#giz speaks

[thegizka]

I don’t know if it’s because I’ve had a tough week and have been juggling a lot of stress lately, but listening to D-DAY and hearing Yoongi repeat in song after song that it’ll be okay, that there can be peace beyond the struggle and that he’s reaching out to show us the way and keeps rooting for us really means a lot right now.

#gosh this album is so good #it's exactly what I need right now #thank you Yoongi for this great gift #아포방포 #D-DAY #Agust D #SUGA #min SUGA genius jjang jjang man boong boong #bangtan boys #giz speaks

[ginxx00]

Hey, I'm not sure if I'm doing this right, and I apologize if I do.

Could you maybe write something about wanderer x GN!reader that is part of fatui?Maybe reader used to work under him before he erased his ties with fatui.

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲)

Gore implied, unhinged Scaramouche, reader being heavily injured and fragile, GN!reader

Scaramouche was an infamous villain, being well known in the Fatui ranks. He also happens to have been your boss the entire time when he encountered Mona, Fischl, and the traveler… Revealing that you, a weak mere mortal, was none other than (Y/N).

However, it seems that after Sumeru’s redemption arc, his entirety and existence has been erased and dealt with.

So…. What happened to you, when Scaramouche wasn’t your boss anymore?

“.. (Y)-(Y/N)…?”

Horrified, Scaramouche sees you without limbs. You didn’t have arms, you didn’t have legs… You were there, brutally injured on your ground. All because, he wasn’t there to take care of you anymore.

“Oh… Oh Archons, (Y/N)!” Scaramouche shouted in absolute terror before sitting next to you, his breaths being quickened, sounding like panting and as if he didn’t get to take a break at all. Your body was tightly engulfed into a hug, your tired eyes gazing at the male so confused and so lost…. And yet, you yearned for somebody to find you.. And it somehow came true.

But you didn’t know who he was.

“I’m sorry…” The hat guy’s voice suddenly broke, catching you slightly off guard as you didn’t expect him to suddenly cry… Why was he crying? Oh, poor dear, he’s crying because you’ve lost your limbs. Anyone would cry if they saw you like this, especially the Archons.

“It’s okay… It’s okay, oh fuck… You’re bleeding through your bandages…!” You watched in awe… Tiredly gazing at the guy who desperately tried bandaging you up with a bag he had along with. (Gifted from his auntie Nahida) He puts you soon on his lap, making you slightly flinch in surprise, but it didn’t take long for you as well to relax into his touch so oddly…. The male’s warmth.. Was something you always wanted… So warm…

Scaramouche however was so busy and panicked by your appearance, he started scolding you. “Damnit (Y/N)…! You should be more careful!! What the Hell! You’re fragile as a glass, you shouldn’t be able to even be outside!” He shouts relentlessly, with your mind poorly questioning; how did he know your name. You’ve never seen him before, and somehow, yet, he’s crying…

“Just- just…!” Scaramouche couldn’t help himself, and broke down when he saw how you looked at him. You were so tired it made him feel shattered. He tightly hugs you again after bandaging you up, tightening his hold onto you. He will never let you go. Never again.

“I am… So fucking sorry…”

You blink at the sudden apology… Sorry? What was he sorry for? Was he sorry for finding you? Was he sorry for something else? No… There was another meaning… Because Scaramouche suddenly buried his face into your shoulders.

“I’ll kill them… I’ll kill them all for you… Oh Gods, I shouldn’t have left you… I knew it was a mistake…”

“I’m so sorry…”

Words kept repeating over and over again. You were sure he was just trying to be gentle and empathetic, but you… For some reason, felt your cheeks becoming warm…. So very warm, like it’s really sweet and nice.. It felt incredible…

“… Don’t…” You trailed off, making Scaramouche immediately snap his head up to look at you with wide eyes. “D… Don’t?? Don’t what?! Don’t hug?? I’ll let go, oh of course I am so-” “D..on’t…” You cut him off, making Scaramouche become confused as he… Seemed lost. Oh… Were you trying to continue speaking? Oh you poor doll, he should’ve been quiet and not assume.

“Pl..e…..as…e… Don’t… Apo..lo..giz……e…” Your voice cord was completely broken, and that just caused something to snap inside Scaramouche’s mind… Who could’ve done this to you…? No, because WHO could’ve done this to you? You were loyal, you always did whatever he wanted, and the WORLD HARSHLY PUNISHED YOU. It betrayed you. Humanity betrayed you.

There was no single sanity in Scaramouche’s mind. He has completely lost it all. “… Oh.. (Y/N)…” He looked so terrified for a moment, before his face darkened, and looked completely unhinged in front of you. He kept holding you, so he never really hated you at all… Instead, he began burying his face onto your shoulder again… A hand trailing across your back as his eyes glowed.

“You’ll never go outside again… I promise you that…”

Warning to those who follow me📝 I do short hcs when it’s a request, sorry it isn’t long enough

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #genshin impact x you

[miseryscrowned]

Microstory prompts: 42, savior :3

Thank you Giz for this prompt ilysm <3

Savior

They looked up to her.

She couldn’t bear to look them in the eyes, her gaze shifting restlessly as she held the sword that the spymaster handed to her, she couldn’t tell what she was looking for: guidance? An escape?

The Herald of Andraste

Their cheering voices turning into a single muffled sound, merely a background to the pounding of her heart. She could barely understand what was happening, how she ended up there in the first place.

The Inquisitor

She had to say something, she could feel their stare piercing through her, burning with anticipation. Some were ready to live by her word like creed and some were merely waiting for her to make a false step, and perhaps she already made it. Inys wished she could hide behind the Keeper or Tuomas, her eyes were darting across the crowd almost expecting to see them but she knew well that they wouldn’t be there. The gods only knew where they were or if she would ever see them again.

Inys turned to the spymaster again, the woman looked at her as if they had been long acquainted, as if she knew something about her that she herself didn’t yet know, her grey stare was urging her, she could almost hear the woman speak directly into her mind.

They’re waiting for your speech, Inquisitor

She was their savior.

She only wanted to disappear.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #inquisitor lavellan #oc: inys lavellan

[mighty-ant]

Stone by Day, Part Four

Part Three

ao3

When Drake finally wraps his head around the gargoyle sharing a cell with him, and not the man-eating FOWL science experiment he was half expecting, the first thing he feels is relief. And not just for himself. 

Gosalyn isn’t the only one anymore. 

Of course, following on the heels of that relief is a swiftly sinking dread. 

I’m going to be alone again. 

A part of him had always known that this was how the adventure was going to end–her safe with her own people, him dragged back under the mantle of Darkwing, chewed up and spat back out by his city. Her wellbeing has superseded his happiness for a long time. Maybe since the first night Gosalyn turned to stone in his trembling arms, his suit stained with her blood when she got herself stabbed trying to protect him. Or since he mistook her for an attacker and twisted her arm on the orphanage roof, even. 

There are boxes of sugary cereal in his kitchen that weren't there two months ago, colored pencils and crayons scattered across his coffee table. He’s gotten used to folding child-sized t-shirts on top of the dryer, and learned how to brush hair without tugging on the knots. Drake isn’t ready to say goodbye to it all. But he will. It’s what’s best. He’s no gargoyle, for all that he apparently has the sleeping schedule of one. 

Speaking of gargoyles. 

The orange behemoth in front of him isn’t Gosalyn’s grandfather, that much Drake knows for certain. For one, he’s orange and Gosalyn very helpfully described her grandfather as green-skinned, with gray sideburns and curling, goatlike horns. This guy is almost on the opposite side of the color wheel, and without any horns to speak of. He is big, though, easily seven feet, about as tall as Gizmoduck in his armor. Part of Drake dreads Gosalyn ever getting that tall when she grows up, if he even gets to see it. She’d never let him hear the end of it. 

“So,” he starts, awkwardness tangling his tongue. Introductions have never been his forte. There’s a reason he appears in a cloud of smoke and vanishes again before anyone can force him to make small talk. “You…know me.” 

A slightly alarming prospect, considering SHUSH has taken pains to ensure he remains more mystery than man in the tabloids. Gosalyn just happened upon him one night and decided to follow him around; it took Drake about a week to realize he had a second, child-sized (sorry, hatchling-sized) shadow. He desperately hopes the big guy hasn’t been tailing him too, or else he’s really lost his edge. 

The gargoyle grins at him like it’s Christmas come early, nevermind that he’s been locked in this cell for gods knows how long. Drake should probably look into that. 

“Course I know you!” The gargoyle chuckles, and it’s a little disarming how effortlessly it transforms his fearsome face into such a warm expression. “I’m a big fan.” He lumbers forward, and it’s through sheer force of will that Drake doesn’t retreat from someone who looks like he bench presses semis in his spare time. He reaches out with a single sharp talon and carefully cuts the cable tie still holding Drake’s wrists together. And here he was planning to dislocate a thumb to get himself free. 

“I mean, uh.” The gargoyle takes a step back, looking abashed. “I’ve heard good things from-from Giz and the others.” 

Drake is briefly distracted by relief; he lets out a breath, the tension in his body easing when the gargoyle surrenders the few feet of space between them and he stops feeling so cornered. Then he has the wherewithal to scoff. “You sure you got the right Darkwing? The Justice Dweebs and I aren’t exactly organizing playdates.”

The gargoyle huffs, wry amusement replacing his earlier uneasiness. “Never would’ve guessed.” He crouches, the same way Gosalyn does when she’s been standing around for a while. In her case, Drake suspects that it’s the posture that feels most natural to her, whether because of her age or her specific gargoyle body type. A body type that this gargoyle definitely doesn’t share. As big and barrel chested as he is, it’s almost like he’s trying to make himself look a little smaller.

Drake crosses his arms, eying the gargoyle as he leans against the wall. The wall of his prison cell. Right, time to get back to business.  

He doesn’t know how long the gargoyle’s been here (days, maybe, if he really is Gizmoduck’s missing person), but it looks like FOWL has left him alone. Most wounds would’ve been healed by stone sleep, but this guy’s clothes aren’t even torn around where an injury would’ve been. And sure, Drake can’t imagine any Egghead or hired goon like Hammerhead wanting to go toe-to-toe against a seven-foot gargoyle, but there are ten hours of the day when the guy is solid stone. And in this place, a sitting duck in every sense of the word. Gruesome as the thought might be, if FOWL wanted the guy dead, he’d be dead and dust by now. 

So the question remains: why have they left him alive? And for that matter, why is Drake?

“We’ve established you know who I am.” He pushes off from the wall to slowly circle the gargoyle. All this mystery is making him anxious. “But you’ve got me at a disadvantage.” 

The big guy doesn’t move, other than to turn his head and keep Drake in sight. He looks unperturbed, maybe a little curious, but definitely doesn’t seem threatened by Drake’s patented ‘bad guy prowl’. And Drake suddenly wonders, if this guy does turn out to be a FOWL plant, could he beat him? If it came down to it and this gargoyle was all that stood between him and going back home to Gosalyn, keeping his word to sing her lullaby 2.0, would he be able to win?

 He’s never had one, single person to fight for. Everything he’s done since burying Drake Allard has been for the city: the belligerent deli owners, the teens playing hockey in the streets, the single moms walking home in the dark. All of them important, but all of them nameless. Gosalyn chose her name, then she chose to give it to him, and with it, someone Drake can live for and not just a cause to die for. 

The gargoyle offers Drake his hand, massive, orange and taloned. He could probably crush all 27 bones in his hand but Drake’s no coward, so he reaches out to take it. The gargoyle surprises him twice. First by wrapping his hand around Drake’s forearm instead, his talons easily swallowing the whole limb. Second by smiling up at Drake, boyish and bright, without a trace of guile.  

It’s a nice smile, and that realization breaks something in Drake’s brain. 

“Sorry about that,” the gargoyle says. “The name’s Launchpad. Launchpad McQuaid.” 

Drake numbly allows his hand to be tugged up and down in a handshake. “I, uh, didn’t know gargoyles could have last names,” he replies inanely. 

Launchpad laughs. “Then you must not know many gargoyles.” 

Immediately, Drake’s limbs lock up in panic. It’s a dead giveaway but he can’t help it–not when he’s been torn from nightmare to nightmare of Gosalyn being discovered, being taken like her grandfather, ripped from his arms and strapped down to a dissection table like the ones he discovered only a few hours ago. 

Launchpad’s brow ridge furrows in confusion over Drake’s reaction, as if thinking back to what he just said. When his prodigious jaw drops, Drake winces. 

“Wait, you have met other gargoyles?” he exclaims. “How? Where? I know there’s a lotta weird stuff in St. Canard, but–”

“Shh!” Drake yanks back his hand to wave them both frantically at Launchpad. “Heron could’ve bugged the cell!”

He shakes his head with utmost confidence. “Nah, she stopped bothering when I kept finding ‘em.”

“Finding them?”

“Don’t miss much with ears like these.” Launchpad grins as he wiggles his ears, and yeah, okay, they’re practically big enough to use as sails. “I can hear the electricity buzzing in the wall.”

Still, Drake is too cautious to discuss Gosalyn openly, in a FOWL prison cell of all places, and Launchpad seems to pick up on his reticence. “It’s great that you’re finally in the loop, though. Gargoyles are kinda an open secret over in Duckburg. The Guild hadn’t been sure whether or not to tell you. Joke’s on them, I guess.” 

“Yeah, joke’s on–hold up.” Drake backtracks, and righteous indignation floods him with the same intensity as his customary 11 p.m. triple shot espresso. “You’re Gizmoduck’s missing person,” he repeats, finally grasping its significance. “You’re telling me that Gizmodork knew about gargoyles before I did?”

“Maybe you would’ve known sooner if you didn’t play hooky at every meeting,” Launchpad teases. Drake surprises himself by flushing a little under his mask; with his coloring and the low lighting, he doubts it’s obvious. But how embarrassing. 

To make matters worse, Launchpad isn’t wrong either. If Drake had just sucked up his pride, for once, and attended the meetings like Gizmoduck practically begged him to every month (and SHUSH technically required of him) maybe he wouldn’t have been so blindsided by Gosalyn’s appearance in his life. He would’ve known about stone sleep, instead of having his heart stop when Gosalyn first turned cold and heavy in his arms after staining the front of his suit with her blood. She might’ve trusted him weeks ago and he would’ve known about her grandfather that much sooner, could’ve had the full force of the Justice Guild at his back when they raided the Bulwark Building and rescued the old gargoyle from whatever tortures Bulba and FOWL’s scientists were planning–were possible even enacting as they speak. 

If he’d listened to something other than his own ego, he certainly wouldn’t be sitting uselessly in a locked cell with a gargoyle who Gosalyn should’ve met ages ago, if only to prove that she isn’t as alone as she fears. 

Drake paces.��

He walks away from Launchpad–one, two, five, seven, ten steps one way, ten steps back, there are no windows and only one door, and if he’s getting claustrophobic he can’t imagine how the gargoyle feels. “How long have you been here?” he demands. “What’s the guard rotation?”

Time is a precious commodity, and stuck at a standstill, Drake can feel it rushing past him, drowning him in sand like a massive hourglass. He doesn’t have his watch, synced up Gosalyn’s (he already knows he’ll be too late to sing her lullaby 2.0 tonight), his gear, or even his damn hat. Everything useful was stripped from him and now he’s just a guy in a domino mask with some decent martial arts training that doesn’t amount to anything when compared to a man in indestructible armor, a literal Greek god, or the seven-foot gargoyle in front of him. Drake is mortal, painfully human, and he’s never felt his weaknesses so keenly. 

Launchpad startles, straightening under Drake’s brusque tone. 

“Uh, it’s been three,” he grimaces, “sorry, four days. And I haven’t seen any guard other than Hammerhead.” 

Drake paces some more, scanning the walls, floor, and ceiling as he goes. There are two circular air vents, too small for anything bigger than his arm to fit through. No loose paneling either–the walls look and feel like solid steel. 

“What have you tried?” he shoots over his shoulder. 

When Launchpad takes a few seconds too long to answer, Drake turns around. “To escape,” he reiterates. “What have you tried to escape?”

“Here’s the thing.” Launchpad won’t meet his eyes. He isn’t even looking at Drake, instead zeroed in on where he’s tapping his first talons together. “I haven’t…tried to escape.”

Drake, very mature he thinks, resists the urge to shake Launchpad. It would probably be just as successful as rocking a brick wall from side to side. He doesn’t, however, do anything to lower his voice, and it cracks through the air like a whip. 

“What–why not!”

Launchpad raises his hands defensively. “Hey, I know how that sounds! But-but I can’t try anything. They’re holding another gargoyle here, I’m sure of it, and I can’t risk Bulba or FOWL ki…hurting them.”

“That’s…insane.” Drake scrubs both hands over his face and through his hair, throwing it into disarray. On a normal night he’d cared about that–his image is half of his advantage against the scum he faces, arriving in a cloud of smoke, all silent menace, cool and collected while they panic and swear–but right now he couldn’t care less. He doesn’t care if Launchpad sees him unraveling, more man than mystery now, because everything that could go wrong tonight has done exactly that. Except that he’s not dead. Yet. 

“You do know how insane that sounds, right?” Drake really needs to hammer that point home. Of all the gargoyles in the world to get stuck with, however few there are, he had to get stuck with the one who refuses to help him see his dau–his charge again. Not that he knows that’s what he’s doing by making himself a martyr, but still. “Do you have any idea if the gargoyle is even here? And what’s stopping Bulba from just killing them whenever he wants? Or you?” The next thought that arises is chilling, but he mentally apologizes to Gosalyn and presses on. “Do you even know if they’re still alive?”

Launchpad smiles weakly. For such a big guy, he’s doing little to defend himself from Drake’s panic-driven onslaught. “I think that they are. I hope they are. But don’t worry about me, Darkwing. I’m, uh, I know Scrooge McDuff, so FOWL knows better than to mess with me.”

(In the back of Drake’s mind, the namedrop of the richest man in the world by a gargoyle strikes a familiar note. After all, Gosalyn told him that twenty years ago, an old, rich human offered her clan sanctuary in Duckburg. Could McDuff have been that human?)

In any event, Drake might actually yank his hair out. Gosalyn, if he ever sees her again, will call him Baldy for the rest of his life and he’ll gladly take it if it means he’ll get to hear her voice. “I’m not worried about you!” he sputters. “I’m worried about–” 

Should he just tell Launchpad he has a kid waiting for him at home–a gargoyle kid–in the hopes that he’ll take Drake’s insistence that they get the hell outta dodge seriously? Is it worth the risk of FOWL listening in, despite the assurance of Launchpad’s supposed super-hearing that they aren’t being monitored? Is he willing to put Gosalyn’s safety into question ever again, no matter how low the chances are? 

He isn’t. Of course, he isn’t. 

Turning away from him, Drake takes a breath. “Listen, Launchpad, I don’t have the benefit of rich friends. I need to get out of here, now. Can’t you, I don’t know, put those muscles to good use and knock down this door or something?”  

Behind him, Launchpad’s already mellow voice is low and apologetic. “I’m sorry, Darkwing. I don’t think I’m gonna have time to do that.” 

Oh for the love of Mike. 

“What do you mean you don’t have–” 

A familiar sound stops him dead in his tracks. It’s the quiet crackling of stone that he’s grown used to hearing following a clumsy lullaby, old cases-turned bedtime stories he’s censored for young ears, or sleepy tales of an expansive jungle canopy and a weeks-long journey. Only one time has the sound accompanied painful, clawing dread: when Gosalyn was apologetic and bleeding in his arms, before she went cold and terrifyingly still. But this is a close second. 

Drake already knows what he’ll find when he turns around. He does it anyway. 

Launchpad’s regretful expression has followed him into stone sleep, and his sightless eyes are locked onto where Drake had been standing last. 

He’s too late. It’s the next day. 

Drake is allowed a few hours of sleep, but with the big, scary gargoyle out of the way, he isn’t surprised when Hammerhead and a half-dozen Eggheads flood the cell and drag him away. 

He hadn’t pegged Bulba as the sort to get his hands dirty. 

White collar criminals tend to earn their title for a reason. They keep well out of the way of the action while the poor mooks they hire have to reach into the blood and mud to fight and claw and scrape to do their dirty work, to survive. 

And anyway, it’s the stooges who Drake usually goes after. He’s one guy–he can’t dismantle an entire criminal empire, not on his own at least. When he’s taken out a couple dozen lower level punks, the ones hitting up stores for protection money and threatening his citizens, and gets enough dirt on their bosses, he’ll pass it all over to SHUSH with their infinite reserve of agents to do the official takedown. 

At most, the few crooked CEOs Drake has faced will have a halfcocked pistol tucked in a desk drawer that they don’t know how to use, and the kingpins who inherited their empires never had to stab a buddy in the back (sometimes literally) to stake their claim at the top of the heap. They have other people to do the fighting and the torturing for them because evil as they are, they lack the proper experience to get the job done. Might even think themselves above it, until they find themselves helpless at the business end of his fist. 

Point being, Drake doesn’t expect Bulba to take charge of his beating, or to do it so expertly. 

The Eggheads bound his hands again and hung him from a hook in the middle of an adjacent cell, all very by the book, interrogation-wise. He can brush the floor with the toes of his boots so he doesn’t have to worry about his arms getting wrenched out of their sockets just from the weight of him hanging there, which was nice of them, if unintentional. Bulba’s cells might be gargoyle-proof, but they lack the state-of-art shackles and torture devices that Buzzard’s Eggheads are probably used to. 

Hammerhead worked him over first. No questions, just fists and headbutting, still sore about Drake getting him arrested the last five times. Not that Drake made it easy for him, kicking Hammerhead in the gut when he was almost out of reach and kneeing him in the crotch when he was close enough. Hammerhead ended up more out of breath than Drake, his nose swollen up like a grapefruit from Drake’s kick to the face back in the elevator, greasy hair hanging in his eyes and fancy gangster tie all undone. 

Then Bulba, lurking at the back during his “interrogation,” steps forward. 

Sometimes it’s hard to tell what you’re gonna get when it comes to these scientist types. There’s the cold and calculating sort like SHUSH’s Sara Bellum, who doesn’t care who you are or what you’ve done as long as you get out of her way. Then there are the sickos, the real mad scientist types, who hurt people for the twisted joy of it. Black Heron is the latter, obsessed with human experimentation, torture, and weapons of mass destruction, to name a few of her hobbies. Seeing her out of her snake pit isn't a good sign on a normal day, and seeing her shacked up with Bulba and the millions at his disposal is a terrible sign. 

Back in that shadowed room, when Drake woke to find himself tied to a chair, Bulba had struck him as the Bellum sort of scientist, albeit with a better sense of humor. But then Bulba hands his exquisitely tailored suit jacket to a hobbling Hammerhead and rolls up his sleeves with a savage sort of grin, and Drake feels a prickle of uncertainty in the back of his mind. 

They hadn’t bothered with removing his suit armor–just their luck, since they’d have a devil of a time trying to pry him out of it anyway–but even through three layers of kevlar micromesh, Bulba nearly knocks the breath of his lungs with one punch. His fists rain down on Drake in a punishing onslaught, a raging storm of unbridled power with no compunction about unleashing it on another. The elegant man who exchanged cheesy supervillain banter with Drake is gone, a mask that Bulba has allowed to slip, revealing someone wild in his place, artless in his recklessness, like a child with a new toy that he can’t wait to break. 

Bulba’s punches remind Drake of the beatings he received at the hands of his own schoolyard bullies–all power, no skill. It’s almost bewildering in its familiarity. As Drake’s lip splits and blood fills his mouth, he’s struck with the half-crazed urge to ask, Do you remember beating up a Drake Allard behind the equipment shed in eighth grade? Kinda nebbish, glasses, liked to wear Dolly Parton shirts? 

But what Bulba lacks in training he makes up for through his sheer size, the breadth of his fists, the coiled power of his muscles. He’s the sort of man who’s come out on top of every fight he’s ever been in because he’s the size of a mountain, and abuses the hell out of that fact. 

Bulba has a pinkie ring on one finger; Drake can tell by the way it rips a hole in his eyebrow. Blood pours into his left eye, but that doesn’t matter so much when it’s already swelling with the beginnings of a black eye. Blows to his torso, cushioned by his armor, mean bruised ribs instead of broken. He sees the fist aiming for his jaw and he moves with it lest he lose any teeth. But he needn’t have worried about the last one. 

Just like Drake’s schoolyard bullies, Bulba tires quickly. Untrained as he is, he’s putting 100% of his energy behind every punch, burning himself out instead of pacing himself. It’s a wasteful, childish technique that only works when he wants to pummel his victims into submission through quick, brutal, overwhelming force. It only works on people who aren't used to receiving beatings on the daily. When they haven’t trained themselves to overcome any measure of pain and get back up. Every. Single. Time. 

Bulba backs off, huffing and puffing like he just sprinted up the last twenty flours of Bulwark Tower. He grins as he wipes sweat off his brow. “So quiet, Darkwing. Not in the mood for witty repartee?”

Drake gathers a mouthful of blood and spits, aiming for the mirrored surface of Bulba’s custom leather A. Testoni dress shoes. Bullseye. “What, you want color commentary? Somebody sounds insecure.” He grins, teeth almost definitely tinged pink with blood. 

Hammerhead takes a little step away from him. That feels pretty good. 

Bulba huffs a laugh, shaking out his fist. His bloodlust has receded, once more tucked neatly behind the mask of an unruffled businessman. He examines Drake with a strange, eager gleam in his dark eyes, as a scientist might a new laboratory specimen. It makes Drake’s skin crawl. 

“I’d heard you could take a beating,” Bulba observes, still out of breath. “But I’m impressed. You don’t stay down, do you?”

Drake sneers. “Not ‘til I’m in the ground.”

 Bulba hums thoughtfully. At a gesture, Hammerhead steps forward to help him back into his suit jacket, though Bulba adjusts his tie himself. 

“You’re small-time, Darkwing. You know that don’t you? An ant among giants.” He begins to circle Drake as he tugs on his sleeves, straightening his ruby cufflinks. Drake wishes he were free, if only so he could stuff those cufflinks down his throat. “Take that Hercules fellow. Everyone thinks it’s a gimmick, that he’s just another superpowered freak. Or an alien like that imbecilic Moonlander. But he’s the real thing. A Greek god, in our own backyard. Life really is stranger than fiction, and so few people actually know it.” 

“So you figured out the obvious. What do you want, a gold star?” Drake grunts, wiggling his thumb as subtly as he can. He wonders how long it would take him to dislocate the bone from this angle and slip his hand out before anyone noticed. 

Bulba stops in front of him, head tilted to the side, and Drake stills. 

“I want to know what you get out of this, Darkwing. This isn’t your place, here, in the light. The shadows are your hunting ground; corrupt cops and court jesters are your prey. All this magic and mayhem isn’t your usual scene. But now, despite what your instincts must be screaming at you, you’ve thrust yourself under the biggest spotlight in all of St. Canard,” Bulba grabs hold of the chain keeping Drake suspended from the ceiling, dragging him in close, until he can count the beads of sweat dotting Bulba's bald head. “And you still haven’t told me how you knew about the gargoyles.” 

And here Drake had been hoping that Bulba’s apparent insanity overrode his intelligence. 

“What, you want my whole life story while you’re at it?” Drake grunts, unable to completely hide his discomfort. Bulba’s right about one thing–he isn’t used to this amount of attention, especially from the crazies he usually fights. It’s usually more along the lines of a frantic punchup in a lightbulb factory or abandoned toy warehouse than getting tenderized like a slab of meat followed by one of the weirdest therapy sessions he’s ever had. 

Bulba scoffs, releasing Drake’s chain. He takes a step back, eying Drake up and down, pointedly unimpressed. 

“I don’t need it. I figured you out after our first conversation.”

“Oh yeah?” Drake can’t help but goad him. He’s lost every defense but his attitude, and he’s not about to let that last shield fall in front of the likes of Bulba and Hammerhead Hannigan, nevermind how cold dread zings through his gut at the bored certainty in Bulba’s voice. Whatever game he’s playing, it’s keeping Drake away from Gosalyn, Launchpad in the next cell, and wherever they’re holding Gosalyn’s grandfather in this labyrinthine tower.

“You act and speak before thinking–clearly you’re used to working alone,” Bulba starts. “And more than that, you’ve always been alone. An only child, if I had to guess, starved for the attention of his parents and his peers, when it wasn’t negative, of course.” He leans in, insufferably smug, resident Darkwing historian that he apparently is. “Definitely bullied. You’re defensive enough for it. And your need to prove yourself the strongest, scariest superhero around also leads me to believe you were weighed down by the expectations of a parent. Most likely the father. Isn’t it always?”

Drake tries, and fails, to headbutt Bulba when the slimeball leans back with an insufferable smirk just in time to avoid the blow. “Does the big scary scientist have daddy issues?” Drake jeers. 

“Ah, childish insults,” Bulba enthuses. “The poor man’s wit. But not in your case, eh, Darkwing? Your reputation speaks for itself. You, my friend, are known for your silence as you throw yourself into all manner of life threatening danger. Because it’s not your life you fear for, is it? That’s been forfeit since you first put on that ridiculous mask and cape. So what changed? Whose life do you fear for? You’ve always been a protector, but perhaps that title has grown more literal. Closer to home.”

Drake swallows reflexively. He doesn’t like thinking about his life before Gosalyn anymore–the great, yawning abyss that was his lonely routine, the filth he so willingly waded into. She’d given him something to fight for beyond the anger that had long since burnt through him, leaving the ashes of disillusionment behind. He’d been living a shadow of a life, and like Bulba so astutely pointed out, was unprepared to be dragged back into the light. 

Before, he’d been angry. Then, he felt nothing. Now, he’s afraid, afraid for her, more afraid than he’s ever been, and he doesn’t know how to hide it. 

“Hm. A recent change, perhaps,” Bulba observes, apparently on a roll now. “And one that would have brought you here, to my building, to seek something out. Or rather, someone. A gargoyle,” he says with such terrible certainty that Drake’s heart stutters. “The one that my aged specimen was mumbling about.” Bulba grins with a mouth full of gleaming, perfect teeth. “You, Darkwing, have a gargoyle hatchling in your care.” 

Terror unlike any he’s known since he was a child, helpless and weak, blinds and deafens Drake for several seconds. Rationality takes a moment to right itself. 

He doesn’t know about the Tower, he reminds himself over the cacophony of blood roaring through his ears. The sun’s up. Gosalyn’s safe as long as she doesn’t leave. 

Even in the midst of his panic, Drake’s detective brain latches onto Bulba’s use of past tense. His stomach drops even as fury wrenches through his heart like a hot iron brand. 

“Was?” he demands, lunging forward on his chain. “What’ve you done to him? Where are you keeping him?” 

Bulba chuckles. “Your loyalty is commendable, Darkwing. Especially for a creature you’ve never met. You didn’t meet him, did you?” he clarifies, sounding curious. 

“Never had the pleasure,” Drake growls. 

“Well, he had a singular mind, let me tell you,” Bulba enthuses with gleeful, off putting passion. “I’ve never witnessed such genius from an untrained source. Everything he knew about physics, transdimensional reality–it was all just theory! He’d only ever read about it in books, but he was able to put that knowledge to use with remarkable ease. I’m ashamed to admit, without his help, the device wouldn’t be nearly as far along as it is.” 

Drake has officially lost the thread of the conversation. “Wha–device?” he sputters, confusion and latent anger simmering in a nauseating stew. The continued use of past tense has dread tightening in his gut like a vice. 

But Bulba rambles on as if Drake hadn’t spoken. “Did you know, we weren’t even looking for gargoyles! Far from it. FOWL lent me a few teams of Eggheads to patrol for your little playmates, and to throw the Justice Guild off the scent before they could interfere with my plans. But when they reported that they’d encountered a live specimen, well, I wasn’t about to look a gift gargoyle in the mouth, now was I? As plentiful as the creatures are in Duckburg, they’re too well-protected by their proximity to McDuff. And by the time they migrate to his sanctuary upstate? Forget about it!” 

Drake jerks forward on his chain, as ineffectual as a fish dangling from a hook, but he’s too angry, too scared, too damn baffled to care. “What the hell are you talking about? What plans? What did you do to the gargoyle, Bulba?”

Bulba blinks, like he’d forgotten Drake was even in the room. “Wow,” he says. “You really don’t belong up here.” He holds his hand open behind him, beckoning to Hammerhead with a wiggle of his fingers. Drake watches with sharp trepidation as Hammerhead slips a slim, black case out of his inner jacket pocket and presses it into Bulba’s waiting palm. He opens it to reveal a single syringe filled with clear liquid. “You should’ve stayed small-time, Darkwing. You weren’t ready for the spotlight.” Bulba clicks his tongue, disappointed, as he removes the syringe and taps on the needle. 

Panic licks up Drake’s throat like hot fire but he grits his teeth and strengthens his glare. “Oh yeah? Then what was the point of all this if you were just gonna kill me?” 

I’m sorry, Gos. I'm sorry I failed you.

“Kill you?” Bulba repeats with a surprised laugh. “No, no, Darkwing, you misunderstand. We’ve got to get you ready for your big scene. Nothing less than a grand finale for our hero.” 

At his nod, Hammerhead darts forward and grabs a handful of Drake’s hair, jerking his head roughly to the side. With his neck exposed, Bulba jabs him with the syringe, emptying its contents in one quick go. 

As Drake’s vision swims and the blackness of oblivion drags him under, he hears Bulba croon, “Just wait till you meet your co-star.”

#ant writes #IM FINALLY BACK #with more gargoyles! #duckgoyles au #gargoyles au #gargolyes #darkwing duck #drake mallard #launchpad mcquack #taurus bulba #ducktales 2017 #stone by day

[a-eo-iu]

Thank you everyone who voted on my poll here are the guys you earned <3

Tudo and Boy already existed as concepts (I knew Pills had a husband and son) but now they exist in visual concept as well

Tudo's face was based on Elis Regina, a singer who sang very famous versions of Belchior (Pills's faceclaim)'s songs. But I gave him a silly mustache so he doesn't look that much like her

Boy is like 16 or 17, he's like in high school. Shitty mustache aged boy.

Boy is adopted but not legally adopted, and Pills and Tudo are not legally married either

Vic's parents legally adopted Giz because Vic pretty much adopted them as a sibling after their first meeting

I am not 100% sure what Vic's parents do, but his mom works for the government (I originally thought politician but I think she might be a judge, or both) and his dad has like an import/export company

Colina was born on Tevus but his family is not tevusi, they're from Gulnu (another continent). I think he has double citizenship. His company operates mainly in Tevus and the country his family is from

Vic and his dad have acne scars because I think it's interesting and I never see ocs with acne scars

(speaking of, I had to draw those lines twice because they looked Bad as lineart and I couldn't just separate them from the lineart. lots of work)

uhhhh yeah I think that's all I have to say thanks for coming to my oc doodles and facts

#youni originals #you are free #mon #luz #faith #pills #ray #vic #giz #tudo #boy #destino #colina #vic's parents #I was gonna fully color everything but my hand hurted yesterday so i decided to just throw solid colors at the sillier ones #pills's family is very funny to me. illegal family. t4t gay guys found a kid and took him in. the kid's name is boycott. #this is probably the first time I properly draw Faith which is funny because he's a very important character #and yet i never think about him #he's just. that friendly guy who is very unlucky

[blujayonthewing]

SO one of the things I've been thinking about (again) is how Juniper doesn't feel like there's anyone she can talk to, and how that might end up playing out as using magic as an outlet in various ways. Tasha's gave druids the ability to cast Find Familiar with a use of their wild shape, and it's something I've had prepped for as long as I've known about it, but it hasn't come up in-game yet; I had been kind of imagining it coming up in a moment of needing to reach someone for a touch spell (probably Fengling, who is impulsive and headstrong and whose speed is a million), but now I'm thinking it's more likely to manifest from the need to have someone to talk to who doesn't have More and Worse trauma than she does (from her perspective).

So now the question is: how do I flavor this familiar? I've been waffling between two basic options: either it's an extension of herself, or it's a gift through her connection with the fey. The former makes more mechanical sense, strictly speaking; the spell is cast with wildshape, and it's a new/ optional class feature not connected to her subclass, feats, or backstory, and theoretically any other druid could do the same thing. But, on the other hand, I like the idea of leaning into the fey flavor of familiars and making that connection a little more explicit, since there's already a connection there for June within the narrative? And also, now that I'm thinking about it in the context of 'needing someone to talk to' again, the idea that at the end of the day she's fundamentally just talking to (an externalization of some spiritual aspect of) herself makes me kind of sad :') Besides, 'feeling lonely and isolated and turning to an imaginary friend' is potentially really interesting, but 'feeling lonely and isolated and turning to the fey' feels like it could have legs... 👀

Anyway the actually important thing is that I wanna decide for sure before she actually casts the spell, because if it's an extension or reflection of Juniper she's going to look like a (mostly) ordinary barn owl, cream and gold:

(art by giz-art, which I love so much I bought a print)

... but if she's connected to the archfey Dubheasa, the 'Dark Lady Of The Water,' then she'd look more like this

... and I would want to change the macro.

#the way I've personally headcanoned/ flavored familiars where-- well Idri AND Mel I guess technically but mostly Mel-- is concerned #is that a familiar is created by the spellcaster using magic and the fey/ fiend/ celestial spirit is just an animating spark of life #there may be some very root primal shape of a personality attached to the spirit but the spirit itself wasn't sentient before #the familiar is a New Creature born from the spellcaster's will #so a lot of times what they're like will (intentionally or subconsciously) reflect either the spellcaster's personality or their needs #this is different from warlocks who get A Creature given to them by their patron which feels pretty clear cut to me flavorwise #but druids....... it could really be explored in a lot of directions. especially for Juniper who is now a Fey Druid specifically #wildshaping calls on the primal spirit of The Platonic [Beast] to reshape one's body to that beast #it would make sense if using wildshape does the same to CRAFT a new body for an unassigned animating spirit #ultimately working out similarly to how it works for wizards: you used your magic and some loose Soul Energy to create a creature #(this is also essentially how I imagine Conjure Beasts works) #but I dunno. I think there's something poetic about needing so badly to reach someone that a part of your soul leaps out to them #and I also think making friends with an actual fey being who was sent here to love and help and protect you has narrative potential #I dunno!! #Juniper's been pretty independent for most of her life-- 'the real power was inside you all along :)' doesn't feel satisfying for her #she really needs to feel *supported* #but that doesn't necessarily mean this is the best or the right avenue for that #HMMM. #about me #my OCs #juniper

[nasturtiumsforbreakfast]

.

speaking of sex toys, tangentially

this is far more information than anyone not in the room with me needs to know but y'know,, I might've said worse before now

um.

basically I've got one of those. I don't remember the name of the toy, giz a sec to look it up.

Well, I got it from lovehoney aaaa while ago, and their website is,, not working?? so. but someone else terms it a um a clit suction vibe. so y'know. one'a them. meant to be like. well. "clit suction" says all

anyway like basically uhhm my. clit. is,, larger?

I basically have a t-dick pre-T (which'll be interesting to uh. find out what'll happen with that? cs I'm starting low dose gel uhhhh tomorrow!) so,,, it's awkward? to use the toy? it doesn't really um. fit? right? like it's fine but the suction doesn't work as well as i'd prhaps like?

it might just be a terrible um. thing. and if i got a different one that'd work better.

or, it might be that uhhhh genital variation is not being accounted for? and like,, petition to include uh different sizes. of these devices?

cs atm, havin a click about, all I'm seeing is like standard one size for cis women (bit small for me), and then like. cis men get them whatever-you-call-'em (cavernously huge for me), there's no like in-between-y types ones.

obvs, cs I guess that's the general market n whatnot, but still like :(

so my options atm are "suffer" and the impossible-for-several-anxiety-based-reasons "find another person willing to suck me off"

but then, I haven't used said slightly awkward toy in,, a while, so I spose I should give it at least another go before I write it off completely

And, I imagine, that relatively soon "slightly awkward" will become more-so, because I am starting T tomorrow, so, I imagine, the problem will be,, exacerbated, as is the way of these things, eventually

#sorry folks normally readmores mean photos but today #it just means ramble i'm somewhat more embarrassed by than usual #i don't um. talk about this much

[gizreads]

I’m taking inventory of my books today and holy cannoli, I have a lot that I haven’t read. 😬

#giz speaks #books #no trips to the library anytime soon for me #i would also say no trips to the bookstore but I have some manga on order already #plus all of those nice new releases I'm looking forward to this summer... #guess I'll just have to read faster

[thegizka]

Today I chose to let my overdue homework be an additional day late because my dad was willing to watch another episode of In the Soop: Friendcation with me tonight. 🤧

#priorities #I have to take my family-approved communal bangtan moments when they come #besides In the Soop is such a comfort show #and I was feeling very stressed and unhappy today #giggling over the wooga squad giggling is cheap therapy and I am happy to have it #now I have to listen to Pied Piper on a loop so I get back on track with my studies #giz speaks #bangtan boys #in the soop #in the soop friendcation #wooga squad #procrastination

[aelric]

the real drama is gonna be seb coming back to emmerdale fifteen years down the line with a scouse accent and robert crying cus he cant understand a single word his son is saying

#'ay dad that's bossda' #'i went out with the lads and it was proper west y'know?' #'giz a bevvy' #robert: [sobbing] PLEASE JUST SPEAK TO ME SEB #let's talk about emmerdale #robert sugden #seb white

[crispy-chan]

hello!! german speaking friend here:) (actually if you’d like,you can call me giz cause « german speaking friend » is getting long😭

when i’m responding to this, i’m currently back to my home country:) i left germany and probably won’t go back right now because of the complicated situation :/ tho i’m rly happy to be back:) and i left with a b1 certificate after 2 and a half months so i’m glad about that,,

what about you?? how are you? don’t worry abt the late replies ever! i hope you’re doing well:) good luck with school too😭😭muah❣️

hiiii my beloved german speaking friendo <3

sorry again for the late reply T_T i really need to clear out my inbox so that answering asks isn't intimidating lmfao

hello giz <3

anyways, congratulations !!! wow, B1 in less than three months - you have my admiration <3 i'm really proud of you! i feel like from now on, the language could possibly be smooth sailing... idk, i feel like you've got a large chunk of work behind you. at least in my opinion, for speaking purposes/understanding movies etc, learning some additional vocab will be all you need. but of course, if you choose to continue learning, that would be amazing!

but i'm sorry to hear about the situation, i'm glad that you did something that makes you happy though - i can imagine it must be pretty hard to be on an exchange program with the pandemic, so i totally understand that you wanted to come back <3

and thank you, i'm doing pretty well !! just don't want to return to school now cause it's the end of the semester and i'll have to "fight" for my grades this year. it's especially a pain in the ass cause we have a ton of new teachers and it's all just really chaotic.

thank you !! i'm wishing you all the best <3 happy new year 💕

#german speaking friendo #giz #anons ☁️ #mail 💌 #i'm always so happy to hear from you <3 #hope you're doing well !

[despicablenotions]

So, this was originally a request for my good buddy @nsfw-giz that I took over for them :)

Karl Jacobs - Slash Jay

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CW: light smut, choking, somewhat subby Karl

Word count: 637, this feels like more of a drabble really

Proof read?: no because i'm tired

A/N: I do hope this is satisfactory, I write for Karl a lot in Google Docs but never post it because I feel I don't write him very well, but I really liked this request and wanted to try my hand at it. Thanks again Giz for the opportunity to get rid of some writer's block. <3

The two of you had been dating for almost a year now. Thanks to Karl joining the Dream SMP shortly after you did, and the two of you hitting it off so well. Karl always winning your Love or Hosts and vice versa. So it was no big surprise when you revealed your flirting wasn't a bit and you were actually dating.

It started as a joke, really. Karl constantly making little jokes about people choking him. Sometimes it was him quoting Corpse, other times it was him straight up telling people to choke him, as a joke of course. He never expected himself to be in bed, both of you half naked in just your shirts with you on top of him while he contemplated asking you to do it.

You were both already close to your climaxes but Karl couldn't help himself. He wanted you to choke him. And it wasn't a joke this time.

The fidgety male looked up at you, his iridescent eyes showing just how hesitant he was to speak up. He was dragging his fingers over your waist, drawing patterns into your skin. You looked at him, tilting your head in curiosity. You watched as he opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if debating with himself one last time if he wanted to go there.

"Is everything okay, bubs?" you ask him softly, ceasing the rolling motion of your hips to cup his cheek with your hand. He nods, leaning into your touch for a moment before taking a breath. He sighed softly, putting his hand over yours.

"Well, I was just... (Y/n), could you choke me?" he asked you hesitantly, and you froze. Sure, you'd thought about it. Especially since he made so many jokes about it. But you'd never really expected him to seriously ask you to do it.

You give him a small nod and slowly move your hand up to his throat, applying gently pressure. The sound Karl let out was music to your ears. Your face flushed almost as red as his and you applied a bit more pressure as you gently rolled your hips, earning another strangled moan from the fluffy haired man.

"(Y/n) please- Please, please." he begged softly. It wasn't really necessary, as you weren't actually denying him any pleasure but it still sent shivers down your spine. Hearing him beg so pretty, something about it just made you want to give in.

You rolled your hips again, ripping another moan from your boyfriend as his grip on your hips tightened slightly. You moaned softly, hand never leaving his throat, as you both got closer and closer to release. You rolling your hips mixed with his occasional bucking of his hips drove you both wild.

Karl's mind was numb. He never thought a joke he'd been making for so long would actually work out like this. He never realized just how good your hand around his throat would feel. As you squeezed his neck once more, ever so gently, Karl came into the condom with a soft cry, his pretty eyes rolling back in his skull.

You smiled softly, reaching your release not long after and collapsed next to him, whispering soft praises to the male. You traced gentle patterns on his still clothed chest with your fingers for a moment or two before sitting up to help him with the condom and clean up.

Eventually, you both lay in bed, cuddling each other sleepily when you finally spoke up. "So... I guess you can't put a slash jay after telling people to choke you." you joked tiredly, earning one of his classic high pitched giggles. He shook his head lightly and kissed the top of yours.

"Only with you." he said softly, just as sleep took you over.

#karl jacobs #mcyt smut #smut #dsmp x reader #x reader #choking #karl jacobs x reader #mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction

[nocturnal-dreams]

Never Let Me Go

==============================

Pairing: Technoblade x GN!Reader

Warnings: fluff

==============================

==============================

“You get away from Y/N, Quackity,” you felt the salty tears go down your face as Quackity held onto you tighter, the ax so close to your throat it could drip blood. You had only wanted to help, you were scared for Techno, you couldn’t stand to watch him get hurt. 

“Technoblade drop everything or I will let Y/N bleed like the pig you are, don’t test me, I have no sympathy for you or Y/N in this moment,” Quackity glared towards Techno.

You looked towards your friend, your vision blurred by your watery eyes, “Techno don’t do it, I’m not worth it, save yourself.”

Techno’s eyes shown the familiar red of blood softened staring at you, a small drop of blood dripping down your neck from Quackity’s ax. All he wanted to do was take you into his arms and heal you of all the wounds physically and mentally Quackity had given you. Techno looked down at the snow beneath his feet, his hand shaking as he held the sword in his hand, “you’re wrong Y/N, you are worth it. You’re the one person that has treated me with the upmost kindness despite what a monster I’ve been, I’d risk my lives thousand times over for you.” And that was it, the blade fell from Techno’s hands onto the layers of snow.

Quackity smirked in victory, toss your shaking body into the snow as Tubbo and Fundy took ahold of Technoblade and dragged him away. You laid in the snow as Techno was taken, your mind screaming at you that it was your fault Techno was going to die. Your tears fell into the snow as you wrapped your arms around yourself, your body and mind in pain, only bothering to go inside when it had gotten dark and started to heavily snow.

And now you were here still crying. You were laid in your cold bed, the quiet noise of your cries echoed through the house as you clung to the red robe around your shoulders. It had belonged to Techno, the one person that had loved you for you, not for what you gave other people. It was your fault, you had doomed him, your mind screamed at you, you were the reason he was going to die tonight. 

Maybe if you had been quicker and able to fight back then maybe Quackity wouldn’t have been able to use your life as a weapon against Technoblade. Quackity knew how much you meant to Techno, Techno would have murdered an entire village if it came down to it for you. You were his little blade as he always put it. Aside from Phil, you were the most important person to him. And now you were the person to doom him.

You glanced at your wrist, the golden netherstar bracelet that Techno had spent so long making for you. You pulled it off of your wrist, holding it in your shaky palm as you felt the tears starting to well up again, holding the bracelet to your chest tightly while you cried. Techno’s spare robe starting to fall from your shoulders but the weight of the guilt not even allowing you to notice the weight of the robe disappear. 

“Y/N?” your head perked up at the sound of Techno’s voice, dropping again to your knees as you hugged your knees to your chest. There was no way Techno could have lived, you had heard what the execution would be, no one could survive a fifty block anvil drop.

It was silent in the house you once enjoyed spending every minute in with Techno, you didn’t even know how to feel right now. You had trusted Quackity once, you two were friends, you had been the one to comfort him when Schlatt would cross the line with him. You wanted to hate Quackity, Ranboo, Fundy, and Tubbo but you just couldn’t, Quackity was your friend even if he didn’t see it that way anymore, and the others were just children brought into all this murder and cruelty too young. 

You jumped quickly when a hand was on your shoulder, backing up against the wall when you looked up to see Technoblade standing there, discarded of his robe and crown, a scar left on his forearm but he hadn’t seemed to mind it. All you could do right now was stare at Techno in disbelief, no there was no way he could have survived, no one could have survived something like that, you were just seeing things.

Regardless of your mind screaming at you however, you watched Techno sit down on the bed, holding his arms out to you as you stared at him. He seemed so calm like usual, he didn’t even dare to speak. 

Trying to calm your breathing, you slowly made your way over to Techno and between his arms which wrapped protectively around you. Your head instinctively laid down on his chest, hearing the thumping of his heart. Your body was still shaking as Techno tried to calm you down, humming quietly as he rocked you.

“How are you alive?” you finally managed to say, Techno looking down at you hearing the question, “no one in history has ever survived a fifty block anvil drop, how did you-”

“Shh my blade, just relax, you’re stressing yourself out, you need to calm down. Steady your breathing, just relax,” Techno held you closer to him, “I’ll answer every question you have in the morning, you need to relax.”

You just nodded, feeling the comfort of being near Techno and knowing he’s safe overtake you as you yawned quietly, hearing Techno chuckle. Before you could let sleep overtake you, you looked up at Techno who was staring out the window, “please don’t leave me again.”

Techno smiled down to you as he placed a small kiss to your head, “you know I’ll always come back to you no matter what happens.”

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Thanks for reading, don’t forget to like and maybe reblog as it really does help me out

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Taglist: @sadassflatass @ajesterscrown @sugarsoftie  @aremegay @twist3dtinkerbell @nova-is-a-goodgirl @appl3-c1d3r @dream-of-eros​ @elebeleb @1-800-dreamteam @rebloggingismylife​

To be added to my taglist just dm me

S-Tierre Taglist: @atlast999 @satansphatass @punzxox @wes10k @nsfw-giz​

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#technoblade #technoblade x reader #technoblade imagines #sleepy bois inc #sleepy bois inc imagines #sleepy bois inc x reader #mcyt #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagines #dreamsmp #butcher army

[swearyshera]

Shadow Weaver here written by someone who has worked retail...

#sweary she-ra #shera #spop #spopedit #catra #hordak #shadow weaver #1x12

[spunkpunx]

Scrapping Over Owt - Liam Gallagher

Plot: Reader and Liam reconcile after their break up a few months prior. Set in 1993.

Warnings: Drugs (heroin, acid), Swearing, Smoking.

I’m definitely doing a smutty part 2 to this.

"You fuckin' daft cunt!" Noel shouted at his younger brother. Liam had accidentally banged a guitar against the wall on his way to carry it to the van.

"Fucken' calm down you prick, it's fine, see?" Liam snapped back, holding it up for Noel to look. The argument only began to escalate.

I was sat by the bar in the hotel, smoking a cig to cure my wavy head. We took acid the night before. Tony was sat next to me, scratching his initials into the wooden bar top with a penny. He looked tired. Coyley insisted the boys were to be in the studio first thing (10am) and where they went, that usually meant I went as well. I phoned back to Manchester to speak to Si last night, but he was shitfaced and I was tripping, so all of the relevant information had gone into one ear and fallen out the other.

"You could have fuckin' broken it you ugly big lout!" Noel shouted, and before Liam had the chance to start a scrap I shouted across the room.

"Comon, not right now lads. It feels like bits of my brain are falling away like wet cake." Tony laughed next to me, and Liam bristled, but surprisingly let it lie. It was true, my head was feeling fuzzy and still a bit mental, but it had been fun. The acid hadn't worn off until about 7am, and now, two hours later, we were all craving the extra sleep.

"Giz' a hand to take the guitars through then (y/n)," Noel said grumpily, gesturing me along. "You're a bit less clumsy than this pain in the ass." I ignored his back handed compliment and hopped off the bar stool, shoving my fags into my back pocket. Once we were outside by the van I let myself speak my thoughts to Noel.

"He doesn't want me here Noel," I told him miserably, putting a guitar into the back of the vehicle.

"Well it doesn't matter what rkid thinks cause he's a stupid twat."

"Yeah but he's burnin' a hole into my head with 'is eyes half the time, and I know yer want me here as a sound tech or whatever but I must be doing your lots head in by now."

"Stop yer chattin' woman." Noel gave me a joking smack round the back of my head. "You're here 'cause I want you here, and Coyley wants you here, and Guigs, and Bonehead, and even that little fucker McCarroll," he explained. "Maybe especially McCarroll." I rolled my eyes at him, pulling another cig out the pack.

"I might head into town today, do a bit of window shopping, you don't need me at the studio do yer?"

"Yer alright, giz one of them though," he replied, gesturing my cigarette packet. "I left mine upstairs."

"You gonna record that thing you wrote last night? It was good, and I'm pretty sure that's not just the drugs talking."

"Yeah maybe, dunno what I'm going to call it though."

"You'll think of something."

I went back into the hotel to grab my coat and bag, passing Coyley on the way in. Liam was sat at the bar with the rest of the band, except Noel. He was sat on top of my jacket.

"Hey, Li, can I grab my coat?" I asked, coming over. He ignored me. "Liam?" I repeat.

"What?"

"Your sat on my jacket."

"Stop bloody mithering me fuckin' hell," he complained. I saw Guigsy raise his eyebrows.

"Give over, I need to catch the next bus," I snapped. That twat always knew how to get on my nerves.

"Come on Liam, let (y/n) grab her jacket," Tony spoke up. The boys all looked at him, and reluctantly he gave it up. I put out my cig in the ashtray on the bar before pulling on my jacket.

——

It was raining heavy in London. I caught the bus from the hotel to Camden Market and set about browsing the records and clothes there. The stall owners were too miserable in the rain to drive the hard sell, so it was quite peaceful despite the weather. I hadn't meant to buy anything but ended up with a Smiths t-shirt, a floral babydoll dress and even a new record. Blur, and this one had come out this year. Modern Life Is Rubbish, it was called. I hadn't heard their stuff before, but the album cover seemed quite dreary so I was pretty sure the songs would be as morose as the title. I walked back along the street, stopping at a phone box. I'd only been here for an hour, it was just past 11 and the boys wouldn't be back for hours. I stepped in and dialled up the number.

"Hi mam," I greeted her as she answered the phone.

"Oh hello love, are you alright?"

"Yeah, just thought I'd call, it been like... a month I think?"

"Oh, I hadn't realised. How's Manchester?" she asked.

"Fine, I'm actually in London at the minute, boys are recording with the band."

"Oh aye, and how are things with Liam?"

"Not so good, he's still annoyed at me about the break up."

"Ah well, I'm sure things will work out."

We talked some more, catching up on what had gone on. Katy had started piano lessons, and Martin had been promoted at work. Things had been easier with mam since I'd been living in Manchester. I suppose it was because we weren't fighting as much. After we'd spoken, I decided to ring Si, to catch up properly. When he picked up the phone his voice was groggy, he'd obviously just rolled out of bed.

"Hello?"

"Hey Si, it's (y/n)."

"Ah! (y/n)! How's it down in London?" he greeted cheerily, still sounding tired.

"Did I wake you by any chance?" I asked, laughing slightly.

"Yeah, but it's about time I got up anyway. Li been any trouble for ya?"

"A bit, but it's been a laugh anyway. Mate I've taken so much acid my brain feels like mush most of the time now."

"I don't think I could ever hack it like you do, rkid. David's been asking after you."

"David's always asking after me. He's a daft cunt that one," I replied. It still felt a bit strange to me how the old group had fallen apart. I only really spoke to Si now. I hadn't even seen David since, well, that incident. As for the girls, well I bumped into Saorise at the corner shop a few weeks back, and I knew Harriet had been busy with her baby. It was a nightmare, like everyone had become all ridiculously adult while Li and I were busy dicking around.

"Aye, well he might even apologise one day," Si pointed out.

"Fat chance of that. Have you spoken to my Dad?" I asked.

"Yeah, called round the house the other day, he doesn't seem in a good way, if I'm honest (y/n."

"What? Like he's poorly?"

"He's a junkie," he explained bluntly.

"He's always been one of those," I responded, chuckling slightly.

"He's injecting shit into himself."

"Oh." My face fell. "Well, thanks for letting me know Si, I suppose I should get back to the hotel."

"You don't have to, stay on the phone, we can catch up."

"Sorry Si, I've got to get back."

"Right, okay. Call me tomorrow then sweetheart, and you better be straight to my door when you get back up North."

"Of course I will dickhead, see you soon."

——

I got a taxi to the studio, deciding it would be best to stay up to date on what was going on. I tried not to think about what Si had said about my dad. He'd dabbled in pretty much every drug at some point, but injecting heroin seemed to be a big leap. The information weighed down on my, my heart seeming to have dropped into my stomach since the situation had come to light.

"Boys, how are you getting on?" I asked through the microphone at the recording studio, just seconds after walking through the door. The producer gave me an annoyed look, but Noel beckoned me through. Liam had gone a bit quiet.

"(y/n), you gotta listen to this one, it sounds fucking good," Guigsy shared. I looked at Noel for his confirmation and he shrugged modestly, but I could tell by the grin on his face he liked it. I took a seat on the floor in front of the band, then they began the song.

Liam was doing a good line in not looking at me, but I could tell he was conscious of my presence. He looked cool as he sang the song that Noel had written only the night before, but Liam always looked cool, because he was. After the song had ended, Noel looked at me for an opinion.

"It's a fucking good song," I began. "But it just needs eyebrows."

"Eyebrows?" Liam asked. It was the first thing he'd said to me in a normal tone since our break up. "What the fuck does that mean?" he added, back to how he had been acting towards me.

"Like, it's almost there, but... well, people look weird without eyebrows don't they? It just needs that extra little thing."

"I've got an idea," Noel spoke up. He tossed a tambourine at me, which I caught. "(Y/n), you can be the eyebrows."

——

After the session the band decided we'd go to the pub. Of course, the boys got annoyed when I wanted to run back in the hotel and get changed, but Noel agreed he wanted to drop a guitar off anyway in case he had any ideas in the night. I really wanted to get drunk, just to forget about dad.

I don't know why I wanted to dress up, but I opted for the only fancy dress I owned; little black number with spaghetti straps. I wasn't even sure why I brought it. I never dressed up even back in Manchester. I actually never even wore the dress out. I paired it with the sambas I was already wearing and tied my hair back into a very loose ponytail.

"Wow, you scrub up!" announced Bonehead as I came into the foyer. Liam was watching me walk towards them, almost a scowl on his face. Tony grinned at me, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"You look lovely," he complimented. I heard a wolf whistle behind me as Noel came down from his room.

"Christ, (y/n). It's gonna be a nightmare keeping those London lads away from you tonight." I laughed at their flattery.

"Sod off, you charmers, let go to the pub."

——

I was feeling rough as I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, trying to tame my flyaway hairs. I thought getting drunk would take my mind off things, but I still felt a weight on my shoulders. I balled up my fists in frustration. My skirt had been riding up all night, I shouldn't have worn it. My head felt wavy and instead of the alcohol dulling down my emotions, I felt like I could cry at any moment.

As I went to leave the toilet, I bumped into the girl from the bar. She scowled at me a little. I raised my eyebrows.

"Watch out! Fucking hell," she looked my outfit up and down. "You really dressed like a council house slut then?"

It was especially bad timing on her part. I swung at her, hitting her face quite hard. She fought back, clawing at my face and hair, but I pushed her over, essentially just throwing myself at her so we were tussling on the ground. I felt a pair of arms grab me and pull me off her quickly. There was blood, I wasn't sure whose, but it wasn't a lot. She scarpered off while I swore and was held back by a reassuring hand on my shoulder. I turned round to him, unsure of what to say.

"Thanks, Li."

"What was all that about?" he asked, offering me a fag. I took it.

"Bad timing, I haven't been in the best mood," I explained loosely. Liam didn't respond for a moment, but he lifted his hand and brushed his thumb under my eye. I felt my heart rise, but payed it little attention. I was drunk.

"She caught you there," he said, softly, referencing a scratch that I must have sustained. "Then again, you did a lot more damage to her." He smirked slightly, returning his hand to his side. It was strange. I hadn't had a normal conversation with Liam for months, but now it was like barely anything had changed.

"I'm sorry, Li," I mumbled, looking down at my feet, my arms wrapped around myself, feeling very self conscious in the dress I wore.

"I'm not your mam, I've done way worse to people in fights," he chuckled, but I sensed he was deliberately missing the point.

"Not about that, about the rest of it." He paused, chewing the inside of his cheek slightly.

"I know you are sweetheart. I'm sorry too," he said finally, almost sheepishly. "God, it's always been tough to stay mad at you." He opened his arms out for a hug, and at that point all my emotions flooded out very suddenly and I rushed into his embrace, trying to stifle the tears in my eyes. After a moment he must have realised I was crying because he stroked my hair. "Hey? Shh, what's up (y/n)?"

I pulled away, wiping my eyes on the back of my wrists.

"I shouldn't have worn this dress, it's awful," I complained tearfully. I could tell he could sense more to the story, I seldom cried.

"What are you talking about, it looks great on you," he scoffed, trying to make me laugh a bit.

"All these horrible men in here, staring. It keeps riding up short and I feel so fucking naked," I continued to try to explain, once again wrapping my arms up over my chest as an attempt to feel less exposed. Liam looked a little blank, but he took off his Parka and wrapped it over my shoulders.

"Here you go, go wait outside for a moment. I'm going for a piss and then we can have a chat," he said, and I couldn't help but grin at his bluntness. It made sense, he must have run into me on his way to the toilet. I nodded and he gave me a quick squeeze before leaving again. I followed his instructions, going to sit in the beer garden and wait for his return. It was a fairly fine night, but I appreciated being able to wrap myself up in Liam's still warm coat, especially with the colder night air.

I smoked the cig, thinking about how long it had been since me and Liam had been okay. It was lucky that it was Liam I had fallen out with rather than Noel. I don't think Noel was capable of forgiveness like Liam was.

"What's the story then, (y/n) my dear?" Liam asked me, as soon as he'd come and sat down. I smiled at the nickname.

"I spoke to Si," I began. Liam grimaced slightly at the mention of his name. "My dad's on smack now Li, properly. Injecting it apparently. He's in a bad way."

Liam's face softened, putting a hand over mine and rubbing a gentle circle on the back of it with his index finger.

"And... well. On a different subject, I never slept with Si. Ever. Not that night we broke up, and never after that either. I needed to tell you," I added. Liam looked up at me, surprised at the sudden confession. "I wouldn't have cheated on you Liam. I'm not a liar, and I loved you. Actually, I do love you still."

"(Y/n)..." Liam began, but I cut him off.

"It's whatever, it doesn't matter." I stood up, ready to go inside and drink more until I blocked this confession out of my memory. As I turned, Liam grabbed my hand. I turned round to see him stand from the table, not letting go of me.

"Hang on, not so fast."

He was stood in front of me now, and I could only stand there and look up at him. His hand brushed the side of my face, smoothing over my hair. Part of me wanted to run away and go inside, but I couldn't move. I had to see what he was going to say, what he was going to do next. There was a pause, like he was thinking, I could almost hear his brain working. Then his face drew closer to mine and his lips connected with my own and it was like all the tears and shouting had never happened. His hand fell from my face and his arms slipped underneath the parka he'd lent me, wrapping around my waist and pulling me impossibly close.

We broke the kiss and Liam rested his forehead against mine. We were still pressed against each other. He looked at me, lips parted with a slight smile as his eyes glanced across my face as if he couldn't believe I was there.

"I love you, (y/n)," he whispered softly. I smiled, then pulled him by my arms that wrapped around his neck into the tightest hug.

“I missed you so much, dickhead,” I mumbled into his chest, while Liam chucked at my tight embrace. He pressed a kiss on the top of my head, nestling his face into the top of my hair.

#liam gallagher #oasis #oasis band #oasis imagine #liam gallagher x reader #gallagher brothers #gallagher x reader #liam gallagher imagine #manc #britpop imagine #britpop x reader #oasis x reader

[thegizka]

Y’all “The Astronaut” is so good!!!  The sound is beautiful, Jin’s voice is beautiful, the MV is beautiful, Jin is beautiful, everything’s beautiful.  I love it.  And he put so much love into it!!!  The lyrics and the details in the MV are just full of love for ARMY and BTS. 💜 It is such a gift!!!

#Jin #worldwide handsome #the Astronaut #music #giz speaks #sorry for all of the exclamation points but my heart is overwhelmed #bangtan boys