed the remote onto the countertop, unable to escape chippy newscasters with dead eyes and fake cheer. “If you can find any channel not showin’ that, you’re welcome to it.”

The remote spun over the scarred and heavily-lacquered wood. The man at the bar stopped it with the hand not currently holding his glass, tapped the channel buttons a few times, and eventually settled on golf. The tournament lasted for all of fifteen seconds, but then the breaking news bled overtop of it, too. He finally turned the whole system off instead.

“Don’t know what you were expecting, Mars. It’s Overeasy. They’ve bought almost every station we get out here.”

“Mm,” said Mars. “Can’t hurt to try.”

“Awfully hopeful, coming out of you. Careful, someone might just try to steal that off ya.”

Knocking back the remnants of his drink, he set his empty glass an inch over the invisible line on the bartop, begging for a refill. “Welcome to it. Not sure who I lifted it from myself.”

Vette smirked and pulled a pair of dirty bottles from the rack behind her, grey hair tied out of her face with a black leather cord. “Probably the Valentines, if I had to guess. Julio’s always got some to spare.”

“Julio’s full of spare parts. His brother and his sister in law aren’t much better.” Mars waited patiently as Vette offloaded old stock into his cup, then took it back with two fingers. “Dunno why you let your boy run around with ‘em. Gang types, through and through.”

Vette shrugged her shoulders and replaced the liquors to the shelf, sending up a puff of dust as she did. “Who cares where they came from? Keeps him out from underfoot. Better he go knocking over trash cans with them three than the neighborhood boys. At least the Valentines know how to handle a weapon.”

Mars gave his head a slight, acquiescent tilt. “Just thought you’d stay away from cats that reek of a family, that’s all.”

Vette leaned over the bar with one arm, gesturing at the establishment, as much as it could be called that, with the other. “Hey, here at the Dog, everyone’s family as long as they leave their guns at the door. Doesn’t matter who killed who, what corp fucked over the next, anyone that wants a drink or somethin’ to eat can get it. As long as they have the money to pay and don’t spill bad blood within two feet of the doorstep, that is.”

That was true. This dive was the only place that was truly neutral in the entire town. The bartender, her husband and the entire waitstaff looked and acted like they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot you, so nobody dared cause any trouble within the doors of the Sighthound. Otherwise called ‘the Dog’, by anyone who had been here more than once. The walls, floors, even the tables were stained with the arguments of generations of enemies who had come together to dine as strained equals, along with a hefty dose of grime. Smoke hung low in the air, mixing with the rank scent of desperation. The opened front door only did so much to clear it out, but hey, if having health insurance was mandatory, why not get your money’s worth and take a deep breath of the carcinogens?

Mars removed his hat to fan it under his nose. He couldn’t smell the ethanol of his drink through this haze. Vette rolled her eyes, made a comment about his failing constitution, and wandered off without waiting for him to bite out a retort. “Sure, sure. Have to be the one born this minute to start anything here. You’d have ‘em cozyin’ up with a colander in a second.”

“Damn right.” Vette turned the television on again, though Mars hadn’t seen her swipe the remote out from under his sleeve. The ‘breaking’ nature of the news bulletin had faded, golf proceeded apace. She pulled a face and started scrolling for anything else. Mars sipped his highball and did not, though tequila rose was not a proper ingredient no matter what old swill Vette was trying to cycle through the inventory tab. “That’s why we say two feet away from the door. Gives us enough time to close it before we start gettin’ stains on the hardwood.”

With a subtle glance behind him, Mars studied the floors. It was hard to tell there was wood under the inch of grit and mud, but he’d take her word for it, as there was nobody else to ask. They were almost alone here. The ‘enforcers’ that were the Valentines were playing babysitter, the owner of the bar was shut up in his office, and who drank at two o’clock on a Tuesday? Other than him, of course.

Vette leaned around him, blue eyes a-blinking as the watery light in the windows grew dark with the shadow of a car. “Oh, that’s gotta be the lunch order. Hold that thought, Capone.”

Him, and the guy that just walked in the door.

“Loooonng gone, sweetheart,” he hummed, in a tone that might have been sing-song if Mars had the capacity for that. Instead it approached something like a half-assed croak, which was good enough for his purposes. It had been a long time since he’d sang anything, and the rust shaking off his vocal cords caught in his throat, making him cough up an ah-hem! to clear it.

The lunch order stranger that wandered in didn’t say anything, which wasn’t unusual. Most patrons of the Sighthound tried not to acknowledge the others, like a gaggle of cats sharing a particularly small bedspread. He wore a plain, unmarked suit, a hat pulled low over his eyes, devoid of any personality. Walking with an economical gait that was silk-smooth and too precise, he went to post up in the corner under the long since faded ‘ORDERS’ sign. Like any good customer who was interested in a lead-free liver, Mars ignored him utterly.

Vette had disappeared into the kitchen to fetch the doggy boxes herself. With the Valentines gone, off to play with Thompson, extra hands were in short supply. No waitress to ferry orders from the back, no pair of whackouts on the stage, doing an absurdist comedy routine or noodling around on an instrument or three. Such was the price to pay, when a small prince took a liking to someone. And in this city, the Vicinatos were royalty.

Well, maybe more like small, local lords, but the sentiment was the same.

Mars rested his head on his fist and circled his finger around the rim of his glass, mouth revolting at the idea of drinking another drop of the wallpaper paste Vette had poured for him. Drinks were half price, as long as he was fine with getting the overstock, or the specialty liquors that nobody wanted past the special occasion they were ordered for. That was how he ended up drinking vile concoctions such as ‘tequila rose’, which sounded nice on the surface until the liquid that poured out of the opaque bottle was pink rather than, oh, any other acceptable tequila color. Clear, for example. It looked like and had the mouth feel of a melted strawberry milkshake mixed with paint.

But, half price. Mars braved the chalky waters again and tried not to taste them. Not having a great sense of smell helped with that. If he added actual chunks of strawberry to it, the drink might not have been half bad. Chilling it would’ve really been a swell idea, too. Vette came out from the kitchen and Mars watched her hand over the towering stack of brown paper boxes to the stranger, who gave her a little nod.

He picked up his glass as she trotted back over, happy to while away the hours with him, as long as he kept drinking garbage. Mars gave it a little wiggle, ignoring the not-water consistency of the liquor. “Shouldn’t this be in the fridge?”

“Why, you gettin’ picky now?” Vette turned, plucked the bottle off the shelf, flicked her reading glasses down over her eyes from atop her tight, fluffy curls. “Hmm… Yeah, refrigerate after opening. You’re right. Guess you’re taking it home with you. Don’t have space back there.”

He did not want to take this home with him. “Whatever I don’t drink, dump it.” Mars rolled his tongue in his mouth, felt a film on it, grimaced. “Scratch that. Dump it now. Not even I’m gonna go back for another round.”

Whistling, Vette rolled her eyes. “You are getting picky! Can’t afford that out here, buddy.”

“I know that.”

“I’m sure you do, Mars.”

Mars leaned back on his barstool. He was going to try for something snide, slick, along the lines of what he might’ve said a decade ago. Instead, he opened his mouth and felt his shoulder get caught and yanked aside. Alarmingly, the chair screeched as it threatened to capsize and dump him out of it. In a scramble, he grabbed the bar and pulled himself upright, nails clawing the layers of varnish off in yellowing spirals. Something crashed wetly behind him, and Mars sank down into his shoulders, ears heating as he peered around to see what had happened.

He’d tipped into the poor guy who was just trying to get his lunch. The stranger ended up eating splinters, laid out flat on the floor, nose to the so-called hardwood. The doggy boxes had gone up in smoke, or rather, a myriad of pastas and sauces. Vette started cursing about her precious hardwood again, how hard the tomato paste was going to be to clean, that it would never come out. Cringing, Mars slid out of his seat, his arm smarting from the impact. The other man was silently stewing in the puddle Mars had accidentally created. His suit was ruined. His meal was ruined. His afternoon was ruined.

If Mars made it out of this without getting punched, it would be a happy day for all. Crouching and feeling his knees pop in protest, he offered the stranger a hand.

“Sorry, pal, I didn’t see ya there. Let me pay for your food, it’s the least I can… Oh.”

Oh.

He’d been right. That guy didn’t move right because he wasn’t a guy. The cold, dead eyes of an automaton peered up at him from under his stiff-brimmed hat. Mars felt something inside of him twist, under all the boozy cream.

“Quit your yakkin’,” he tossed over his shoulder at Vette, who stopped the instant she heard his tone, just as flat and lifeless as the machine. “We’ve got a bot.”

“A bot?” Neck craning to get a better look, Vette popped her lips. “Well shit, so we do.”

Mars helped the automaton back to its feet. It whirred and clicked, head jerking on a neck only made for minor motion. Not one of the especially lifelike ones, then. Its jaw worked but did not open, suggesting a lack of capacity for speech. Or emotion, though it was doing its best to pantomime dull confusion, like a dog seeing a magic trick. Completely at a loss for a situation outside of its programmed, day-to-day operations. At least it didn’t immediately resort to violence, like some of the crasser ones. Its outfit probably cost more than the bot itself, and bots weren’t cheap to begin with.

Most of them possessed basic learning ability and problem-solving skills, so in the interest of fair communication and a hefty dose of belief in miracles, Mars set both of his hands on its shoulders. He spoke slowly, clearly, enunciating his words so they would be easy to parse for a language model that was caught in the stone age.

“I’m going to pay for your meal,” he told it, indicating the splattered boxes all over everything in a five foot radius. Including him, he’d gotten ala vodka all over his slacks when he kneeled down in it to get the robot up. “Your bosses’ meal. Whoever’s it is. Where is he at.”

It stared at him blankly, the words stringing together into a sentence, then being fed into whatever neural networking it had. One piece of information, one command, two things that weren’t relevant to it. After a moment of processing, fake eyelids making a soft tik sound as they moved on an interval, it raised an arm to point straight outside. Mars nodded and released the bot. “Thanks.”

He turned to make good on his promise, but Vette rapped her knuckles on the bar to get his attention. “Don’t,” she hissed when Mars looked back. “You don’t want anything to do with what’s out there.”

“Why?” Came the question. He looked to the door again, trying to pick up what had spooked her through the small sliver of natural light it provided. There was a simple black limousine, idling in the street, and… That was all. Mysterious black limos were essentially part of the biodiversity in Tos Vardens. As natural as a pigeon, and just as plentiful. Nothing to be afraid of, most of the time. Mars arched an eyebrow. “Just another car, Vette. And the bot isn’t all that nice. Sorry,” he apologized to the bot.

The bot, incapable of feeling offended, did nothing.

“Why?” Vette repeated angrily. “Because I’ve got a bad feeling about this one. The whole setup reeks of a corp, Capone. Just send the bot back out there. I’ll refund the bill and call the number they used to order, tell them the kitchen’s overworked. Hopefully they’ll just go away.”

Pulling his lapels to secure his overcoat, Mars retrieved his hat from where it had been set on the countertop. “Yeah, well, maybe you can just sit by, Vette, but I’ve got enough morals left to fix my fuck-ups.”

He ignored her scathing, worried stare burning a hole into his shoulders as he ambled to the exit, pausing just outside the square of dim light where the pale sun shone in. “‘s what I’ve been trying to do for the last ten years, anyway.”

Then he set his trillby back on his head and braved the world outside, off-putting black limousines and all.

—

Emerging from the lusterless, muted world of the Sighthound, the outside seemed like a flashbang being fed directly to him on a mirrored plate. Mars squinted. This was why he tried to stay inside during the daytime. Even through the perpetual cloud cover, the sunlight still hurt his eyes. People smarter than him claimed it used to be brighter, that it wasn’t meant to be so dull. In his opinion, it was still plenty bright enough. He wasn’t sure how he spent days at a time in the great outdoors in his youth. He’d been out here a scant few seconds, and already craved the comforts of his barstool.

Tos Vardens was an old town, even by today’s standards. A monorail rattled in the distance, the scaffolding that held up the tracks curving over buildings of dubious habitability. Everything here was covered in a fine layer of age and silt, reflecting its citizens. The mayor eight years ago had tried to start an initiative to clean up the town, then run off with the donations and tax money collected for the job. 

Nobody had been too put out by it. Or shocked.

The mayor in power now at least pretended not to be corrupt, but his grift was more well-hidden than most. It wasn’t cynicism or nihilism to say so, merely experience and enough time spent in reality. Everyone in Tos Vardens used whatever power they had to grab for more, an ouroborus of taken advantages and burned bridges. Made the tourism push more laughable than most, unless a guided tour of brick squares passed for sightseeing in the current climate. Mars wouldn’t know. He hadn’t left the city since he’d moved in.

The engine of the black limousine gave a short cough. Mars rubbed his nose with his hand, hunched his shoulders, and walked towards it. Slowly though, presenting himself as non-threateningly as possible, keeping his fingers well away from his pockets much as they wanted to jump in. People in this town tended to be tetchy, quick with their triggers, and he’d like to buy himself at least a minute before whoever was inside capped him for the audacity of being alive too close to them.

Unsurprisingly, the car had black-tinted windows, too thick and dark to see through. That proved Vette’s theory that it was a corp car. Most common folk couldn’t afford bulletproof glass, but Mars could pick out the layers of laminate sandwiched between the vinyl in the frame. Mars leaned down, hands on protesting knees, and knocked his knuckle against the window, twice.

“Hey, pal, I kinda knocked into your bot and spilled your food. Real sorry. I’m gonna pay for it, but you might have to wait a while for the order to get remade.”

Nothing. No movement from inside the car. Mars could see his reflection in it, and he hoped the circles under his eyes weren’t really that dark, though it wouldn’t improve much if they weren’t. At one point, he might have been roguishly handsome. Nowadays, he needed a shave and a solid night’s sleep. Maybe several. Couldn’t hurt. The only thing that stood out about him were his eyes, flat chips of amber that were wasted on a guy like him. A girl deserved those.

The car remained silent. Mars shifted his weight on his ankles, not quite anxious, and too disinterested to be unnerved, but decidedly uncomfortable. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Uh… Hello? You hear me? I said I was sorry-”

The window began to lower, with a soft, mechanical chirring sound. Mars wasn’t quite sure what he expected when it got to the bottom-

But a pistol in his face was woefully high on the list.

His heart jammed up into his throat, but was promptly snuffed out by the tequila and too much experience with this kind of thing. The gun was nicely made, well cared for and shimmering in the light. Pearl handled and connected to a slender arm, covered in a silk glove and linked to a woman who wasn’t even looking at him. A corp, forever shackled to the phone in her hand. The driver was another bot, who’s lack of attention was less insulting.

Right. Mars used the back of his pointer finger to push the barrel aside, not roughly, telegraphing his intent even if its owner wasn’t paying him any heed. “Rude,” he said, without thinking. “I’m tryin’ to do the right thing here, lady, so couldja put that away so we can talk like adults?”

The redhead in the passenger seat blinked. Unaccustomed to that tactic not immediately sending an annoyance screaming for their lives, she looked up. She was pretty, in a vintage way, like she’d strut straight off a theater screen and into this car. A cigarette stick was clutched in her pinkie, under the phone, and her hair was streaked with gray. Her eyes were so pale as to be transparent, only blue at the right angle. Black lipstick, red eyeshadow, the very picture of a woman who had better places to be and better things to be doing. 

For a moment, she just… Stared at him. Mars wondered if she was a bot, too, one of those nicer ones that were almost impossible to pick out as inhuman, but eventually her mouth split into a grin that wouldn’t have been out of place on a shark.

“Why, do my eyes deceive me, or is that Mars Capone?”

He barely swallowed the grimace, but he couldn’t stop the tightness forming around his mouth and eyes before it took root. “Ma’am, your food?”

The woman let the gun swing downwards, the muzzle now pointing away from where it had been aimed somewhere soft. “It is you! What’s a man of your renown doing out in this backwater?”

He would not call the fifth largest city on the continent a backwater. Mars did not say so out loud, though. “I’m doing nothing and I am no one. I’m going back inside now, ma’am. Sorry to bother you.”

“Oh, no, no! We have so much to talk about. Stay.”

The hair stood up on the back of his neck as he caught movement glinting in the silver of her pistol. His body swept sideways without conscious thought, and the robot that had followed him outside stumbled clumsily into the space he’d been occupying not a moment ago, arms lancing through empty space. Finding it had grabbed nothing, it stood upright, head pivoting to face him. The woman in the car had the grace to look mildly abashed.

Mars put his hands into his pockets, arching one eyebrow. It would’ve been sarcastic if he wasn’t so fed up.

“Okay,” he said dryly. “Does it involve me getting into the back of that limo and going to a secondary location? Because I’ve got a drink inside I’d like to get back to.”

Subtly, he flicked his head at the bar’s windows. Both an indicator of destination, and a signal to Vette to put her own weapon down before things got complicated. She’d break the two foot rule for him, but he’d handled himself into this mess. He could handle himself out.

Waving her hands, the woman snapped her fingers and shook her head. The robot, dutifully, opened the door of the backseat and clambered inside. “No, no, Mister Capone. Sorry, old habits,” she offered with a sly grin. “You’ve nothing to fear from me. In fact, I’d like to help you.”

This day kept getting weirder. First a cream based tequila, then an all-channels news bulletin, and now this. “Corps don’t help anybody,” he stated flatly. Mars stayed where he was, a nice five feet down the pavement. The robot shut the car behind it. 

The woman puffed her cigarette stick, blew a smoke ring out of the window and laid her arm over the edge. “Who says I’m a corp?” She asked innocently. “You know what they say about making assumptions.”

“You know what they say about ducks.”

She laughed. If he didn’t think she was dangerous before, which he did, now she definitely was. A laugh like that, so charming and musical, was practiced. Deadly as any piece of iron, and infinitely more versatile. Mars would not be moving any closer. Pouting, the woman beckoned to him with a single finger, like she was reeling in a fish.

“Come on now, don’t play hard to get. Give me your ear for two minutes, and I’ll forget all about the little bill. You can’t be doing too hot in the cash department, Mister Capone. Not after you cut your wings.”

Mouth writhing into a deeper frown, Mars flared his coat back and put his hands into his slacks pockets. She had him there, his wallet was light on a good month, and as of late, a good month was a distant memory. At the same time, he didn’t like how much she knew about him already, and how well she was twisting it against him. He weighed his options. 

“Fine,” he conceded. “Two minutes. And I’m counting.”

He approached again, though kept the edge of his overcoat well out of grabbing range. The woman smirked, eyes knowing under the red eyeshadow. Mars still saw a glimmer of teeth under her lips, barely contained. “Good man.”

“Minute forty five.”

“Buzzkill.”

“Minute forty.”

Sighing, the woman placed her gun into the passenger door and ran her fingers through her hair. Even mid-rumple, it was styled in just the right way to flip effortlessly over her forehead, voluminous and beautiful. Even if she wasn’t tied up in a corporation, she had enough money to buy the Dog outright eight times over. “Oh, Mister Capone, would it kill you to lighten up a little? Don’t answer that.”

Mars swallowed the sardonic comment he’d had perched on his tongue. She rolled her eyes and took another drag, blatantly wasting time she should’ve spent on her pitch. “Thank you,” she continued. “Now, I’m certain you’ve heard the news today? I will be quite amazed if you haven't!"

Her tone was indulgent, breezy, voice smoke-damaged as to be low, but not yet rough and grating. Mars gave her a stiff nod, already afraid of where this was going. “I heard. Phosphoril Rose stolen right out of its case by the Red Vixen. Classic robbery for them. Nothin’ new.”

“Excellent! I want you to find them.”

What. “What.”

“The Rose, Mister Capone. And the thief both! A man of your skills could-”

“No.”

Mars stepped away from the vehicle. Mid-speech, the woman in the car paused, mouth open, looking up at the sunroof. She glanced to him, a small smile playing out over her features that did not reach her eyes. “You didn’t let me finish,” she cooed.

“No need, ma’am. I’m out of that game for good.”

“Aha, Mister Capone,” she began, but he didn’t give her time to continue to wheedle him. He turned away. “You’re making a grave mistake, Mister Capone!”

“Answer won’t change no matter how much capital you put up, lady. Mars Capone is firmly retired. Go ask someone else.”

Grumbling, and quite accustomed to getting her way, the woman in the car called after him again. “At least take my card? You’ll need to know where to route the payment for my meal, as that was not two minutes, and I paid with an encrypted account.”

It had been a minute and fifty seconds, but Mars could play the petty game with the best of them, so he slid around on his heel and marched back. It was quite impressive, really. The smug, triumphant expression she wore managed to ignite an emotion he didn’t know he could still feel: rage, incandescent and sparking. It was muffled, years of a stone-cold front didn’t melt off so quickly, but it was something. 

The woman held out the card between two fingers. It was glossy, white and black, professional and understated. He plucked it out, stuck it in his hatband with an appropriate amount of force, and spun back to head for the door of the Dog. 

She was laughing behind him, even as the car started to pull away from the curb, gravel crunching beneath the tires. “I’ll be looking forward to hearing from you, Mister Capone!” She sang, leaving behind a small pile of ashes from her burned out cigarette to mark her passing.

Leave it to a corp to wrangle his heart out of the box it was put in, only to mash it into a quivering, angry paste. Mars hunched his shoulders in and removed the card from his hat, infinitely curious at to what it said. He just wasn’t willing to give that woman the win she’d take from seeing it As she’d now left… He took a peek a the card, the identity of his would-be benefactor.

ELODIE FAUX

COO OVEREASY INDSUTRIES

ROUTING NUMBER 61524

Mars tilted his head up to the sky. While he’d been getting his chain yanked by the most powerful woman in the country, the sun had pulled the blanket of clouds over itself and hid. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, said the only word he could think of.

“Fuck.”

#mars capone and the red vixen #bird droppings #birds original words #thank yall. fr

[lady-charinette]

This is like my third version of this plot but bear with me bc I go feral for domestic but deadly Kazurei

Post 10 year timeskip

Rei and Kazuki are cleaning up the kitchen, Kazuki is carrying boxes to the storage room so they store the food safely for tomorrow. Rei is left alone in the kitchen wiping the counters clean.

Someone comes in despite the closed sign being turned up and Rei glances at them and immediately tenses.

He could recognize that look anywhere.

A look that spelled trouble and screamed weapon.

Rei scanned the man from head to toe, eyes zeroing in on what appeared to be a concealed knife from within the man's jacket pocket. "Hey, uh, you guy's still open?"

"No, the closed sign is displayed on the front door, I'm afraid you'll have to leave." Rei didn't miss the way the stranger kept glancing at his limp arm by his side, as if gauging how much of a threat Rei posed since being crippled.

Oh, how dangerous it was to underestimate your opponent.

The man approached the counter and slid his hand along the polished wood. "Sir, I said we were closed."

Rei rolled his eyes when the stranger made a sharp turn to enter into the kitchen area, obviously to gain momentum to draw his knife and stab him.

Good thing Rei couldn't get rid of his blood that easily.

As soon as he caught the glint of metal, Rei sprung into action.

Using his limp arm as a feint, faking the movement of reaching for something, Rei distracted the man long enough to grab his wrist holding the knife and twisting the limb sharply.

The man cried out in pain, bones grinding against each-other viciously. "I said, we were closed."

The man ignored Rei and tried to punch him with his free hand, but Rei acted quickly. He kicked the man's chin, twisting his arm further, causing him to drop the knife. Right into Rei's hand.

Twirling the knife in his hand to hold it in a reverse grip, Rei aimed for the spot between his eyebrows.

When the stranger opened his eyes again, he was met with the sharp edge of his blade inches away from his face. "You have 5 seconds to decide whether you want your liver carved out by your own knife or you run away and never set foot in here again."

The stranger didn't even use the full five seconds before he was out the door, his cries echoing through the half empty streets.

Kazuki returned from the backroom, scratching his head. "Did that guy want a refund?" He rose an eyebrow at the knife in Rei's hand. "Hey man, I told you not to threaten our customers for looking at the family pictures."

Rei tossed the knife into the drawer and closed it, gazing blankly at Kazuki. "....You're one to talk. Didn't you threaten to disembowel a kid and use his innards as ingredients for our next menu item?"

Kazuki clenched his fist at the memory. "I threatened a man looking at pictures of our Miri lewdly! You were itching to get your hand on him, too!" He pouted, sneering at Rei.

Rei grinned. "The kid was 16, I draw the line at beating up kids."

Kazuki cackled maniacally. "HA! Weakling! Good thing you have me! I'll throw hands with a toddler if he made kissy faces at yo- I mean Miri!"

Rei rose an eyebrow at the verbal slip, watching his partner's face heat up.

"Hm...sure you would."

#buddy daddies #bd #kazurei #miri unasaka #kazuki kurusu #rei suwa #buddy daddies hc #buddy daddies headcanon #buddy daddies fic #fight me kazuki would throw hands with a toddler he's a petty malewife like that #he would fist fight with his pinky fingers but he would fight

[papaver-decervicatus]

“Under No Circumstances…”

How Farah ended up just beneath Gromsko and Soap on the “Under No Circumstances Allowed to Use a Rocket Launcher” list. 1.5K words, rated Teen, Gromsko POV.

CW: Medical Procedures, The Lord of the Flies (awful I know).

A/N. This is just a quick silly Drabble between the three because Gromsko does not get enough love in the fandom! Thanks to everyone who enjoys the headcanon pages I put out, your enthusiasm has really inspired me!

The nearest table is littered with palpable annoyances, from gauges in the fake wood where one Simon Riley stabbed hunting knives in frustration (which, in his defense, it would be rather frustrating to wake up to pissed in tac-boots, offender still at large,) to pen-marks scribbling in games of tic-tac-toe between Reyes and Chuy (which culminate in a perfect 5 win, to 5 draws, to 5 win ratio,) and even a perfectly Kleo shaped bite mark (she was overdue on her shots and that never goes over well,) out of the bottom left corner. The sound of tweezers hitting a small glass vial consistently rings out, along with the gentle splutter of matter dropping into alcohol.

On Farah’s abdomen, there is a 3-inch gash, approximately 1.25 centimeters deep. It was made by a shrapnel blast that cut through her gear, pieces of cloth and metal remain to be picked out. Her head is nestled in the area just beneath Soap’s crotch on the table. Gaz sits cross-legged beneath the table that she and Soap recline on. Her hair cascades downwards into Gaz’s soft and patient hands, idly doing then undoing her trailing braid. Soap prattles endlessly while holding her shoulders down.

“And then, the fucking eejits go huntin’ it. Goes to show, Brits and their violence…” He sneers and Gaz huffs.

“They are like. Thirteen, mate. The book’s a satire for Chrissake!” Gaz responds. Farah winces when he pulls on her hair a little too hard, and he apologizes with a hushed ‘Oh, sorry.’

“They worship a pig's head on a stick the way you worship your damn Queen, Garrick. No fucking satire to me.”

Gromsko continues his work, picking debris out of the wound, as the two men continue to bicker animatedly about their latest disagreement (and since when did Soap care about British literature, or The Lord of the Flies?)

“How much longer?” Farah wheezes underneath the disagreement above her.

Gromsko takes one last look through his surgical loops. The wound appears to have nothing foreign left in it. He hums in satisfaction at his work.

“Not much, Kochanie.” Gromsko soothes in the sort of quiet voice he summons on instinct when working with Farah. Something in the furrow of her brow always tells him she would appreciate a quiet sort of kindness, that is, when she even allows herself to be helped. She seems thankful when she throws her head back into Soap’s crotch and his rant is cut short by a winded noise. Gaz falls over laughing at the realization she’s just headbutted him in his… particulars. Gromsko takes the opportunity of her momentary levity to catch her unawares with the first stitch.

It’s been approximately 38 minutes since a dazed Farah was rushed into his makeshift office with a frazzled Soap. In between explanations of a misfired explosive, frantic apologies to the woman hanging off his shoulder, and labored insistences that she receives stitches, Gromsko barely gave the two time to blink before he had sprung out of his cot and had started laying out his supplies. Within 4 minutes, the wound was assessed. Within 3 minutes of the assessment, Soap had dragged a still groggy Gaz to Farah’s side saying something about Alex’s preference that he be there should she get hurt. Gromsko paid it very little mind as he typically did. Anything to make a patient more comfortable.

The wound was far from life-threatening in any sense of the word. It was, however, in a position where standard stitches would likely get ripped from friction with tac-gear. A medium-level challenge, but certainly no challenge at all to a medic like Gromsko.

“You are doing well, Farah.” He says. She turns her head in frustration at the lingering pain as he goes in for the third and what will likely be 17 total stitches. “Do not fall asleep on me, kotku,” he smiles when her face scrunches in disgust. “Concussion protocol.” She sighs.

“There is nothing kitten about this situation, medic.” Farrah spits, Soap keeps his hands on her shoulders to prevent her from bucking upwards to claw at Gromsko, now rethreading a suture needle.

“There is, this scratch, it is a kitten’s scratch. It will heal easily.”

The encouragement seems to lighten her mood. When Gromsko tunes back into Gaz and Soap’s conversation, he elects to immediately zone back out when Soap tries to swat at the man beneath him for implying he couldn’t read.

She yells something at the two, and while Gromsko does not know any Arabic, he figures he knows what it means when the two immediately stop their horseplay and go back to bickering, albeit at a much quieter level.

With the distraction of Gaz and Soap, Farah’s stitches go by much quicker than she seems to have suspected. Gromsko makes use of one of his medic tricks (the one his old commander taught him about squeezing the flesh 4 inches to the left of the wound to calm the patient) and much like a kitten, Farah does indeed soothe.

Her whole face brightens when Gromsko finishes the last stitch and goes to toss out his sterile gloves.

“Ya done, doc?” Soap asks, hopeful as ever.

“Hmph,” he nods his head. Gaz scrambles off the floor and examines the stitches on Farah’s abdomen. He lets out a quick whistle in appreciation.

“All that in under an hour? You’re a magic man, Gromsko.” He gives a curt nod which Gromsko returns. Gromsko goes to the metal folding chair that was holding part of his supplies and tenderly picks up Farah’s shirt (which Soap had folded perfectly while awaiting medical instruction,) and hands it to her. She smiles and shrugs it on.

“I am sure I don’t need to inform you of heading instructions, do I?” He asks, his sarcasm unusually quiet. Farah just gives a dry laugh.

“I’ve been through worse.” She claims, chest full of pride. She’s always one of the worse to corral into medical attention, he’s learned from his months with SpecGru. She wears battle scars like medals and hates to admit to anyone, even a medic, that she may need any special treatment. He’s just happy she let him get to the wound at all.

“But-“ her face visably sours as he continues. “Concussion protocol, no sleep for the next 6 hours.”

She sends an irritated look to Soap and Gaz who both put their hands up in defeat, likely aware of what happened the last time someone didn’t listen to the man’s medical demands. (If Ghost wasn’t pulling his stitches out all the time, maybe, just maybe, those tac boots of his wouldn’t have gotten the treatment that they did… not that Gromsko knows anything about it, of course.)

“I have sentry in 4 hours,” Gaz offers weakly, genuine sadness in his voice that whether or not he wants to, he will be unable to care for his friend through the duration of her mandatory awake period.

“Fine. Sleep. And if Alex is back by then, tell him I ordered you to leave.” Farah says, voice firmly intoned back into its comfortable commanding sound. Gaz gives a faux salute and leaves with the haste of a man who’s forgotten what a bed looks like for months checking into a hotel room. Soap looks at Farah expectantly.

“You too-“ She starts.

“Nope.” He finishes.

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean ‘no.’ I’m not leaving yer side until you can rest. Not gonna happen.” He shrugs nonchalantly. Ever the faithful soldier, no man or recently-concussed-woman left behind.

Farah looks at Gromsko, apparently expecting him to save her from being babysat. He laughs louder than he has all night. He feels the tension of the situation melt away as he returns to his usual volume.

“Don’t look at me like that, kotku,” she mocks throwing up at the pet name, “I would order him to as well. You do not have a good track record of listening to doctors orders.” She pouts much like a child denied a night home alone with her friends when her parents are away. It reminds Gromsko of an argument his older sister got into with his mother when he was 13. Farah smiles the same way as that sister, she shows the same amount of teeth, he noticed. “Alex is not here. Soap will do.”

Farah looks entirely displeased by this assessment and brings a hand to thumb at the bottom of her now French braided hair. “We’ve finished all of our assignments before we went out. What is there to do?”

Gromsko looks to the armory outside.

Gromsko looks to Soap. Soap looks to Gromsko.

Soap looks in the direction of an unattended car he is more than capable of hot wiring.

Gromsko looks to the direction that the abandoned training maze that Price put a demolition order for.

Gromsko and Soap look to Farah.

“Doncha worry Bonnie,” Soap smiles the way fire meets Gasoline. Gromsko is already putting his fire-resistant jacket onto her shoulders and ushering Farah out the door. “We got just the thing.”

-

When two days later Alex returns from his own assignment and asks why there is now a large picture of Farah, Gromsko, and Soap outside the armory with the inscription “UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ARE ROCKET LAUNCHERS ALLOWED TO THESE THREE.” Gromsko just laughs in his face.

“Anything for a patients comfort.” He supplies as though it makes perfect sense. Alex’s frown displays his confusion, but Gromsko is not one to give away the secrets of another.

When he got scolded by an irate Price the day before, Gromsko just remembered Farah’s smile with fire reflecting in her eyes 6 hours previous when he and Soap were put on toilet scrubbing duty.

He remembers that smile now, as Alex stares him down while he walks away.

Worth it.

#cod gromsko #gromsko cod #cod mw fanfiction #farah karim #farah Karim cod #kyle gaz garrick #gaz cod #soap mctavish #john soap mactavish #soap cod #cod mwii #navigation -> headcanon tag

[the-light-finds-its-way]

Titan blacksmith (more like foamsmith)

Ya Titan is making a Viking shield for LARP!!!! :D I play a Viking/barbarian/blacksmith, and I absolutely LOVE a good fight!!! With my trusty axe, and armor of 18 gauge steel, I'm ready to take on everything!!!!!!

To craft this shield, I used 4 exercise mats which I sanded down to make them smooth rather than having the typical grips on them. Note, from experience, this is MESSY AS FUCK!!! DO IT OUTSIDE, WEAR A MASK!!!!! YOU WILL GET DUST EVERYWHERE AND INHALE IT, SO MASKS ARE KEY!!!!!!!!

There are 3 base layers, then the 4th was used to make a rim, and the center buckler.

From there, I used modeling foam to make the knotting and the runes which read, "Be gay do crime."

Next, I used contact cement/caulking to fuse the pieces together! After that dried, I used the remaining modeling foam to fill out the edging of the mats and smooth that out, seeing as it was VERY uneven.

I thrifted an old belt that I'll cut in half to make an adjustable strap on the backside, which is great because I eventually want to go from leather gauntlets to steel gauntlets!

Then, using PVC piping, I will make a bar to the left of the strap, and use that as a grip for my shield.

For sealant, I'm going to put down modpodge, then paint the entire thing with acrylics. I'll use brown on the base of the shield, and a razor to make it look like wood grain. The knotting and runes, the buckler, and the rim, will all be silver. I'll use googly eyes painted over to make fake rivets!!

#mun is a titan #larp #etc #not destiny

[kuraikyu]

anonymous: hello :3 i love reading your canons and wonder are those plugs on geto real? and would he wear other types? if yes then what kind?

HI, Nony! Ah, suppose this is one of many things Gege just won't gift us but regarding my own headcanons -- to clarify whether Suguru is wearing real gauges the answer is yes; they are real. His starting point? Homely environment. He pierced them himself with hot needle and was not thrilled by the experience. As during any proper incipient road with earrings, he used to wear fake plugs from stainless steel before attending Jujutsu high, and after officially becoming a Sorcerer he made up his mind to proceed with gradual stretching as a part of his 'spiritual' awakening - reaching roughly 13 mm ( and that is maintained until Hyakki Yakō -December 24, 2017 and so on with Kenjaku lol ).

Number 13 has a special sacred meaning in numerology linked to transformation, death to the matter or to oneself, and the birth to the spirit; the passage on a higher level of existence, hence why 13 mm was a goal to reach and maintain. He is lucky enough to be non-allergic thus he is not bound to wear any special hypoallergenic jewelry for sensitive skin. But of course, there's a certain possibility for people to encounter him wearing something absolutely different than what his political image consists of habitually. The switch in fashion happens during special events or festivities. While not seemingly apparent his idiosyncratic mind would give free reign to shapes decidedly eccentric ... His taste is sophisticated but that clearly doesn't mean he wouldn't dive in adventurous selection; he wouldn't shy away from unique patterns and even transparency or glitter ( ahhhh, I'm so intrigued by the idea of Geto and transparent gauges idk why :o) ). For example - he would take on something essentially thematic like these during Hanami; Blossom Festival in Japan. Aside from that, Geto has a small but rather quirky collection of various gauges and tunnels. Among his favorites can be obviously and not so surprisingly found elegant tones of black and gold in shapes of dragons, and mandalas, but also fun-time acrylic set from Hasaba twins. And haha, yes, he really wears them, especially in their presence!

But just like girls only a small circle of people remain in primary cognizance of such fact.

For keen observer, it could be an easy tell and survey ( if in pursuit ) obtaining a priori about his slight sense for decorative overview. But be that as it may, that sort of informational access ALSO requires a degree of connection with his persona.

𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

Size : ㅤㅤㅤ13 mm ( only lobe hole without decor, with gauge inserted, it can cast faux image of 15 mm )

Allergies : ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ noneㅤ

Shape : ㅤㅤ✓ㅤround - only! ㅤㅤ✗ㅤtear - never!

Material : ㅤㅤ✗ㅤmetal - is not his forte, favors wood and natural gemstones ㅤㅤ✓ㅤstones - golden obsidian, garnet, moonstone, onyx, labradorite ㅤㅤ✓ㅤclassic acrylic - for mundane daytime, silicone for swimming ㅤㅤ✓ㅤblack wood ( ebony ) - for nighttime, slumber and relaxation

Bonus : During sessions of meditation he is prone to wear tunnels from pure amethyst, for better Third Eye Chakra stimulation; it is also the only time he is seen wearing them other time than during festivities.

about wearing Moonstones.

favorite types.

#headcanons ; #answered ; #anonymous ; #{ Ah! Finally getting to babble Geto's fashion hope this satisfied your curiosity! <3 } #muse ; geto / headcanons. #under the veilㅤ: metas & headcanons.

[obsessedwithegos]

Would Tael ever give Emil the chance to attempt to run? (Even if it was rigged so he'd be caught no matter what?)

CWs: Vampire whumpee, Demon whumper, Mouth whump, Fake escape chance, Blood loss, Aftermath of skin carving, Painful but brief possession

Emil’s head was spinning as Tael guided him through a portal, the blindfold around his eyes prevented him from looking around to try to ground himself. 

Tael hums as he closes the portal behind them and works on untying Emil’s wrists. “What’s wrong Emil? Cat got your tongue?” He humored, wondering why the vampire was so quiet. 

Hearing a small whimper from him caused the demon to look up just in time to see him slightly open his mouth, causing blood to start to dribble out before he closed his mouth again. 

Tael laughed “Oh that’s right! I took your tongue!” He says, almost as if he had genuinely forgotten. “Well, that just means I’ll know what you’re about to do will likely be by yourself and not because you caught someone’s attention by screaming for help.”

He takes the blind fold off. 

Emil blinks a few times as he looks around. 

Around him were woods as far as he could see, with the exception of a shack-like cabin directly behind the both of them.

He looks at the demon beside him, clearly confused.

Tael smiled “I’m giving you a chance here. There’s miles of woods all around and there’s a road that runs through it at some point. I’m going to let you run, and if you can make it to the road there’s a chance someone might come across you. If you succeed, I’ll let you go.” 

The vampire lets out a whine, in a weak attempt to voice a concern. 

“Oh I know.” The demon says, already knowing what the other was worried about. “I’m going to give you a thirty second head start. Fifteen because you’re injured, and another fifteen because I am faster than you.” He explained before digging his phone out of his pocket to set a timer. 

Emil was conflicted as he looked up at the sky, trying to gauge what time it was but the heavy cloud cover made it impossible to see where the moon was. Was Tael really going to hold true to his word? Did he even have a chance? The blood in his mouth and the blood soaking into the back of his shirt wasn’t reassuring. 

With a lash from the demon’s tail striking against the back of one of his legs, he’s snapped out of his thoughts. 

“Start running.” Tael ordered, holding up his phone to reveal that Emil had already wasted 3 seconds by getting lost in his worries. 

The vampire didn’t think, he just ran off into the woods in a random direction. He didn’t have the time to waste by thinking any more. 

He made sure to keep his mouth shut, he didn’t want to leave an obvious blood trail for Tael to follow. He could breathe through his nose, worst case scenario he could last a while without air. 

The small pains of branches hitting him and thorns catching and tearing his clothes and the skin underneath were nothing in comparison to what he’ll probably feel if he fails at this. 

He also hoped that he wasn’t just running in circles as the world was spinning and twisting around him.

~~

By the time Emil was stumbling and unable to keep moving, he failed to find the road that Tael had mentioned. 

He resorted to tucking himself into a bramble bush, hoping that Tael would think he wouldn’t be in it due to the thorns and tangled branches. 

His heart was pounding in his chest, making him want to gasp for air. He decided to open his mouth to let the blood fall out since he wasn’t moving anymore and he was trying his best to not pass out right now. 

He needed to keep his breathing calm and to make sure he could still properly listen. 

It felt like he was sitting there for hours, but it really couldn’t have been longer than 15 minutes before he heard humming in the distance. 

Emil freezes and his breath hitches in his throat. He brings his hands to cover his nose and mouth to muffle any sounds he might accidentally make. 

Tael’s humming got closer as did the sound of leaves being crunched under his hooves. 

Emil squeezed his eyes shut as it sounded like the demon was just a couple of feet away from his hiding spot. 

Then they continued to walk away, not talking a moment to falter as if he was looking around. 

Once the sound of humming and leaf crunching was further away, Emil let a sigh of relief out as he trembled. He remained in his spot as he needed to rest for longer. 

The demon was just barely still in his hearing range when he spoke. “I’m starting to get bored, I think I need a hint.” 

Emil’s eyes widened and before he could do anything, the recently carved symbol in his back lit up with sudden searing pain, forcing him to let out a scream before he could even stop himself. 

The pain claws its way up his spine before a sudden crushing pain radiates all over his head, causing him to go to clutch at his head as if he was trying to feel for something that could be taken off. 

Tears stream down his face as a teal color dotted around his vision. 

“Ah, there you are.” Tael’s voice echoed in his head. 

As quick as Tael’s voice came, it was gone. The crushing pain started to fade but the searing pain in his back remained, making it impossible for him to move even if he wanted to. 

All he could do was wait as Tael’s humming and the crunching of leaves got closer.

~~~~

Gen: @emmettnet @thebluejaysworld

#owe answers #diye asks themself things #prompted writing tag #emil tag #tael tag #emil writing tag #tael writing tag #canon whump #this is after Emil's first escape attempt! Which is why Emil tried to voice the concern about Tael being faster than him! #vampire whumpee #demon whumper #mouth whump #tongue removal #(it's half removed but still important to tag!) #fake escape chance #blood loss #possession whump #ask to tag #I had this idea in my head for a while but I couldn't think of a way #to make it it's own proper full fic so self prompt it is!

[memes-saved-me]

lol Chrissy died in the first episode. we never even saw her and Jason interact except for from across the gym. how can we gauge her perspective of the relationship when she was murdered so quickly? what we do have is Jason’s point of view though. Jason who quickly forgot entirely about chrissy and started physically assaulting black children instead of avenging his girlfriend. who faked tears and genuinely smiled after finding out chrissy died. who used Billy and Heathers deaths as an excuse for popularity and sympathy and then did the same with Chrissys a few days later. Just because Chrissy didn’t show signs of wanting to leave doesn’t mean Jason is a good person or partner. that’s like the way abuse works.

Did I say Jason was a good person? No. He is a stereotypical jock out for popularity and attention.

I was just pointing out that from what we saw their relationship was just a standard high school one. If she was scared or abused by Jason wouldn't Vecna use that against her as well as her parents?

Jason literally went insane because of her death. He lost himself in revenge, anger and grief. When the fuck did he smile when he found of Chrissy died? He went into the woods and screamed and cried...

Also don't try and explain abuse to me. I've witnessed domestic abuse throughout my childhood and then was abused myself so thanks

[randomlyritchie]

#RitchieReflects: I Don’t Want To Overly Romanticize My Life Anymore. ✌🏾

Sooo, I didn’t celebrate Valentine’s Day this year because I was done with the overcompensation of it. I actually do love Valentine’s Day, but this year it made me sad. So why pretend that the day doesn’t suck? I knew going into this weekend that I wasn’t going to overly enjoy it. There was no particular reason for why, it’s just that my life is still my life even on a long weekend. Life honestly hasn’t been the same since my Grandma got sick. Life hasn’t been the same since the pandemic. I definitely don’t feel like life began at 40. Yes, I mostly feel like age is a number, but I also feel like I walked into a dead season. I literally turned 40 in May of 2020. The truth is, I’ve experienced a lot of hard hitting, traumatic change since the end of 2019 (when my Grandma first got sick). I feel this weird pressure to be happy more than I am. But why would I honestly be happy? On any given day, I could get a call telling me that my Grandma is gone. I’m not where I want to be in different areas of my life. I feel like I always have to work so hard at everything & feel like I get such minimal results. My heart is once again tied up in someone who isn’t with me. Why am I supposed to be happy again? 😂😂😂

One thing about me, I like to be honest & real. Am I depressed? Not totally. Does life feel like it’s on the mend? Yes, it honestly really does. Is taking long weekends, fasting, working on a book, running & low key feeling like I’ve become too influenced by influencer culture helping me? It’s not that these things don’t help, because they do. Nevertheless, they don’t take away the pain that I feel inside. For example: the other day I was at work doing inventory & listening to “Ain’t It Fun” by Paramore. When it got to the part about not crying to your mama, I randomly got choked up because it somehow reminded me of the situation with my Grandma. Like, even when we were off on MLK day, I cried on & off that day for similar reasons. It’s like I’m okay…but I’m not okay. I’m still grieving multiple things. Nothing seems to be completely taking that away…BUT TIME. I can’t be this beam of happiness for everyone else. Call me Debbie Downer, I literally don’t care. I don’t want to be fake. For a time, I’ve been posting to hold myself accountable & I’m not saying I’m never gonna post my progress again. Even before the pandemic, I believed in just trying to make the little moments in your life happy. I was romanticizing before it became a thing. I just can’t live up to everyone’s happiness meter for me. People want me to be happy way too much without considering my reality. I think the greatest gauge is my doctor who told me that I’m a totally different person than when she first met me, and I am. Life doesn’t completely feel like this season of death that it once did…but I’m still not out of the woods yet…& that’s honestly so okay. Love me because I’m honest with you. Did this weekend suck? No. I actually accomplished some things. Did I have depression over the state of my non existent family? Yes. Can I just wake up & be happy when I realize that my Grandma was right in saying the her & God was all I had? No. Am I getting stronger about it & looking forward to living my life apart from my family (because that’s just how it is right now). Yes. So these are just some of my morning thoughts because I once again feel like I failed to fully enjoy something. But how can I? It’s not even a reality right now. I’m not completely sad…but I’m not completely happy. And that’s absolutely just fine. A lot of people are not as happy as they seem…I’m just honest enough to tell you about it. 😊💖✨

[envy-of-the-apple]

Missed Chance

Dark! Gojo Satoru x reader

(Warnings: implied kidnapping, implied imprisonment, manipulation, dubious consent/noncon/rape, mc's going through it, afab!reader)

WC: 3.8k

Despite his laid-back demeanor, Satoru was extremely diligent.

He hardly forgets anything, every little thing in his life adheres to schedule. It took you a while to get used to how strict he was. It took even longer to adapt.

You supposed there was an upside to this, at least it made the day predictable.

The obvious downside was there was no way for you to break the norm. His schedule was too tight, his security was too rigid. There was no way for him to ever not know what you were doing. You’d never have the chance to seek out fresh air, feel actual sunlight on your skin, not just by sitting on that caged balcony.

But today he’d left the door unlocked.

You could see the bolt. Unlatched. Open. He hadn’t clicked it shut the second he got home, entered a code only he knew on the security pad. You don’t even think he noticed. Did he forget? Was it all some fluke accident? 

“Dinner’s great, by the way.”

Your gaze shifts to Satoru. The two of you were currently sitting at the dining table, eating something warm and delicious. The recipe was old. Something your mother often made.

How was she, these days?

“I’m glad you like it,” You say, “I haven’t made it in awhile. I wasn’t sure if it would turn out well.”

“No, it’s delicious.” Satoru grinned. “You should make it more often.”

You should focus on the conversation, give all your attention to Satoru just as he wants, but the unlocked door is so distracting. He couldn’t have not known, right? Satoru was always diligent, he never did anything carelessly. This was obviously some sort of test. He was trying to gauge your reaction. Don't fall for it.

But there’s a tiny chance, too cautious to be hopeful. There’s a thudding in your heart. Apprehension. Excitement.

“Is something wrong?”

His words are light, you can’t sense any malice, but his voice still gives you chills. Had he seen you glancing at the door? Were you smiling? Did you look too happy? Too excited?

“It’s nothing,” You finally manage to cough out, “how was your day?”

Satoru hums, “Good, a little exhausting. The students have been running me ragged all day. They're getting stronger and stronger by the minute. It's a little scary, now.”

He’s rambling. That’s good. It meant he was relaxed. Eased enough to talk to you about trivial stupid stuff. That meant Satoru didn't know. 

Or maybe he did and this was all his way of lulling you into a fake sense of security. Was he baiting you? Acting all careless and docile just so he can pounce the second you make a mistake?

He glances at your bowl. "You done?" You realize how empty your dish is. You hadn't remembered taking a single bite. "Yeah, you?" "Licked clean." Satoru lazily grins and you manage a smile. "Here, I can take 'em." He carefully reaches over to grab the dirty dishes, ambling towards the kitchen. You listen to the sounds of water running, a clatter of plates and utensils. He's not watching right now, you think as your eyes slide open to the unlatched door. It was like it was taunting you. How quiet would you have to be? Would your chair make a noise if you stood up? Would the floorboards betray you? 

And then, you think of how difficult things got the last time you got out. The first time. The chains were brought back, the endless lectures and sensory deprivation. Why would you want a chance for it to go back like that?  You barely flinch when a hand drifts to your shoulders. Warm lips meet your neck.  "Come to bed," Satoru mumbles into your skin. His voice is soft and dull. It's not a request. You hum, standing up to follow him. The chair scrapes against the wood. Every so often, a floorboard below would squeak.  Perhaps it was a bit naïve to think you'd be left alone tonight. He'd been so docile, up until that pointing, greeting you with a chaste kiss and nothing more. Still, you don't expect the hands under your shirt, the bite on your neck. You don't hesitate. It's just a pause. An error. "...I thought you said you were exhausted," You remind him but you don't fight when he backs you up against the bed.  Satoru hums into your neck. He sucks in your breath, inhaling your scent.  "Changed my mind."

You don't say anything to that, maneuvering yourself into a position he wants. You lay back, allowing him to pin you against the soft mattress. He's not suffocating you, not like the first time when you were crying and scratching. The first time, when you realized this man wasn't entirely human, when he used to laugh at your pathetic attempts of escape. Soon, you realize that he retaliates only to what he's given. Play nice with Gojo Satoru, and he plays nice too. 

He's nice. Not kind. There's still a possessive edge to his touch when he grasps your thighs, pulling down your shorts to reveal cotton panties. He barely gets them off of you. You suppose you should be a little grateful. He ripped them apart the first few times. 

He gets a hiss from you then when his mouth finds the sensitive side of your neck, right where the skin meets the clavicle. Sharp teeth dig into your skin. In response you reach over, tugging his hair. It's the only retaliation you can ever really give him. Now, you know when to pick your battles. 

"Gentle." It's not a request, too soft. It's a barely comprehensible plea. He licks the wound in an apology. His next bite is softer, but just as marking. 

Satoru forgets that sometimes. How fragile you are. Every so often, you'd have to remind him if your sobs already haven't. Even now, when his hands are already starting to tighten around your wrists again. 

Or maybe you're being too optimistic. Satoru doesn't forget. It's more like he loses control every so often, enough control that he crushes you. You don't know which explanation is more terrifying so you ignore it. His teeth make an excellent distraction, nibbling at your skin once again. Nicer. Nicer, not kinder. 

Sometime later you're able to slip off his glasses, folding them and placing them on the night table. You're fully naked now. Satoru's barely unbuttoned his shirt. You gasp when he kisses your breasts, squeezing and groping them. 

"Don't think I'm ever gonna get enough of you, baby," he groans.

You smile tersely. That's what you were afraid of. 

He trails his mouth down eventually. He's in no hurry, both of you know you have the entire night. Your cunt is already dripping, practically ready for him, but he's known to drag things out-- make things more fun. Lithe fingers prod at your clit, hushing you when you give a sharp moan. 

Things always end the same. Nothing you experience here-in this bed filled with expensively soft satin- will ever be new. You're used to it, adapted. A part of you even enjoys the sensual touches, because fuck— Satoru's ridiculously good at what he does. Breaking you down, only to lift you back up to see him again.

You reach down just when his mouth meets your pussy. He savors you, his tongue moving painfully slowly at your folds, catching at your clit before starting over. You sigh, your body stiffening as you card fingers through his soft hair. It's always so malleable. You've seen the products he has in his shower, each more expensive than the last.

When Satoru passes over your clit for the third time, barely touching, you know he wants you to beg for it. He's needy like that.

“Satoru,” you plead anyway, your voice weak and pliant and his, “I want it.”

“What?” he pulls away, peering up at you, “What do you want, pretty girl?”

You don't hesitate. The you, a century ago, would have hated that. The you, a century ago, would have despised the pathetic bitch currently writhing underneath him. The you, a century ago, would have tried. 

But that was you a century ago. You're older now, maybe a little wiser too. 

“You,” you beg, “I want-want you to make me cum.”

It's all he needs to stop playing coy. He ducks back, grinding his tongue on your clit, before sinking to slurp at your leaking hole. He's messy with it, might even be louder than you, with the way he moans into your pussy. Sometimes, you wonder if this is more for him than for you. If he always wanted a place to worship, be beneath than. 

Soon, your mind shuts off as his tongue meets the tangle of nerves again. You're moaning, letting yourself arch your back, feeling the pleasure flood your body. It's easy to forget where you are, who you're with. Satoru's like a drug in these moments, easily washing away your anxiety and hatred, just to replace it all with him. 

When you tug at his hair, his voice of approval rumbles through you and it's almost enough to push you off that edge. He keeps you there, right at the cliff, letting your voice get more and more delirious and ruined. 

"Come on, gorgeous," he says, voice muffled and damp, "almost there for me." 

It's a slow build-up, heavy, unburdened, but it's just as powerful. You hit your peak just as he lavishes your clit with his tongue. He holds you down by your thighs, letting you grind against his face as you whine out his name in a broken sobs. He finally releases you when the first pangs of overstimulation make you jolt, when your tugging gets a lot more insistent. Even then, you'd be a fool to assume he left you because you were asking him to. 

He's so pretty like this, you think dazed. Hovering over you, his soft hair like a halo, lips pink and wet with the essence of you. It'd be foolish to compare him to an angel. He's more like God. 

"Fuck," he breathes, "look at you." 

When Satoru bends down, the kiss is sweet. Gentle. Loving. You let yourself enjoy it. His love is suffocating, but sometimes it's just enough. 

He sits up, letting you up too. His favorite position is you in his lap. You think it has to do with his desire to be controlled, to rescind his power, for someone else to do the work for once. Just a little. When you're on top of him, he's giving some of it away. 

He sits with you, back up and straight, face close to your chest. He's not willing to give away all the control. 

Every part of him is beautiful, his cock is no exception. Flushed and already leaking at the tip. Your hands are cold. When you go to touch, he hisses. 

It's nice to have reminders that he's still human. 

"Sorry," you say. He swallows your hand with his own, keeping it there. Satoru's always been so enthralled by suffering. Whether it's yours or his. 

Your pussy is dripping again, creating a stain on his jeans. Your hands reach out to grasp his shoulders, steadying yourself. His shirt feels expensive to the touch, you wonder if he'll get upset if you rip it. Maybe he'd laugh. He always said he liked it when you were unpredictable. You always thought it was so unfair whenever he was clothed and you weren't. 

He leads you down, hands on either side of your hip. You lean back as you feel the stretch, deeper and deeper. Like instinct, your pussy tightens like a vice. He sucks air through his teeth. 

"So fucking good." He leans forward, head buried in your chest. His lips find one of your nipples. "You're always so fucking good, pretty girl. How did I get so lucky?" 

It's between a laugh and a gasp when he sinks into you, right to the hilt. You stay like that for a moment, listening to him breathe in. And out. And in. You think he might like this more than any actual movement. The intimacy, rather than the sensual nature of it. 

His impatience overrides his desire eventually. He rolls his hips into you. Slow. Steady. Already you're starting to feel it. You hum through your lips when he gropes your chest mindlessly, like touching you is just an afterthought. 

It takes another muffled whimper before he starts to pay attention to your face. He gives a harsh thrust, leaving you gasping, before he leans up to kiss the corner of your mouth. 

"You're a little quiet," he mutters, tasting the skin on your jaw. He licks. You shiver. 

"Oh?" You ask, though it's mid-moan. You can feel him smile. 

"Hm," he agrees, kissing you at the throat, before grabbing your hips again to go a little faster, "Like it though. Means there's more of you to break." 

You don't know what he means by that. You're probably better off not knowing, closing your eyes gripping his shoulders and pretending he isn't what he says he is. 

You're so close that your clit grinds on his skin, sending sparks up and through you. You try to lean back, trying to alleviate just how much it is, but Satoru doesn't let you. He follows you immediately, letting you lose your balance and fall right into the bed with him on top of you. 

"Satoru I-" you get cut off by the pressure, practically babbling, trying to get your words out even if you can't understand them yourself. 

He laughs into the crook of your neck, reaching down to rub at your clit. "This what you need?" 

"It's-it's not-Satoru-" 

He practically growls at your sob, hiking your leg up to his waist so he can pound that much deeper into you. 

"You-you can't-shit- you can't get mad at me for going crazy when you're acting like that." He hisses, dark and vile, but he can barely contain himself either. 

The hand on your clit, the insistent fingers, ensures you go first. You spasm on his cock, milking him as your back arches and you let out this shameless whine that's so needy and animalistic. He keeps acting like he's that much better than you, but he's not too far behind. He clutches the back of your neck, kissing you so aggressively you can almost taste the blood. 

He falls apart beautifully above you, crashing and burning. You can barely recognize him cumming inside of you as he falls forward, sucking on your clavicle like he can hold himself back. Another mark you'll wear for tomorrow. 

You're still panting by the time he recovers. He's purring now, lavishing your broken body with languid kisses. You accept the affection gratefully, kissing him back when his lips meet yours. 

"I love you," he mumbles, satisfied, quiet, "I love you."

You hum, but you don't respond. Satoru never cared either way.

He doesn't pull out, you can feel his cock steadily hardening inside of you. You don't acknowledge it. 

No matter how many months you've been with him, you will never get over how beautiful he is. 

Especially now, when he lays right next to you, painfully still, eyes closed. It's a rarity to see him sleep. You don't think he ever does. His white hair drifts against his forehead, almost like a curtain of silk. His face is uncharacteristically plain. His smile is gone, if anything there's a hint of a frown. 

A part of you wants to touch. Reach out and feel the soft skin. Maybe then you'd understand what it was to be so beautiful. Maybe then you'd understand how someone so beautiful could be so cruel. 

In the end, you don't. Instead, you carefully unwrap himself from you. He stirs but doesn't awaken. You keep an eye on him until you're out of the bedroom door. 

The mornings are quieter than the evenings. You adhere to a schedule, just like you always have. Dishes need to be put away. The table needs to be reorganized. The mornings are a bit more freeing. As much as they can be. Satoru isn't so abusive. He'd recently gotten you a book you were interested in. The TV still worked. Most mornings, you'd make you and him a cup of tea. You'd sit on the couch, swathed in a blanket. 

Most mornings, he was here with you. He's not human you're not sure what he was but he likes to pretend that he is. Mornings would be a play of domesticity. Both of you mutually working towards an idea of breakfast. You'd listen on as he'd prattle about things that shouldn't really matter, but they do, at least to him. Years later, you think you understand why he's so obsessed with normalcy. To a man who could be described as a God, monotomous work must be a delicacy. 

But Satoru isn't here, and the door is unlocked. 

You can see it right from the kitchen. Still untouched from last night, the security screen happily chirping. It was just across the hall, less than a few steps away. If you wanted to, you could crawl to it. How easy would it be to step outside? 

You've been reminded of your mortality before. The first time wasn't due to Satoru. You were a kid, barely a teenager. Playing by a lack, balancing on a log before you had slipped, and nearly drowned. You woke in the hospital a day later. There's still a scar on your upper neck. Satoru kisses it sometimes. 

Being aware of your mortality with Satoru is constant. Akin to a coat, thin enough to not be hot, but you can still feel it cover your skin. The first time you left, he wasn't necessarily upset. More or less he was amused, as if you were a dog that had just found a way to sneak out to the backyard. As if the thought of you outsmarting him was laughable. There was no anger when he brought you back, gently kissing away the tears. The following days were intense, the air was suffocating. He was careful about the fire escape now. Maybe, back then, he didn't think you were so desperate. You know what they say about wild animals.

You weren't a wild animal anymore. You were a tamed rabbit.

But Satoru isn't here, and the door is unlocked. 

You think you'd go home. Not your old home, that apartment in the middle of the city, cramped yet with too little time to do anything about it. You'd go to your parent's house. You'd collapse into your mother's arms. You'd clutch onto your father. You'd squeeze your siblings to death. You'd eat warm food-your mother's cooking. Somehow, you'd convince your entire family to abandon their fluffy mattresses and sleep in the living room. Together. 

Perhaps, you'd enjoy the city. You never once saw the beauty in it, not until you were locked in this penthouse. Nowadays you find yourself staring out the window for hours, looking at the twinkling lights. Maybe you could be part of the crowd again, slipping through the cracks of being average. You could visit that cafe you'd been meaning to go to but never fully checked out. You'd pay for overpriced food, and drink cold sweet drinks that burned the back of your throat. Strangers would be all around you. You'd never know the meaning of silence ever again. 

You shouldn't think like that. It's ridiculous. It's cruel to hope. Nothing regarding Satoru is ever that easy. It's a trap. Another sick game he wants you to play because he's bored or he's testing you or just because he can and he will. 

But Satoru isn't here, and the door is unlocked. 

You keep the sink running because it's noisy; because you're hoping it's loud enough to cover your footsteps. Would be that easy? Has it ever been that easy? The bedroom door is still closed. The front door remains unlocked. 

You take one step where you know you're not supposed to. And then you wait. 

Heaven doesn't fall. There's no explosion, no heat, no flame, no pain. There's nothing. Just the sound of water collecting in the sink. 

You take another. It's even smaller. But less hesitant. 

You take another-

"Good morning!" 

His voice is always so soft and warm, but it makes you jump. Satoru appears right as you close the tap, done with the dishes. He's not wearing his glasses, nor does he wear his blindfold. He comes as Satoru, grinning down at you. 

You expect the kiss on your forehead. "Why weren't you there when I woke up?" You can hear the pout in his voice. 

You shrug, a small hesitant smile on your lips. "Hungry? I was thinking about crêpes this morning." 

"Fancy," Satoru muses. Another kiss on your temple before he's moving away. "We got everything for it?" 

You hum, focusing on the sink. The droplets of water. You will yourself not think about your sinking heart, falling down and down and down into your stomach. 

"Oh, would you look at that?" You jump at his words. He sounds just as cheery as always.

When you turn around his gaze is locked on the front door. It's still unlocked. 

A laugh escapes his throat. Light and airy but it doesn't help your darkened look. If anything, it makes it worse. 

"Looks like I forgot to lock the door last night. I'm so forgetful, sometimes." He complains despite you both knowing the truth.

His footsteps are so loud. Why are they so loud? Why can you hear them rupture your ears?

"Guess we got lucky. Who knows who could've gotten in." The lock clicks shut. 

Immediately, you burst into sobs. 

It's ugly. Pitiful. The kind that makes you sink to your knees because your emotions are too much. Your relief is too much. It's too much. It's too much because you knew. You knew what it was and yet you were so so close. The relief is there, but the fear if he had taken one more minute, two more seconds. 

He's there as always. Stooping to your level, taking you within his arms. You don't fight. You never fight. You allow your head to rest against his shoulder, uncaring if your tears soak his expensive shirt. His constant words of you're okay you're okay are supposed to be comfort. So are his warm hands, sinking into your clammy skin. You could almost believe his sincerity. It would be so easy to. 

But it's his smile that gives him away.

Too wide.

Too much teeth. 

#yandere #x reader #dark content #yandere jjk #yandere gojo x reader #dark jjk #dark gojo satoru #implied kidnapping #manipulation #tw:noncon #tw: dubcon

[atlasphoebus]

EXTERNAL CRITIQUE

For our External Critique, I was in the group with Natalie, Jessie, Phong, Shaday, and Ashleigh with artist Meg Porteous as our moderator.

I installed my work in the Form Gallery, and while I didn't take any photos it looked pretty much the same as pictured here, with my draft sketch on the wall and the spider web of hair on the side. I had intended to go into the session with the idea that it could be run more like a round table discussion rather than a cold read situation. This is because of the nature of how my work is made and comes together, that because it is not finished until the final moments and has a lot of elements to consider and contextual research that needs to be ironed out, I find it more helpful to ask questions, discuss ideas, to see how it gauges. I have found in the past with cold reads that I never get the content or the feedback that is relevant or helpful enough, that the conversation always goes away from what is needed and that there is a lot of silence. Despite this request, I was told no, and that it would be a cold read format because that was what I was told would be more helpful. This set up the session to feel quite hostile and like I wasn't being heard, and in these situations I struggle. Unfortunately this meant that I shut down and was not able to perform at my usual level. Natalie was kind enough to take notes, as listed below; Wooden beams look like they’re emerging from the ground       can feel their weight       like a gateway/boundary, but not as strict as a coffin       feels like trespassing when crossing the boundary, imposing on the figure that lays in the space       cult vibes

Power figures

Objects are currently getting lost in the install       especially next to the strong gesture of the figure      More objects could help balance it

Strong gallery lighting would be effective       small details get lost in dim lighting, and if you were to carve the wood it would be easier to see

Real hair would feel more authentic than fake hair       especially when talking about things you have experienced

Hollowness of the figure       like an empty vessel awaiting a new inhabitant

I think what was discussed in the crit will need some reflection and some time for me to feel ready to come back to it to make some firm analysis.

[moddedmoor]

💎 If they wear jewelry, what’s a piece they wear every day? 

I've got a lot of jewelry so bear with me here.

I've got gauges in (size 0) one side is a quartz/moonstone (not the evo stone) looking one and for the other i've managed to have a guy i know custom fit my keystone into a gauge. so they're that.

on my right ear i have two lobe loops with two upper helix balls. all are gunmetal.

on my left i have mirroring lobe loops with two helix with one a loop and the other a ball. still gunmetal. oh. almost forgot that there's also an industrial

i also have two facial piercings. a simple honeycomb stud on the right side of my nose and a labret. i also have a fake piercing on my left that's a simple black ball. oh. and a labret. that one's just a simple gunmetal ball.

and that's it for piercings.

daily put ons are two necklaces, both black rope with a pendant. the first one is blue in a diamond shape and the second one is a large green stone that's oval shaped.

then i have three rings. on my right thumb it's a small sun with a sword behind it. it's cool. the next two are simple bands.

one used to be silver in color but has faded copper with little stars and moons along it. that's on my right middle

the last one is a dark wood one with a simple stripe of blue resin running through it. this one's on my left index.

and. that's all.

#pokemon irl #pokemon #pkmn irl #pokeblogging #ask game #((i own the first two rings plus have a labret and nose piercing #((they just have all the piercings i want <3

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 102

Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead

Doctor Who double feature night! And I'm wondering, if I had to redo this (and god...if this is all still here in another 10 years, maybe I'll do it again), would I put all two part Doctor Who episodes in one night? Will this set of episodes even be a good gauge as they were the first ones I ever saw? Which I did watch as they aired? Before I was ever even on tumblr? But I'd heard of the show and happened to be doing a study abroad program in London that summer? Who's to say?

What I can say is that these two definitely hold a special place in my heart because (from all the Doctors and companions I've seen so far) Donna and Ten are my very very favorites, and for them to have been my first ones as well purely by accident, by sheer circumstance

"Silence in the Library"

Plot Description: The TARDIS arrives in the Universe's greatest library. But what lurks in the shadows?

I forgot that the Doctor actually greeting whatever (I can't remember if it was one of those things that Donna gets turned into) in the little girl's mind library was actually canon and not an outtake like the "I hate pears" monologue

Yeah, and this is probably one of those things that really made me think to go back to it once I did join tumblr. I loved how the Doctor talks about books. And yeah. It's still good

She's very valid for her disappointment of wanting a beach episode and getting a library one instead. No wonder she takes a spa day next 😬

At one point, I almost had a pretty fucking good replica of Donna's outfit. I was just missing the short sleeved cardigan thingy she's wearing. Also, her ponytail is flawless. Mine never look that good. (But it also reminds me of how much I wanna cut my hair)

You know, Vashta Narada aside, I would LOVE to go to this library

Donna kicking in the door because the sonic screwdriver "doesn't do wood" <3

This poor little girl...

Hmmm...I'm starting to wonder if the face of the guy chosen for the help desk thingy is the same guy who's Donna's fake husband when she gets "saved."

You know between the Vashta Narada and whatever the fuck is in Midnight, these episodes are PROPERLY scary

"I'm a time traveler. I point and laugh at archeologists" "Professor River Song, archeologist"

Oh, she just wants to be useful. So of course before she dies, Donna's gonna befriend her

What an interesting look for Donna to have as River marvels at how young the Doctor is, as she comes to realize this is the first time he is meeting her even though she already has so many memories with him. It's so very different from when Donna met Martha. This is protectiveness and almost jealousy.

No because for real...like...River's such a cool and interesting character and I'm almost afraid to go in the the next seasons where Moffat has control over what happens with her

Oh, don't go wandering off. Please don't go wandering off! (Me when I know she's going to wander off and get killed)

Ohhhh, she wants to talk to Donna one last time before she's gone...

Look...I'm not saying that we're gonna ACTUALLY get any payoff and actual closure or continuation from River knowing the Doctor but only knowing OF Donna before this episode in the 60th anniversary special, but WOULDN'T IT BE GREAT??

Not to be yearning on the yearning website, but like...I don't even like running, but I'm dying watching the Doctor grab Donna's hand to run and (what I believe was) River grabbing the Doctor's hand to do the same...

The repetition of "Hey, who turned out the lights?" and "Donna Noble has left the library. Donna Noble has been saved" as sentences spoken into the void not necessarily at anyone anymore is funny outside of the context, but the are HAUNTING

"Forest of the Dead"

Plot Description: As the shadows rise, the Doctor forges and alliance with the mysterious River Song

What IS Dr Moon's function?? Like, he's just kind of looming and a little creep last episode til he tells the little girl that the real world is a lie and The Library is real and there are real people there who need to be saved...which ratchets up the creepiness a LOT

He...IS the planet's moon?? I'm just.....this is suspending my disbelief a little too high over a little too much.

I'm like 90% sure she just told him his actual name, but my GOD the way he snaps back into action after hearing it.

Okay. Okay. On one hand, it IS a good reveal. Saying that there are five people still alive in that room when there are actually six people in the room. But like...forgive me for thinking she meant that there are five people aside from the Doctor alive

(So, it doesn't seem like the guy from the help statue things is the same guy that Donna's unreality after being saved)

"You hunt in forests, what are you doing in a library?" is such a good ALMOST revelation. It makes the watcher think about the implications of an entire world that's just a library...

Much as I do love libraries and old buildings with great wooden fixtures, this is a great psa against deforestation. This planet was once a great forest, and now...the wood has been chopped and fixed into place to build the library OR been pulped and turned into paper for the books that fill it. It's no wonder they've adapted and are taking back their home

I forgot there were two Daves on this expedition. There didn't HAVE to be two Daves, but...

I get so mad when these rich guys are the ones who either make it out or make it the longest. It happened on the Voyage of the Damned and it's seemingly happening now with the guy who chartered this expedition to the library his family built

Oh, poor Donna having her whole world rocked...I can understand her resistance to reality

On a scale from Donna Noble to Wanda Maximoff, how well do you deal with realizing your children aren't real?

GODDDDD the way he can make so many enemies retreat just by saying his title. I guess that would come with killing every other being of your species in order to ALSO kill your mortal enemies and stop the Time War

...I forgot this is not just the first time the Doctor meets River. It's the last time River meets the Doctor.

And the extra heartache of Donna insisting that her unreality husband was real and having to lose him...

And they walk off hand in hand...😭

BUT HE WAS REAL.

Okay. So maybe the rich guy wasn't so bad and seeing River reunited with her team and Miss Evangelista was nice...

#hellsite nostalgia tour 2023

[creek-cryptid-deluxe]

Y'all... there is more evidence that L is indeed my soul mate, my person, the only one who truly gets me. Let's see what has transpired.

Piece of Evidence #1: I was complaining about my hip messing up & making me 'useless'. He responded with, "Baby you are so efficient & so good at so many things, the gods had to nerf you for being OP somehow." in the most sincere tone.

Piece of Evidence #2: We were hanging out on the deck & I got up, saying I was off to do dishes (while limping because I tore something picking up Zel when she was hurt). He said, "Ok... WAIT! NO! I'll do them! Sit!" I reminded him that he'd said he'd do them for the past 3 days & hadn't. He said, "[Dr M] I command you to not do dishes!" I laughed & told him he was under leveled for the "Command [Dr M] spell" outside of specific circumstances in which my constitution is considerably lower. He got mildly offended & began going off about how his current Skyrim character can summon a ghost that's way above her level and that a 'debuff character build is valid'. I reminded him that this isn't Skyrim & he isn't a wood elf. A bit later I told him that if he ate in the next 15 mins, I'd relent (because he forgets to eat). Within 2 minutes he was in the kitchen making food while glaring at me & mumbling about blackmail.

Piece of Evidence #3: he knows I like to watch old episodes of Big Fat Quiz when I don't feel well & actually suggested we turn it on one night when I was clearly struggling but was doing an alright job faking it. For the last 4 nights in a row, that's all we've watched because he loves it... especially if Richard & Noel or Noel & Russell are a team.

Piece of Evidence #4: he walked in to me playing bass on my leg while painting cabinets & immediately asked if I was listening to Primus on loop again. He's also figured out how to gauge my pain/mood based on what I'm listening to (because some days I have to get real angry to make my body function, so I listen to shit like Slipknot/Tool/Nine Inch Nails/Manson/Kidney Theives).

Piece of Evidence #5: yesterday i went outside to talk to him & paused the music on my headphones as I sat down. He said, "Aw no more MSI? They do go hard." Apparently he could tell it was them just based on what he heard at a distance through my headphones. Genuinely never been with anyone who knows of them, much less likes or can ID them like that. (Before you come for me, yes I know Jimmy is a POS [anyone with half a brain could easily draw that conclusion] . I like the sound of their stuff and have never paid for any of it. It is called separating the art from the artist. You'd be horrified by my back tattoo. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Grow up.)

So yeah... dude is absolutely the one for me. (This is all on top of how extremely understanding he is when my bod/hormones malfunction & all the things I've always adored about him throughout our friendship.)

He actually asked me the other day when I developed feels for him. I told him that I'd always really liked him but like... he had some deal breaker stuff & was with my (then) friend. But that in early August (before I moved in but was staying over to hang out for a couple days), there was a massive storm that broke a massive part of a tree off in the yard of the house across the creek out back. It was hanging on the electrical wires & without hesitation he ran over to help the homeowners. I sat and watched from the driveway as he helped them cut it down. (Note: til then he hadn't ever interacted with them.) Then as he was walking back across the creek afterwards, the elderly woman who lived there with her husband called across to me "You've got a good man!" & L turned and said "Aw she's my best friend, it's not like that." I found myself feeling really... sad? Then internally I went "Oh fuckstockings. I'm in love with him. Goddamn it. This... might be a fucking problem." Then a couple weeks later it wasn't a problem because I basically lived here. And nearly 5 months later we are still great. No fights because we both speak very frankly and clearly when stuff is going on. There's some communication stuff because he's been programmed to read into things, but we talk about it.

Shit is dope.

#life with l