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hobiebrownismygod · 7 months

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My OC but I can't draw - The Widow

Maitreyi Jokhar (she/her & South Indian), Earth-206202, Present day, Spider-man/Black Widow (kind of) variant

I doubt anyone's gonna see this, but if you do and you like my character, let me know, cuz idk whether I should try to write stuff about her like other creators on Tumblr or if I should just keep her within the confinement of my mind lol.

Summary: She's basically the Black Widow if she was Spider-man and Indian. She went through a very similar process as the MCU Black Widow when it comes to her backstory. As for her suit, I got inspiration from Cindy Moon/Silk Spider and she basically wears a black face mask with a silver and black suit with straight black pants/jeans over them. She has her black hair pulled back in a braid that falls to her mid-back with curtain bangs to frame her face. For her backstory, I tried to make it as accurate to the MCU universe as I could because shes a product of H.Y.D.R.A, and I also tried to follow the storyline of ATSV but if there are any mistakes, please correct me! I made her bisexual and it'll briefly mention that below too. I'm going to ship her with Hobie Brown, cuz I'm obsessed with him, so some of that will be down as well. If you have any feedback or anything, that would be greatly appreciated, because I'm still pretty new to Tumblr and this is my first Spider-sona/OC! Also, if anyone can think of a better name for her, please let me know, cuz "The Widow" feels kind of cliche, lol.

This is a MEDIUM-LENGTH POST (About 1.2k words)

Backstory, Personality, Looks, Relationship, Fighting Style and Canon Events are all under the cut! 💜

I think I gave her too much trauma but whatever, character development and all that great stuff :p

Backstory:

Kidnapped and sold into child trafficking at the age of 5

Eventually forced into the Red Room/Black Widow Program from the ages of 7-14(the same one that Scarlett Johansson's Black Widow was subject to)

In this universe, the Red Room Program is an extension of Hydra

Chosen to be part of one of Hydra's new super-soldier experiments at the age of 15 after hundreds of failed attempts at replicated the super-serum used on Captain America during WWII

Gave her the same powers as the normal Spider-man except she has a limited amount of webs and has fangs which inject extremely deadly venom

Continued to be trained by Hydra until the age of 16, when the Avengers of her universe were finally able to find the base and invade it

Captain America/Steve Rogers of her universe took her in and treated her like a daughter, because she reminded him of Bucky who he lost in the war

She became an Avenger until her universe's version of Avengers Infinity War happened, except they weren't able to bring everyone back, and they were only able to get rid of the infinity stones

Half of the universe disappeared, including most of her Avenger friends

The world blamed superheroes for this and superheroes were no longer revered in this universe and were instead hated

She gave up her mask until she was eventually recruited by Miguel at the age of 18, only a few months after she gave it up

Looks:

I can't draw her out but this is what I imagine her to look like in my head

Fairly short, about 5'5ish

Black hair that she pulls back into a loose braid that falls to her mid-back with curtain bangs framing her face

Medium brown skin cuz she's South Indian, so probably an almond brown color with big dark brown eyes and long lashes

Wears a black face mask instead of a normal Spider-man mask, kind of like Silk/Cindy Moon's

Her suit is a black and silver spider-man suit and she wears straight black pants, kind of like straight jeans over them.

Has a big silver spider emblem on her back

Fingerless gloves to make it easier to stick onto walls

Has a side pocket in her pants where she hides a knife given to her by her version of Aunt May (expanded on in the canon events section of the post below)

Personality:

Cold, and doesn't really like to open up to people because of her trauma

When she does open up it comes out very emotionally and she kind of bursts

She has anger issues, and can get pretty heated, especially if she's performed badly during a mission or missed a punch during a fight

She beats herself up over little things, and expects perfection from herself (trauma)

She has a punching bag for this reason and she's always in the conditioning/training area of the Spider Society, trying to be better, to be the best

Despite this, she's really gentle and quiet around people she cares about (Hobie, Margo, Pav, etc...)

Doesn't enjoy physical touch unless its from someone she really cares about or feels safe around

Her love language is physical touch and quality time and if she's around someone she cares about, she'll constantly be touching them, whether its holding their hand, holding their finger or having her arm around their waist

Doesn't crack jokes like the average spider-man, has a very dry sense of humor when she does make jokes

Once someone get really close to her, she'll never let them go, always being really clingy and hugging on to them, cuz shes afraid of losing them like she lost everyone else

She never got the chance to be a kid, so she can seem a little clingy and childish at times.

She tries hard not to be, but its so difficult when she's so afraid of being alone again

Fighting Style:

She's very acrobatic

She tends to fight differently than the average Spider-person because she was trained to be more of an assassin

Uses anything in the environment she can get her hands on, like sticks, knives, sharp rocks, even pencils

Shes very handy with guns

Stopped holding back her punches after her canon event (expanded on in the canon events section of this post below)

Relationships:

After joining the Spider-Society, she met Hobie Brown and fell head over heels for him, although she would never admit it

He reminded her of Captain America/Steve cuz of how vocal Hobie is about his values and beliefs

Steve was the same way and she always admired that so it fueled her crush on Hobie

They became friends shortly after she arrived

She told Hobie about how people in her universe don't like superheroes after what happened and he immediately asked her if she wanted to stay with him in his dimension instead

She got very flustered but eventually said yes and now she stays in his spare room

He's trying to teach her how to play the guitar, but she's not that good at it

But she has a really nice singing voice

Sometimes she'll sit down next to Hobie when he plays the guitar and softly sing along to the music with her head on her knees

Its comforting for her and she likes being around him

Maitreyi isn't ACAB like Hobie, but she supports him either way, going with him to protests and being in the audience when his band plays

Since she was brought up in present-day she doesn't have as many bad experiences with racism as he does, but she, as a brown-skinned individual, has dealt with it before

She found that after moving to Brooklyn, there was a lot of prejudice against dark-skinned people, especially since she lived in the upscale, predominantly white neighborhood with her version of Aunt May

Because of this, she can somewhat relate to him, but not on the same level

Maitreyi also became close with Margo Kess/Spider-byte

They clicked when they first met

Margo likes to show Maitreyi all the cool tech she makes because her universe is a lot more advanced than Maitreyi's

She loves silently sitting in the corner while Margo works because she feels safe with her

She and Pavitr immediately clicked when they first met

Hobie introduced her to him and she was absolutely in awe of this optimistic, colorful young man who was basically the exact opposite of her in personality terms

They're both South Indian so they quickly bonded over their shared culture

Despite Maitreyi being South Indian, she does speak some Hindi, along with German, English and Russian

She doesn't speak her mother-tongue or even know what it is because she was taken from her parents so young, but she tried to learn Hindi after moving to Brooklyn because she wanted to be closer to her culture

Pav and Maitreyi talk in Hindi to each other sometimes, which confused Hobie whenever he's with them

She looks up to Miguel O'Hara

She thinks he's a good leader and aspires to be like him, even though she hates his justification of canon events

They have similar powers (they both have fangs) and he taught her how to talk without showing her fangs so she can be less intimidating

She likes Mexican food and they often go to the cafeteria together to eat empanadas and etc...

Both of them enjoy silence and quality time, so when they do get food together, they don't talk, they just quietly enjoy the vibes

Its the same with Jess Drew

She thinks she's freaking awesome

Jess was Maitreyi's mentor, similarly to how she was Gwen's mentor in ATSV

Jess taught her how to drive a motorcycle and she fell in love with it

Sometimes when she needs to blow off steam, she'll ask Jess to take her motorcycle out for a drive (She'll always say yes)

She does NOT like Peter B. Parker

She doesn't find him funny and doesn't like his vibes

She doesn't appreciate the fact that he brings his baby on dangerous missions, because she has a major spot spot for children

She DOES however love Mayday

She especially loves babysitting her with Hobie and watching him play with her

She finds it very comforting and sometimes she'll find herself staring at Hobie, just admiring his features and his voice and has to snap herself back to reality before he notices

He 100% has no idea about her major crush on him because he's kind of dense about those things

Also she's not vocal about it and tries her best to be inconspicuous about how attracted she is to him

Canon Events:

Maitreyi's first canon event was the experiment in which she gained her powers

It functions as her version of the "Spider-bite"

Her second canon event was losing Gwen Stacy

After being saved from H.Y.D.R.A. by the Avengers, she tried to live her life out as a normal teenager, under the protection of the S.H.I.E.L.D.

S.H.I.E.L.D wanted her to assimilate with the public quickly in order to prevent the possibility of her falling under the influence of H.Y.D.R.A again, and believed that by engaging with people her age and creating emotional connections, it wouldn't happen

They allowed her to use her powers to protect Brooklyn as they wanted her to hone her abilities in a safe way, while also being able to ward off the possibility of Kingpin, Green Goblin or any of the other New York villains becoming Avengers-level threats

She was given a new name, Mary-Jane Watson, and sent to live in Brooklyn under the protection of May Parker, a retired S.H.I.E.L.D agent

She met Gwen Stacy at Brooklyn High and fell in love with her

They dated for a few months and Gwen quickly found out that she was Spider-woman

Maitreyi lost Gwen Stacy during a battle with her nemesis, Norman Osborne/Green Goblin

Maitreyi dropped out of school immediately after Gwen's death and turned her attention toward becoming a full-time Avenger

She also got rid of the alias, Mary-Jane Watson, because she wasn't fond of it in the first place and started using her original name instead

Her third canon event was losing her mentor, Steve Rogers/Captain America

In her universe's version of MCU Infinity War, where Thanos collected all the infinity stones, they were only able to stop him by killing him

Thanos destroyed the stones right before he died, and dusted away 50% of the population

Iron Man/Tony Stark was one of those 50% and therefore, they were never able to travel back in time to get the stones or do any of the things that happened in MCU Endgame

Steve Rogers was one of the people who was snapped away as well and Maitreyi held his hand as he died

Her fourth canon event was giving up her mask

Only a week after Thanos happened, she threw away her mask and went back to live with May, who was perfectly willing to house her

About two months after she gave up her mask, Miguel approached her and asked to recruit her to the Spider-Society

At first she was hesitant, but she accepted, taking back her mask and once again becoming, The Widow

This is all before the events of ATSV by the way, I have no idea how I'm gonna introduce her to ATSV-Gwen Stacy or Miles yet lol

You must be exhausted from reading all this, so here's a Hobie to refresh you!

Definitely one of my favorite pictures of him, he's so gorgeous mwah

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xxavengingangelxx · 7 months

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As the Rush Comes 1/1

Ya'll! I posted this fic a while ago. It was the post that took my Tumblr virginity. However, I was dumb back then and I'm still dumb now, honestly and I thought Tumblr had a low word limit so I removed some scenes like a director in a movie that's too long and I think that really took away from the quality of the story.

With Graves coming back, I figured now was as good a time as any to repost this. Although this time, I'm posting the whole thing. It came to me after a reading a fic by halfmothhalfman on AO3. Beginning is kinda boring but it sets things up for some good smut ;)

Summary: A female mercenary and Graves meet in a bar. @bellgraves because you asked for it ;)

Tags: Porn with plot, gun kink, hair pulling, borderline hate fucking, friends to enemies, blood and injury, shooting, top!Phillip Graves.

Tagline: You had 74 hits under your belt. A man named Phillip Graves would make 75.

TRIGGERS: Alleged/referenced child abuse, referenced suicide/self-harm, triggers for domestic violence, possible character death. MDNI, 18+ only.

I hate you.

That was the first sentence you said when you were 3 years old. You screamed it, shrieked it, to this towering man standing right in front of you. While you don’t remember exactly what had transpired, you know that you both were standing over your parents’ dead bodies and that your pajamas were sprayed red. The man in front of you did not know how to respond. It was almost as if he had never been around children so young.

You were perceptive like that even when you were 3 years old.

Sirens in the background seemed to pull the large man out of his reverie. You saw panic in his green eyes despite the fact that the rest of his face was covered in a black mask.

Then he took you.

***

And the rest is history. You learned from him later that he grabbed you because the police were on the way, you were clearly verbal, and you might make a good witness. He admitted later that he had not been around any children much less raised one. My childhood was a shithole, he would tell you.

He told you eventually that the initial plan was to avoid doing the ‘hit’ when you, a toddler, were in the home but that the timing had not given him any other alternative. He mentioned his boss told him that if the child, you, were in the home, to avoid doing it in front of you. But if shit hit the fan, then, hell, he said he had been given the green light to get rid of you, too.

He told you many times, sometimes when he was drunk, that there was no way he could kill any child, much less one that’s not even school age. So he did the only thing that came to him. He eliminated the witness without killing you. He couldn’t just throw you into foster care or abandon you because then you could be a witness. Plus he mentioned to you a lot that foster care was fucking awful. You learned that when you spent almost 6 months in foster care after he was accused of abuse. He’d burned your fingerprints off when you were 10 and the teachers were shocked when they tried to do a science project that involved fingerprints. You denied abuse, saying you were a disturbed child (you really were disturbed so it was half truth) who’d done it to herself. You were happy to be home with him however dysfunctional the home was.

He raised you. He raised you the only way he knew how. He actually never really abused you. Sure he’d beat the shit out of you if you acted up. You tried running away once and he almost put you in the hospital with the beatdown he gave you. He smacked you across the face if you got smart mouthed with him. You saw your first murder/hit when you were 10. But you didn’t consider that abuse. You considered it being put back in line. He raised you and taught you the only thing he knew.

Murder for hire.

He’d given you the name Raquel, after one of the avenging angels of heaven. You never knew your real name and to be honest you didn’t really give a fuck. You were apparently born in California and he hauled you all the way to the miserable, lonely town of International Falls, Minnesota to grow up. No one would bother looking in the nation’s ice box.

Businesswise, all you knew is that he was paid by someone else. He was hired by different people to do different hits. His own boss, your boss’s boss, ran a PMC on the side or so you heard. That was your goal: to be a PMC contractor. You’d been all over the world with your job with countless identities. But PMCs got to go to the really fun places. You’d sniped once or twice but wanted to do it more often.

So now you did what he did. Kinda. You’d have to work your way up the ranks. You’d been killing since you were 18. He was ‘nice’ enough to not make you kill before you were 18. Besides, you’d be fuckin’ sloppy anyway. At least when you both thought you were about 18. You did not know your actual birthday and neither did he. Neither of you gave a fuck. You had 74 hits under your belt, all done in the last 15 years. About 5 kills a year and the rest off to do whatever the hell you wanted whether that be party and get drunk (no drugs allowed or you risked getting a target put on your back) or whether it was nothing in a hotel room. You needed 100 hits to be considered for PMC.

A man named Phillip Graves would make 75.

You never asked the why. You never asked if they worked for him before and they had gone rogue. He made it a goal to not let his soldiers know about each other in case he had to order a hit on one of his own. The why was simply not important.

So, Phillip Graves. Someone above your boss had ordered the hit.

You were told to be careful, that he was the CEO of his own PMC. He was dangerous, you were told. You’d have to be on your toes.

I want to make your 75th special, he had told you. Try not to die. We could use a woman in the PMC. Ya’ll get to do stuff men can’t. And definitely do not let him recruit you. It’d be treason to me. Pays $50,000.

The hit was not ‘immediate’ which meant you needed to gather some basic information from him. When the final order came down for the hit to be carried out to “full term” you were to kill him. But not until then.

***

You initially met Phillip Graves in a bar.

You wore something revealing. A hot, tight black dress with thigh boots. Your hair curled over your shoulders and you had your fuck me makeup on. One of the ways you would attract your mark’s attention was to wear a black silicone wedding ring. And it worked this time, too.

“Your husband know you’re here?” A man with a Southern drawl called from behind you. Before you faced him your smirked to yourself.

“I’m not married,” you snapped, turning to face him.

“Coulda fooled me,” he shrugged and nodded towards the ring on your finger.

“Maybe I wear it to stop creeps like you from talking to me,”

“Ain’t gonna stop me, sweetheart,” he moved to sit on the stool next to you, removing dark aviator sunglasses. His blue eyes shone even in the low light of the bar. “Are you?” His cologne smelled intoxicating in a way. There was a slight smell of…gunpowder.

Hot motherfucker, ain’t he?

“Nope,” you replied.

“Name’s Phillip,”

“Ariel,” you lied.

“I’m just gonna ask, ma’am,” he started eyeing your body up and down without shame. “Are you for sale?”

You scoffed. In a way, you thought.

“What makes you think that?”

He huffed a laugh.

“Pardon my language but you’ve got fuck me written all over you.” His eyes focused on yours, looking for a reaction. “Hell several men in here are actively eye fucking you.”

“You mean that disgusting fuck in the corner?” you signaled to an overweight 50 year old eyeing you like you were prey. “Ugh,”

“He seems like the rapey type,” Graves added. “You can either hook up with him or me,”

“Or neither,” you rolled your eyes. “And no I’m not for sale, sir.”

“Sounds good to me because I don’t pay. If I see someone I like I get ‘em.” He paused. “Even if that means using force.”

You scoffed. The only reason you took him half seriously if because this is Phillip fucking Graves. “You come off a deployment or somethin’, man? You seem desperate.”

His blue eyes flashed anger and you could swear he was resisting the urge to smack you across the face. He seemed like the type that didn’t have a problem hitting women. Or killing them.

“It’s been longer than I’d like,” he admitted.

“Whatever,”

“Playin’ hard to get?” his blue eyes were dilated now. He liked the thrill of the chase.

“Start over,” you snapped.

You saw when he gritted his teeth. This man was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted to.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he smirked.

***

You led him back to your motel room.

You didn’t have to wait or ask for him to get things started.

He shoved you against the door, one of his hands tangling in your soft hair and the other gripping your ass in an almost bruising grip. He detangled his hands from your hair and your ass and then used them to tear your short dress from the bottom up.

“Asshole,” you breathed. “This was expensive, dick,”

He ignored you, wrapping his arms around your waist and hiking you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. One of his hands went back to your hair, gripping it tight and pulling hard, causing sharp pain and making you hiss.

His teeth grazed your throat. If wanted to he could’ve ripped your throat out with his teeth. You had a fleeting thought, wondering if he’d ever done that to someone. If he had ever ripped a man’s throat out. His mouth moved to your pulse point. You felt him grin when he felt your accelerating heartrate. He bit and sucked. You were sure he’d leave bruises.

“No marks,” you retorted. “I don’t belong to you,”

“No, you do tonight,” he breathed.

He continued biting, sucking. Your boss would call you a fucking whore with a smile on his face when he saw.

You had never been afraid to sleep with the men your killed. It was weird in a fucked up kind of way. Your boss, also known as your caregiver when you were growing up, had never laid a hand on you that way but he’d mentioned many a time that women can use their looks to bait when men usually could not. It was one of the reasons he wanted to accelerate you to your 100 kills…to get you into that PMC. You’d feel a rush when you finished off men as they slept off their tirade. You’d call it a rush coming and it released only when they were dead.

Graves wouldn’t die tonight, though. But he would eventually.

Flirt, fuck, repeat until the order came in to drop him.

You were tossed on the bed roughly, bringing your mind back to the present. He finished ripping your dress open, saying something you didn’t quite get because no sooner than he tossed you on the bed he had unclasped your bra and started biting and sucking your breasts, again leaving hickies and bruises. He got lower…lower…

And lower. He made quick work of your underwear, his hot breath hitting your sex and making you sigh.

“I said, you’re sure moaning like a whore,”

And with that you wanted to hear him beg.

You shoved him, shedded the rest of your clothing and walked towards him. You then knelt in front of him and he was clearly confused by the way you went from shortly dominating the situation to submission. You knew Graves…at least enough about him…to know he got off on being in control. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t have fun.

Your trembling fingers unbuckled his military-style belt and that was when you noticed his sidearm. You were tempted to grab it and just fucking kill him then but not yet. You didn’t have the orders. You easily worked the belt off but he grabbed his sidearm out of your reach.

You got on your haunches, appearing even smaller before him. You look at him through your bangs, through your lashes (real lashes not that fake shit), and you feel your mascara and eyeliner running, initiated by your sweat and the rain outside. You parted your lips slightly and he sighed, his blue eyes barely visible because his pupils were so dilated.

“I don’t trust you, sweetheart,” he grabs his sidearm and yanks it from the holster. Shit…you might have to kill him tonight.

You pouted, attempting to manipulate him.

“You seem like you’re into dark shit,” he grumbled as he freed his cock, the tip of it leaking precum and standing inches from your lips.

“What’s that mean?” you whispered as you licked your lips.

He aimed the sidearm at your head. “You sure as hell know what to do,” he hissed, his other hand stroking himself. “Get to it. Now.”

“Sick fuck,” you mumbled. You took him into your mouth quickly, knowing no man would willingly shoot a woman giving him head in the head or anywhere else. Teeth could be deadly to a man in more ways than one.

“No sicker n’ you,” he moaned. He kept one hand on his sidearm against your head and one hand then tangled in your hair.

You felt as he got harder and harder in your mouth. You moaned around him and he hissed, the vibration apparently rubbing him the right way. It was fucking hot. Here you were sucking cock with a gun to your head. You didn’t mind. Phillip Graves was attractive unlike most of the men you’d handled.

His hand started loosening on his sidearm and you took that as you doing your damn job right. His hips were thrusting into your face and you felt him hitting the back of your throat. Tears escaped the sides of your eyes as you almost, almost gagged.

It was at that point that he tossed the sidearm on the bed to grasp your hair with both hands. He effectively started facefucking you. But that was where you drew the line. He still had his uniform pants halfway on and you gripped the thick fabric, preventing him from bruising your throat. You stopped it all…you stopped using your tongue, stopped using your tongue piercing to get him even harder.

“Beg,” you said after you pulled away from him. His cock was angry…red.

“Bitch, you don’t get to tell me—” he grasped your hair and threw you onto the bed again. “You dress like a whore, you get treated like one.” He climbed over you. You found it hot he was still in uniform and you were totally naked. Well except for your knee boots. Hell, he still had the vest under his shirt on. “I don’t treat a lady like this, but you…”

He settled between your legs, his hot cock rubbing your entrance. You moaned like a porn star because you’d started getting wet the moment you saw him. He was hot. And the fact that you were going to end his life not long from now got you hotter. So easy to manipulate men…

He didn’t even bother preparing you. He slammed in to the hilt, making you cry out.

“Whatever, slut,” he snapped. “Take it.”

He reached for your wrists holding you down as he rammed into you. His eyes looked down on you, focusing mostly on the way your breasts bounced as he fucked you…hard.

He was hitting that special spot inside of you. One few men knew to hit. He ground against you, rubbing your clit in between you both. You had never understood women who couldn’t cum from vaginal sex. How could you not?

You wanted to break your hands free from his iron grip. You were sure he’d leave bruises on your wrists, something else for boss to tease you about. You’re fucked up, he’d likely say. But he never complained because you always got the job done.

You felt that heat building up deep inside of you as he continued his relentless thrusts. He was thrusting faster, deeper, harder. When he leaned forward and bit your lip with his teeth (and drew blood) that pushed you over the edge.

You cried out in his mouth. You finally got your hands loose, tangling them in his short hair. You wrapped your legs around his waist, as you rode out your orgasm. You moved your hands to scratch his back but you felt only unform and Kevlar, no blood like you would have liked.

He broke loose from the kiss, moving to leave another mark just under your jaw.

He followed with his own climax shortly after. You felt him throbbing inside of you and it was at that moment that you realized ya’ll hadn’t even considered safe sex. Not that you cared. Hot men got a pass on that. Ugly ass men had to wear condoms.

His breath came in hurried gasps as he rode out his own orgasm, pulsing inside of you all the while.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned. He stilled his hips and hovered over you, his dirty blonde hair ticking your breasts.

You were both hot, both sweaty, and you had several marks all over you. Proof of his dominance. It was almost like he wanted to mark you so no one else would touch you. He wanted you all to himself.

“Motherfucker,” you hissed as he pulled out of you and collapsed next to you. “I said no marks.” You observed marks on your breasts and that the bony part of your wrist already had a light blue tint, promising a bruise.

He scoffed, rolling off the bed. All he had to do was pull his pants up and secure his belt. He secured his sidearm next.

“What’re you doing about…” he trailed off.

“About what?” You sat up, your body aching in protest. You felt his essence sliding out of you and onto the cheap motel bed.

He rubbed the back of his head, suddenly appearing shy. “You know what.”

“Pregnancy?”

“I’m actually looking to settle down and have a kid,”

His eyes widened and you saw panic in his blue eyes. His blue eyes had lost the indigo color they had when he had been fucking you. You wondered if that would be the same look in his eyes when you killed him. You weren’t sure yet if you’d use a gun or a knife but the orders said the mark has to be within arm’s reach so that meant no sniping.

“Kidding,” you laughed. “I don’t want no fucking kids.” You sighed before adding, “I’ll get Plan B but I have an IUD.”

He sighed in obvious relief.

“Leaving already?” you asked as he started for the door.

“You know what kinda relationship this is gonna be,” he replied, not even bothering to turn around. He opened the door. “See you next week?”

“Count on it,” you smirked.

***

It had been exactly 30 days since you met Phillip Graves when the ‘full-term’ order came through. You’d learned the basics about him. Some of his habits, that he was ex-military, that he owned his own company although he refused to tell you where he worked.

So you met him at another that Friday night. The Friday night. You met in different places, sometimes hundreds of miles apart. But all were close to a base. The bar was usually filled with uniformed men looking to have a good time and relax. It was colder then and so you wore tight jeans with knee boots. A beanie covered your normally cascading hair. It was sleeting outside. And it was about to turn into snow.

“Hey there,” he drawled.

“Graves,” you smirked.

”It’s gonna be hard to peel you out of those jeans,” he eyed you up and down. Little did he know you did not intend to take your clothes off for him this time.

You followed the typical schedule. Some drinks and then you both left to go to the nearby motel. It’s not like you had a home to take him back to. You’d lived in hotels and motels and extended stay inns since you were 18.

It had started to snow and you watched some of the small furry white snowflakes landed in your loose curls of hair.

“After you, ma’am,” he smirked, holding the motel room door open.

“Such a gentleman,” you purred.

“Not for long,” he sneered.

You had set an alarm on your phone. You’d timed it to go off right before he dragged you to the bed like he always did at least once a week.

“Ugh, my fucking boss,” you pretended to be annoyed.

“What’d you do?”

“None of your business,” you responded to his question about what you did for a living.

“Whore out apparently,” he laughed.

You glared.

“Let me text this asshole and then we’ll get down to business,” you smiled.

“I’m gonna take a piss then,” Graves said nonchalantly as he walked to the bathroom.

Perfect.

You heard as he took care of business, flushed and then went to wash his hands. His back was to you. Foolish move.

So you grabbed a 9mm you kept in your large purse. A 9mm had more recoil than you liked but it definitely got the job done. Especially at close range. You wanted to look in his eyes when you killed him. You didn’t know why he was on a hit list but he had apparently pissed someone off badly enough to want him killed at close range. You’d have to aim for the head because he had his heavy duty tactical vest on today. The one with the wires for communication, the antenna folded several times over. It had an American flag and a patch that read B-23. You suddenly regretted you hadn’t had him use zip ties with you in your month together.

He looked in the mirror and…the cat was out of the bag.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” he laughed. “You were too good to be true.” He turned and walked towards you.

You raised the 9mm.

“Don’t do that. Don’t. Do that,” he warned. He had a different look in his eyes this time. His hand brushed his own sidearm, almost as if he didn’t take your threat seriously, like he knew he’d kill you before you ever got the chance to even try to kill him.

You scoffed. He was a military man. He knew orders were orders.

“You work with a PMC? Or are you a hired slut with a gun?”

“None of your fucking business,” you said through gritted teeth.

“No one needs to get hurt here.”

“You know one of us has to get hurt.” You paused before you added, “mortally so.”

“Let’s not do this,” he said calmly. He knew that his heavy duty vest would catch almost any bullet you fired at his chest.

You shook your head.

“Why the hell are we talking like this is some kind of negotiation?” He demanded. “It’s not.”

“You’re right it’s not,” you stood strong. “I can’t fail. I’ve never failed. He always told me I don’t want to find out what will happen to me if I fail. He just said I’d wish I was dead.”

“Leave,” he snapped. “I like you but I will hurt you if you so much as try.”

You scoffed internally because none of the men you’d killed had put a fight.

You clicked the safety off and before your finger could go from straight to curled over the trigger, he lunged.

Suddenly you found yourself flat on your back with the back of your head hitting the thin, cheap, disgusting carpet with a thud. You saw black spots in your vision. You immediately came back to lucidity. Passing out would be certain death. Or Graves escaping.

“Get off me, you asshole!” you screamed. All the extra gear he had on made him heavier than he already was and some of the gear was digging into your ribs.

He didn’t respond. Instead Graves easily straddled you and pinned you down the same way he’d held your wrists down when he’d fucked you. He leaned forward, his dirty blond hair falling over his forehead. He easily peeled your fingers off the gun and tossed it out of reach.

You shouted, “Ugh, bastard!” before you wrapped your right leg around his waist, feeling bruises forming from his gear. It was usually a lot easier for you to wrap your legs around him but not tonight. Luckily your heels gave you extra height. You dropped your heel on the small of his back, where it was not covered by the vest.

Momentarily startled, he eased his grip on your wrists. You eased your right hand out of his grasp and punched him right in the face. He full on growled with fury as he fell sideways a bit and you shook your hand from the pain, knowing you’d broken something. He stumbled again so you put your right leg in between the two of you and kicked, pushing him off you.

He stumbled, falling sideways once more. “Bitch,” he growled lowly. This was a tone you had not heard from him before. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you. I’ll watch the light leave your eyes.”

You reached for a knife you kept in your boot and taking advantage of the fact that you were both still on your knees, you lunged and sliced.

Graves almost yelped. He pressed his gloved hand to the open cut on his face. On his right cheek. It was sure to scar. Not that it would matter since you’d be killing him tonight. You’d go to his funeral. You were actually going to miss him. If only you’d sliced lower than his right cheek you would have sliced his throat.

“Motherfucking bitch,” he snarled when his fingers came back with his own blood. “Walk away!” he roared. “Last fucking chance before I rip you to shreds.”

“I told you I cant,” You replied simply. “One of doesn’t get any older than tonight.” You reached for a small pink Beretta you kept in your leather jacket pocket. It was your go-to if things got too hot. And things were HOT right now. Not sexually so but dangerously so.

He got in front of you so fast you barely registered.

How did a man that large move so quickly?!

You felt him full on punch you with a closed fist across your face and you heard a sickening, nauseating crack as blood gushed from your nose. A choked sob escaped you despite your attempts to hide it because holy shit he hit you hard. Like he would hit a man. You were losing and losing badly. You stumbled but he then gripped your right arm in a hold.

Another second and he had broken your arm…easily.

You screamed because fuck it hurt and it forced you to drop the gun.

Your boss and caregiver had forced you to be ambidextrous with all your weapons and you silently thanked him for that now.

You reached for your second to last weapon. Another knife. You got it in your left hand and sliced towards him, almost catching his throat when he again attacked you, assaulted you, almost ripped you apart (like he said he would) again. It was so close you yelled out in anger, frustration. You’ve been close two fucking times now.

Two loud bangs and flashes threw you off.

Things blacked out for a second or to and…

You were back on the floor again, on your back, your head hitting it a second time. You immediately spat and coughed blood when you tried to take a breath. You felt a red mist fall on your face and chest. Your ears were ringing, painfully so and you vision had black edges.

What the hell had happened?! Your mind went into panic, something you’d never really experienced before. Your brain switched to a more primal state of survival.

“It didn’t have to be this way,” he repeated a line he’d said earlier. “You there?” he drawled as your hearing went in and out, all while painfully ringing. “That was a big mistake. It did not have to be like this.”

You barely heard him over the ringing in your ears. And…were your ears bleeding?

“Sunovabitch,” he muttered. He said you’d made a grave mistake and some dark part of your mind laughed insanely, because his last name is Graves.

“I don’t usually kill or punch women but you’re an exception to that,” he said cooly. “Fuckin’ idiot.”

You saw him blurrily but you still saw him as he picked up both your firearms and your knives. He then walked up to you. He was getting hurried in his movements. While this was a shady ass motel with gunshots all the time, he knew he couldn’t be found anywhere near there when the police eventually came.

He then grabbed your jacket and dragged you closer to the motel door. You left red streaks as he crudely hauled you. He tossed you into a corner. Probably so when he walked out you wouldn’t have a clear view on him.

“Sorry, soldier,” he commented. “Should’ve kept an eye on the 9 I made you drop earlier.” He laughed. The sadistic bastard laughed cruelly and he added, “Shot with your own sidearm.”

“Kinda a shame,” he continued, his eyes glinting as they caught the bright neon streetlight just outside your room. The blood on his face was now running down his neck, to his shoulder, staining his uniform and vest. It look bright red in places and dark red in others. “I mighta hired ya for some of my less challenging jobs.”

It was probably the first time in your adult life you started crying. You likely had a pleading look on your face. You felt tears of frustration, of pain, or red-hot anger fall from your eyes and slide down the sides of your face. They landed in your hair and they were tinged red from the coughed up blood on your face.

He slipped your Beretta into a pocket, saying, “souvenir,” as he grinned callously. You expected him to hold it to your head and finish you off. You were going to make him look at you when he killed you.

But he turned away.

“You’d better kill me,” you gasped. The effort sent you into a gasping and coughing fit and you were again covered in your own blood. You swore on your fucking life this man would die if you survived this.

He turned back towards you and easily grabbed your cellphone from your jacket pocket, kneeling beside you. He rested one of his knees on your ribs, making you really start crying. You couldn’t stop it…it hurt. It hurt so fucking bad.

“Unlock it,” he demanded of your phone. He held it just out of your reach, almost as if he wanted to see you suffer. “You put up a good fight but fight’s over.”

Cruel, merciless bastard.

You were dying tonight so what the hell. You used your left index finger to unlock the phone.

He creepily knew right where to go. His rust-red fingers danced over your screen, his blue eyes shining bright with the screen’s light. Your screen would likely be caked with your blood and his blood. At least you’d made the great Phillip Graves bleed.

That scar on his face would make sure he never forgot you. But then again if your survived, the scars that would litter your body (the gunshot wounds, the plates probably required to repair your arm) would make sure you didn’t forget him either.

He showed you the screen.

He had gone into your text messages and somehow found your boss’s number.

He had typed: Come get your girl’s body. -Graves

And he hit send.

“You’re very likely as good as dead,” he said before he clicked his tongue. “But if they get to you in time, stay the hell away from me.” He reached down, grasping your hair with a ferocity he had not before. He raised you off the floor and you were pretty sure you lost consciousness for more than a few seconds. But he waited for you to open your eyes again before he asked, “We clear?”

You nodded despite yourself. Hell no you intended to make him suffer if you survived.

“Good,” he drawled. “If you don’t die tonight, I’ll fucking slaughter you if I see you again.” It sounded like a promise. “I’ll have one last fuck and then I’ll paint the fucking walls with your brains.”

He got up and tossed you your cell phone on your chest. You’d seen that curiously enough, weirdly enough he had dialed 911. He stood back up. The movement of air as he stood resulted in scents of blood, sweat, cologne, and gunpowder being sent your way. Usually it was hot. Tonight it almost made you gag.

You tried to roll into the recovery position on your side and you screamed as it felt like your inside were on fire. The phone slid off your chest onto the floor.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

You ignored it. You looked for something, anything that could kill this son of a bitch. Like an attack dog you’d been conditioned since you were a child: Either finish the job or die trying. He had your Beretta and your 9mm and both knives. There was no way you could reach your last resort weapon. He was taking no chances and giving you nothing to strike back at him with. He knew you better than you gave him credit for.

Besides, he was gone.

The 911 operator kept trying to get in touch with you.

You tried to say you’d been shot but could only gasp for air, choking on your own blood. Being in the recovery position helped you not choke and gag as much but you were sure you had bad internal bleeding. You vomited the alcohol you’d recently drank, the liquid burning your inside wounds like lava. Something primal in your brain fought for survival and wanted you to reply to that 911 operator.

You set your head down on your left arm, cradling your broken right. You sniffled because fuck…fuck…FUCK. Phillip Graves had mopped the floor with you. He had beaten you within an inch of unconsciousness and then shot you. All in the span of less than 5 minutes. You’d been cocky, so sure you could manipulate him with sex and seduction. It had worked for all the other men.

But not Phillip Graves. Speak of the devil because you heard him start his pickup truck parked just outside the motel room window.

You opened your eyes again, not knowing how much time had passed. You then noticed something…your 9mm. You thought you were hallucinating so you tentatively reached out for it, choking back a sob of pain and misery. You’d been crying at this point so you gave up on trying to hold back tears. You gripped it with trembling, bloody, sticky fingers. So he hadn’t taken it. When did he drop it or set it down? You had no idea.

“I’m sending police and ambulance to your location,” the 911 operator’s voice echoed in your head and it seemed to reverberate forever.

You ignored her. You grasped the gun and pointed it to the left side of your head on your temple. You angled the gun downwards because you knew that made it more likely for the bullet to take out the basic part of your brain that controlled breathing and heartrate and blood pressure. You squeezed your eyes and pulled the trigger.

And nothing happened. You then saw that the son of a bitch had ejected the clip and the bullet from the chamber.

“Motherfucker,” you whimpered in a whisper.

Your phone dinged. A text message.

You better fucking explain yourself, Raq. What the hell kinda message was that? You lazily read the text message from your boss. Graves better be KIA. Another text bubble. Just because you grew up with me doesn’t mean I won’t beat your ass and put you back in line if you failed me. You couldn’t reply and didn’t want to. A phone call from your boss. Another text message as you wavered in and out of consciousness. You blinked through tears and saw him text again. Answer your fucking phone. Yet another text bubble. You’re pissing me off, Raq. Answer me. I need a sit rep.

Oh well. You were likely going to bleed out anyway.

A fucked up end to a fucked up life. If by some miracle you survived, you might have to go rogue. Missing in action because there would be a hit on you for the failed job. Phillip fuckin Graves would die if you survived. That much you promised yourself.

But you were dying. Fast.

At least it was looking like you wouldn’t find out what happened if you failed.

***

I honestly don't know if she's alive or dead ;)

#phillip graves #cod mw2 #cod mwii #phillip graves x reader #graves x reader #mw2 141

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sipsteainanxiety · 2 years

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this is for all the newbies on tumblr following me who have come here from tiktok or twitter. just some things i learned from being on this hellsite for so long lol

if ur writing something that's more than about 1k words or so please PLEASE for the love of god use the 'keep reading' option. on mobile all u have to do is type :readmore: in a separate line and itll make it. dont trust the expand shit bc im p sure that doesnt work on mobile or on people's blogs.

im sure u heard this a lot from other people but REBLOG SHIT!! DONT JUST LIKE THINGS!! bc it'll circulate posts more and yeah (liking isnt a problem imo but reblogs are just better. nd i dont think spam liking rly does anything ngl)

also the more u interact with someone the more likely they are to interact with u!! the fellas on tumblr are just some Guys lmao. u might make a friend!!

don't have a blank blog. just dont. add a profile picture and decorate it a little pls or u will be thought of as a bot and blocked

the op of a post you rb can see the tags you put on it!! doesnt matter if u rb it from someone else!

DONT CLOG TAGS!! tag ur stuff appropriately (including TWs), i dont wanna see your personal shit in the bnha tag

do NOT embed links in asks. people have been doxxed before. make sure you paste the link in

ik tumblr got rid of the character limit in asks but personally i think splitting up your ask into multiple (if its very very long) makes the post shorter and better to scroll thru. plus the op can ss the multiple asks and put it in their response

if u reblog something and tag it, thats for organization on ur own blog. it wont show up in tags so it wont be spam.

b careful that you're not copying tags the op put on the post that's clearly their own voice/words. idk its just annoying bad vibes LMAO

adding this bc a lot of people have deactivated bc of it but DONT SEND HATE ASKS! i feel like this should be obvious but apparently not. if u dont agree/like someone then just block them, ez. no need to make it a big deal, these are people on here, not robots.

#go to sleep shay it's late o'clock #also b careful w what info u reveal on here etc etc #esp if ur a minor #i think i covered everything but yeh #hopefully this helps someone LMAOOO

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grungler · 7 months

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Wtf is this sites report system? Just used it for the first time and what the actual fuck?

Wanted to report a post for linking to an article featuring hate speech, get done writing it up, then see that there's a 350 character limit on what can be written in the sections. Which is whatever, I went ahead chopped it down, got both parts under 350 character count in word, paste them back in, but... one still says its over? Double check in word, 343 character count, find it weird but this site is a shitty buggy mess so I decide to chop it down some more.

So I chop, and chop, and chop. 330's? No, 320? Not that either? Hmm *half jokingly removes the word homophobia*

Tumblrs report system: Woah you did it!! You finally figured out how to get under 350 (-38) characters!!! Yippeee!

*Roll my eyes and clicks to submit*

Tumblrs report system: wait... !!!

*new* error message under submit button after clicking: [Whoa there, that's a little long isn't it?]

ఠ ͟ಠ ?????? Uhh... I guess I'll get rid of this part??

*removes me saying I archived the linked page the person posted* (so they could see what was posted by the user whether the link was still live or not or whatever)

Tumblr report system: WOOO YOU DID IT!!! Your now-under-300-character-submission is FINALLY, just BARELY, under 350 characters, our personal re-estimation of the value of 350, and our ~secret~ second redefining of the number! I'm so proud of you, We'll get this looked at right away! *sends the report off to be reviewed (ignored and deleted)*

#fuck tumblr #Annoyed #And sure #this could easily all be coincidence #what with how shitly this site is construction-paper-and-glued together #but even if that is the case HOW BAD CAN YOU BE AT CODING TO HAVE A LENGTH CHECK #CHECKED WITH THE WRONG LENGTH #and then for some reason #check it AGAIN #WITH A NEW MORE INCONSISTENT LENGTH #at the end of the day #either fucking way #whoever wrote the code for that shit is a moron

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danganronpasurvivoraskblog · 8 months

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About the new format

//So this will be how I will be extending my posts in the future.

//It's incredibly messy, and no doubt you guys hate it, but I just want you to know I hate it too, and would rather not do it. But while I care about your feelings, Tumblr doesn't, and this is the best I can do going forward to stop the web designers from limiting my creative freedom with these posts.

//And you know what I mentioned before about how there might be spies or bots in my followers who are seeing these posts and making changes to every format I do to stop me? I still don't fully believe that because such a notion is ridiculous, but in case it IS true, and they are reading this, I want to point something out.

//Every time I find a new way to bypass the image limit, it gets patched. The Tampermonkey app stopped working, and nothing I do fixes it, then randomly my reblog bug got patched out of nowhere and I couldn't use that anymore.

//If you do anything to stop this style from working, i.e. preventing reposts from passing a 30 image limit, then I hope you know you are doing two things...

//One: You are trying to destroy my blog.

//and Two: You are trying to destroy this entire website as people know and love it.

//These are technically separate posts all meshed together, each with their own rules and own limits. If you remove that or change that, you are nullifying the entire premise of reposts, which involve spreading posts, as well as allowing users to tag on their own images and memes to make threads.

//That's what this is. A thread.

//You would be getting rid of a primary function of this website if you tried to stop this.

//So consider the fact that I have done NOTHING wrong, and used no hacks or apps or anything of the sort with this new method. I am using Tumblr the way it is MEANT to be used, so if this gets changed, it will be definitive proof for me at least that Tumblr are trying to destroy it's user base, or this style of blog.

//I don't see that happening, and I really hope it doesn't, but still, just keep that in mind.

-Mod

#mod

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aceofwhump · 1 year

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Question is the legacy editor any good? I've never used it because I'm paranoid about it messing my posts up lmao but I'm curious

The short answer is yes. Legacy editor, the older way tumblr did posting, is in my opinion, the superior editor. I love the legacy editor. A lot. It is definitely superior and I'm sad staff has decided to slowly get rid of it.

However! With that said I've been pretty much exclusively using the beta post editor for the last like year when staff announced that they'd be eliminating the legacy editor eventually so I thought it'd be a good idea to get used to the beta editor. Which I suppose I did. I've gotten used to it and don't use legacy much at all anymore. I also wanted to use it because I got really tired of not being able to edit in mobile the posts I made on web using the legacy editor. With the beta editor you can edit across platforms which is soooo nice. (although it appears that in one of the apps many updates I can now edit a gifset I made today via legacy editor but not the posts I've made in the past using the legacy editor so who knows what's going with that).

But there's a lot of annoying things about the new beta editor that make it inferior to the legacy editor and I'm praying that staff will improve it. For starters, and probably my biggest complaint, is how awful it is to upload and rearrange images. It's so much easier in legacy editor to move images around. In beta the page moves when you start to move the image and it drives me CRAZY!!! I always end up putting the image in the wrong place because the page won't stop moving! Legacy is wonderful to arrange images. I do think the upload is slightly better in beta purely because it uploads multiple images in the order I select them where the legacy just puts them in whatever order it wants to and I have to remember what order I wanted my gifs in.

Legacy is also better because it actually differentiates between an image post and a text post. With the beta editor everything is technically a test post. So my gifsets are not considered an "image post". Some people have noted that the beta, since it's not an image post, it resizes the images a little and sometimes decreases the quality of the gif by doing that. I haven't really noticed that myself with my own gifs but doesn't mean it isnt happening.

The legacy editor also allows me to upload my gifs without stupid errors for no reason. Lately any time I upload more than 6 gifs at once I get an error message and have to upload them one by one. Its not because of size because they're always under 7mbs so I don't know why I can't upload them all at once. I hate it actually. And sometimes my gif will be under 10mbs (like 9.7mbs) and it'll tell me that the gif is too big. Excuse me tumblr but 9.7 is smaller than 10! I never had this problem in legacy.

The legacy editor is also better when it comes to using html, inserting links as text and not the stupid thing beta does where you paste the link and it becomes that stupid post preview thing that I hate, and oh my god is it awful for text blocks! When it first came out you couldnt select multiple texts blocks at all. You can now but it isn't the easiest. And it like expands when you do and makes it weird. Idk it's hard to describe. In legacy you can just...select all the text with no problems. Text blocks are treated like individual sections in the beta and make editing a major pain in the ass.

I also don't like thst apparently new xkit won't work in beta and you have to use xkit rewritten because fuck I don't want to learn how to use that one when I've been using new xkit for years but I guess I'm gonna have to now. I haven't been having any problems with xkit yet but who knows....

So yeah I think overall legacy is better. Beta Post Editor has some good things (I like the increased image upload limit, the editing tags is good) about it but there's so many problems. Unfortunately we're stuck with it so I've been sticking to using it exclusively to make the transition easier on myself. I do suggest becoming used to how it works and to just continue to provide feedback to staff about features we dislike or bugs we come across. Hopefully they'll listen and improve it.

#this got long #i'm so sorry #apparently i have thoughts about this whole legacy vs beta post editor thing going on right now #I've got to do a feedback write up to sent to tumblr #hopefully they can continue to edit and improve the beta post editor to make it more like the legacy editor #especially for us making gifsets #mod post #mod replies #ask #anon

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incarnateirony · 18 days

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I think what I hate most about internet culture is the boxed off world view naturally lending to projection. I think about this because of the accusations I get as opposed to the reality of the situation, and it always shows more about the people themselves than it does me.

Like, u want clout. No bro, I am literally telling you all to go fuck yourselves so I can post gay dragons.

u want this or that. Bruhskie I have most of what you think I want for my motivations. That seems more like you guys telling me what you would want or are trying to get out of the internet.

Even when I was dealing with the local cultists and going out of my way to *DISBAND* a cult someone erected to me against my consent, I was getting "u want cult/attention" shit from motherfuckers who couldn't read.

No really I got anons like "Octopus jibberish? You need help." No shit, the person who was spewing octopus jibberish needs help, but that's not me. Yes, that person is definitionally delusional and psychotic, but people just like you enable them. And then I get the delulu octopus jibberish cocaine bear stalking me for years while you blithering idiots look the other way or even encourage it.

No, I've told people to go the fuck away for a year. Tell me you're attention whores that would encourage instead of disband a cult to you without telling me.

God. Truly.

Meanwhile I get judged for having a limit upon my mortal coil on the amount of stalking and abuse i will tolerate for how long and you people lose your shit that I have emotions and that I refuse to be exterminated by a bus full of delusional karens on the internet roleplaying as witches. Then I get pulled into work review and get told I'm one of the best ones in the country, the center leans their metrics on me, and they don't know if they've ever met as empathetic of a crisis worker, while y'all act like I'm satan for breaking out the rat poison on the obese, bald rats infesting my digital space. No, that bitch has mange, and now you all have it, stay the fuck away, I don't want your plague.

You don't get treated as inhuman because I'm evil or lack empathy. I am literally paid because of my irrationally high empathy. You get treated as inhuman because you act inhuman, choose to act inhumane to your fellow man as your only real Life Path, and favor delusion and psychosis above reality or personal responsibility for behaviors to the point of being dedicated to forms of ongoing, socially-vast and spansive abuse for literal years. It is truly not complicated.

I know it hurts your precious fucking tumblr padded feelings to hear this, babes, but you're all fucking evil pieces of shit that need therapy and a soul, and a personality beyond obsessing over supernatural or obsessing over your friend's ex. Or spinning three times under a full moon and spitting in a bowl. Literally any personality trait that doesn't involve toxic abusive obsession, or lunacy. One trait. One attribute. Find one fucking attribute that makes any of you redeemable. Without evoking an invisible friend to justify it. And without valorizing basic expectations for adult behavior.

Alexa how do i explain to the crazy people that they're literally OCD stalking a fucking psych worker, and that the psych worker is telling them they are in fact fucking crazy and need fucking medication or a padded room. That, or they're just fucking evil abusive pieces of roving garbage masquerading as humans in flesh sacks, and need an exorcism. Might get rid of the octopus jibberish gods around you.

Neither I, nor any god, exist for your personal relentless pursuit of fantasy and fiction.

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taegularities · 5 months

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Hello lovely Rid,

Before I jump in the chapters that await me (I have to read 3 of them THREEEe. I know bad of me and I’m sorry) I had some comment about the warnings for cmi11 I absolutely LOVE when you guys do this “1 nara mention” I’ve seen a couple other writers do the same of like mentioning a specific person has at least 0.005 seconds of screen time (book appearances) and that you just know with your whole being that people will come for you because that person just stood in the corner like🧍🏻‍♀️👁️👄👁️🧍🏻‍♀️but is collectively hated.

Also what’s up with tumblr not willing to post a certain amount of words is that new? Bedeviled had multiple characters split in part a & b because the word count got to much.

I failed my written exam or theory exam i don’t know if it’s the same thing, I think it is. I failed it for the 4th time today. Why is getting your drivers license so difficult and expensiveee

ahhh sharon, hi 🥺 i'm sorry about the test :( it's truly so hard and expensive, but i'm cheering for you and manifesting a much better result next time!! lmk how it went 🤍

omg three chapters.. how dare!! lol no but take your time!! and then come back and scream at/with me 🥺 i really really hope you like them a lot. also, yes, i enjoy doing that a lot lmao my warnings are all over the place, like me :'D though i feel like most ppl here have warmed up to nara!! i love her, personally 🥺

and yeah i don't quite understand why the block limit was necessary at all!!! it fcks with the reading experience for sure :') which is why i'm even more thankful that you guys stick around and still read!! <3

#we do like nara.. right yall.. RIGHT?!#mwah #notes for rid 🌹#sharon <3 #fic: colour me in

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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blurrymango · 1 year

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My face when even after the shitty School For Good and Evil movie came out and got decently and undeservedly popular there's still no one that ships Agatha and Hort.

Post edit: I hit my post limit I hate the ffucking post limit.

Edit 2: Can we like. Demand staff remove the post limit? Can someone make a petition? Can someone make a Twitter account that just @s the official Tumblr Twitter account everyday and says "get rid of the post limit".

Edit 3: Often times I've thought about making a side account to blog on when I hit the limit BUT NO THAT DOESN'T FFUCKING WORK APPARENTLY.

Edit 4: I love slasher films I just wish there wasn't sex scenes. Thankfully Michael Myers is good at putting an end to sex.

#mango man speaks

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unsettledink · 2 years

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I am just.

I am very cranky about tags right now so there is just a bunch of ranting about the new tag limit under the cut. Feel free to completely ignore my meltdown. I'll get over it eventually.

I went to go update my tags now that we've hit the sex for real, because I didn't want to falsely lure people in with all these smut tags when there was not even a one kiss yet, and wouldn't be for about 200k. But hey, I'd like current readers to have a better idea what they're getting into!

I took my original list of tags (around 150ish) and worked to whittle it down – I lost some of my favorite tags in the process, but I tried to focus on things that either

a) are a huge component of the story in a way that's non specific and pervasive

b) are a large part of the fic but restricted to one area

c) something I personally would want to search for or avoid and that happens in more than one chapter

And then I went back through and removed things that were more specific under a larger umbrella. No, I probably don't need five different tags when I can just put come play, but it still hurts because I'll be honest, I have searched specifically for each of those tags and had to resort to the umbrella tag, full of things I did not want. And those are tags I wouldn't have put if it wasn't for that fact that, once the sex gets going, they happen a LOT. Like, I really hope you aren't grossed out by come play cause Peter is 110% there for it, RIP Quentin.

I ended up with about 110, which isn't great but it'll do, and more like 100 once I take away the spoilery ones I'm waiting to add.

I spent entirely too long typing them in the way I wanted them to look and organizing them, and then -

I fucking forgot about the new tag limit – I knew it was a thing at some point, but didn't realize it had happened and didn't realize it was only 75 and didn't realize that it counts fandom, character, and pairing tags within that.

So suddenly I've got a warning that I have get rid of 42 tags, and I can't even edit the ones already there because it was grandfathered in.

Considering that I had already massively cut down on the tags I wanted to use and now have to figure out what more to cut, this is going to take some thinking. I may do some weird tagging that combined things so at least they can be read and hopefully correctly synced with parent tags, but I hate that because I want to tag things in part for people searching for those specific things. I may add a block of tags in the notes, but that's really difficult to search accurately. I may throw something up on tumblr, I don't know. I dislike all of those options.

Funnily enough, I've never needed more than maybe a dozen or so tags? But for fuck's sake, this sucker is mostly like going to be a solid 800k, allowing me less than one tag per 100k is not fun. It'd be one thing if this was a simple, straightforward, non kinky fic. But it's really not. It's complex and messy and there's a lot of plot and emotional stuff before you even get into the sex, which is kinky in specific ways that I want to tag for, both as warning and enticement.

And reading reading a bajillion comments on the news post that are mostly

a) yay everyone is so tired of tags good job AO3 you should have made the limit smaller

b) this really sucks if you're a long fic or smut writer

c) well you're just bad at tagging aren't you. Stop abusing the system by tagging every character that breathes and you'd be fine. Besides tags are just for warnings, not searching or enticement, and we couldn't possibly consider giving more words more tags - won't someone think of the poor podfics (that you never care about the rest of the time lol) who would be hurt like you are currently being hurt?

(Which is nonsensical because it's not like anyone is suggestion that 'oh you only used ten words? Sorry, you may have tag and one tag only!'.)

And I'm seriously cranky, because you know what? I have two fandoms tagged, and seven characters. All of which will feature significantly in this fic. I'm not abusing those areas, so what do I delete now?

No, tell me. What do I delete? Bye Ned and MJ, you're taking up space, but hey I guess anyone that clicked on this for you wouldn't have been happy, so whatever, I don't need to hint that this fic does not set Peter's friends aside completely for the relationship.

The sex tags? I already reduced oral sex by five things, just leaving rimming and bj's, but I guess I should only put oral sex instead, because that's what people search for, right? Never mind that that's a useless tag that won't help filter anything, and that both bj's and rimming hold a special significance within the fic, as weird as that may sound from the outside.

Maybe I should drop a bunch of my trauma healing tags, except one of the most important factors of this fic is exploring how both Peter and Quentin heal or have failed to heal from their assorted varied traumas and how those affect them throughout, so yes, I do feel like nightmares and ptsd and grief are all significantly different things that I want to make note of!

I guess I can just cut all my... mood/vibe tags, because... Idk, they're too general or specific to be useful for searches, and probably not would draw people in? But when I'm reading, those give me a much better sense of how the author thinks of the fic and whether I might get easily annoyed or not.

And no, I really don't use tumblr style random chatty tags for the most part, because that's what author's notes are for. But a few have their place and author's notes don't show on the page when I'm browsing. It's like... I read the book flap (summary) and now I want to flip it over and see the blurbs from other authors?

I feel like this really misunderstands how a lot of people use tags? They're fucking searchable, so if I want only the fics under one small weird obscure tag, I can click on that and get them! I don't have to fuck around with search terms and exclude this, reword that, refine refuss redo, I can just click on the goddamn tag. Which people might not bother to tag with anymore, because of limits.

No, listing the tags in the summary and using the search within results is not acceptable, because I cannot tell you how many times I've searched for a work knowing something from the summary, and not been able to find it until I start flipping through whatever tag I was originally browsing when I found it, even if exactly what I searched for was in the summary!

Tags are meant for warnings and the main AO3 warnings cover most stuff? Are you fucking kidding me? Were you not around for the endless wanking over using 'warning' vs 'contains' before just 'tags' was a thing?

I don't use tags for warnings 90% of the time, because I seldom warn! There's an 'author chooses not to use archive warnings' on most of my fics for a reason! And I'm using tags to find readers, because a lot of people have found my fics not because they desperately want, say, Tony/Quentin, but because they wanted come inflation or slapping kink or hand feeding or what have you. Eliminating those sorts of tags helps no one!

As a reader, I care so little about those warnings that I have them default hidden – I want the content tags that tell me if I might like the vibes of this fic beyond what the summary might tell me. A fic with a promising summary can be instantly ruined for me by, say, daddy kink, but if that's tagged, even with the intent of getting the attention of people who like it, I can nope out before my eyes have to see those words. And if I'm in the mood for one specific weird unpopular kink, I can just click the tag and explore stuff in other fandoms I wouldn't have ever even found.

And I get that this is primarily because of some stupid fic that everyone was seeing all the time and a couple of assholes, but if that was such a problem, why couldn't there be a hard code to hide tags (oh wait there is?? in addition to add-on scripts and skins that do the same thing??).

But hey, why deal with the problem makers when you can punish everyone? Gosh am I back at a job with an incompetent manager again?

Last time I complained about a change I was told AO3 is an ARCHIVE for AUTHORS, not a library for readers, so too bad, our priority is making the authors feel safe, which, fair enough, that was the original mission. Yet now it's 'you can't have as many tags as you want because the readers shouldn't have to scroll that much!'? Nice mixed message there.

I hate all of my options and have a serious case of crankies over getting 70 tags for a plot and kink heavy 600k+ fic, and I really just... don't know what I want to do. Aside from throw a little fit and then get over it, I guess.

(If by any chance you made it this far and want to offer an opinion or help decide which tags aren't important, I've got them all listed with why I want them over here. I don't know, maybe there are things I think are important that no one reading cares about or would have been enticed by!)

#gotcha

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hotwings0203 · 3 years

Text

A/N: Hi guys! This is my first oneshot thingy (or any piece) that I’m posting here, it’s kind of dark but I think that’s the type of fic I enjoy writing. Let me know what you all think, and any suggestions or feedback is much appreciated since this is the first time I’m using Tumblr😆

Warnings: implication of non-con, manipulation, yandere themes, kidnapping

Pairing: Yandere Dabi x f reader

Smoke curled into your hiding place, invading your senses. You could hear him smashing other various household items around the house, attempting to startle you and make a sound, effectively revealing your hiding place

Which wasn’t a very clever one, mind you.

If you only had a couple more seconds, maybe, just maybe you could’ve dove into the closet and actually hidden with some blankets and clothes covering you instead of your current chosen position, which was under the creaky bed.

You cursed yourself for even starting something so stupid, and getting a rise out of him in the first place when you knew, you knew he hated it when you picked fights over the smallest of things. All he wanted you to do was make him some breakfast, now was that so much to ask for? Did you have to put rat poison in his oatmeal at 10 am in the morning?

You didn’t think you could handle playing this happy-go-lucky fake domestic scene any further; you wanted to go home. You wanted to see your family again for Thanksgiving, you wanted to meet up with your friends and get your nails done and coo over pretty boys, and most of all you wanted to go outside and gaze up at the clear blue sky and just watch the fall colors swirl around you in a halo of leaves.

Dabi let’s you go outside twice every month if you’re being good for him, and if you really please him he’ll let you touch the grass without that stupid shock collar that adorns your neck like an ornament with with him by your side, of course. Don’t think he’ll fully trust you after that stunt you pulled last week when you tried chewing the restraints off your wrists.

He had to salute your effort though, you really might’ve gotten away if he hadn’t surrounded you by his flames before you could touch the door.

Kind of like now, actually. While you’re trembling and cramped unceremoniously under the bed, he’s finished scanning the living room and kitchen for any sign of you.

Shit

That means there’s only two places left: the bathroom and his room, where you are.

Your legs are starting to cramp up and you’re wondering how long you can manage to stay still while this psycho is hounding you out.

“If you quit acting like a pussy and come out within 30 seconds, I’ll make sure to leave your face intact. Can’t say the same about the rest of you though, babe, I’m not feeling very generous or inclined to spare you too much after choking down rat poison.” He all but snarls as you can see from underneath the bed his elbows and jaw curl with smoke, blue flames licking at his shins.

The smell of rotting flesh feels like an ominous foreshadowing of your fate if you don’t think of a way out of this, fast.

You’re pulled from your musing as Dabi slams the bathroom closet door shut, and flings the shower curtain aside violently, indicating no more places are left for him to check for you except his room.

You’re out of time.

Picking up the soap dispenser on the sink counter, he weighs it in his hand, testing it’s material. You’re peeking out from underneath the mattress, unsure of what he’s doing.

You don’t need to keep wondering after he suddenly hurls the glass down on the floor, the dispenser shattering on the floor near the bed mere inches away from where your face was.

You let out a small shriek at the explosion, and immediately still and clamp your hand over your mouth with wide eyes.

But the damage has already been done, and Dabi knows this as he lets out a dark chuckle and saunters towards the bed, turning around and plopping down on the plushy material, his boots right in front of your face.

“We both already know where this is going, little mouse. I caught you, but I’ll be nice and give you one more chance to come to me willingly.”

He leans back on his elbows and tilts his head up to the chafing ceiling. He knows you’ll come, you always eventually do, that’s why he loves you, his sweet little girl who always does what she’s told.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is you making one last break for it, clambering out from the opposite side of where you both are situated and bolting to the door.

He whips his head around at the sound of you desperately fumbling with the lock on the door, when did he lock it? God this is taking too long he’s gonna catch you he’s gonna-

But you’re already out of the door and flying down the hallway as you hear him leaping off the bed and scrambling after you, the house completely silent save for the deafening sounds of both of your own objectives pounding away at the floor in the same direction.

“You fucking bitch, I grant you one last chance to come clean to me and this is the thanks I get? You’re dead little mouse.” You hear him howl behind you, and it scares you at how close he sounds.

But now you see it, you see your freedom at the entrance just an arms length away and you’re touching the door and-

The room is suddenly enveloped by blue fire, the door handle becoming so hot under your touch that you wail as you let go and cradle your bubbling flesh, tears blurring your vision as you whirl around to locate your assailant and captor.

Dabi stands in the middle of the living room, ethereal cobalt lighting up the sides of his face and illuminating the staples that stretch and threaten to rip from the shit-eating grin he sports while looking at your defenseless demeanor.

“I told you to listen while I was playing nice, right? This is what happens to little mice who want to turn into rats so bad. Is that why you wanted to feed me rat poison, huh, baby? You were warning me to get rid of what you might turn out to be, hmm?” He pouts at you, the corners of his mouth twitching when you sob in terror

“D-dabi please,” you bawl, “please let me leave. I w- wanna go h-home.” Your chest heaves at the last word, the pain in your hand paling in comparison to the ache in your chest.

“An-and I w-want you on your kn-knees worshipping the ground I walk on and making good use of that bitchy little mouth instead of whining and sniveling.” He mocked and cooed cruelly, reveling at your helplessness.

You could do nothing but wail louder as he started slowly walking towards you, his eyes narrowed, complemented with dark glint in his pupils while his ever-lasting hellish quirk enunciated his heavy steps.

Dabi finally reached you, and you pathetically pressed yourself into the wall and turned your face as he lifted his hand and stroked your cheek in faux sympathy. His bottom lip was stuck out in a fake pout, mimicking your state of panic.

“You’re not scared of me, right baby? It’s just a game, right? I mean after all I do for you-bathe, feed, and dress you- you only feel love for me, right?”

He was toying with you, in a similar fashion a cat plays with its prey before it pounces.

When you hesitated for a moment too long, his hand by your face heated up its dying embers, warning you to give him what he wanted to hear.

You whimpered and tried to evade his hand, only resulting in his gripping the back of your head and yanking back on your hair roughly so you were forced to look up and meet his amused, dark gaze.

“Ah-ah my pretty bitch. You don’t get to move away from me after all the stunts you pulled today. I’ve had enough of your bullshit so don’t test me any more, now I asked you a question: you love me right?”

At your wits end, you maintained eye contact with him as you shakily tried to nod your head, the movement being difficult to do as he had such a death-grip on your locks.

But he wasn’t satisfied by your pathetic attempt at agreeing, it seemed like he wanted to make your life hell even further and draw this out as long as he could because he clicked his tongue and shook your head like a rag doll in his hands, hair flying across your face and giving you whiplash.

“Use that sharp tongue you got on you before I melt your fucking teeth. You might be a grade-A moron, and a pathetic one at that but I know damn well you’re not mute.” He leans in further, his nose grazing yours as you almost went cross eyed trying to keep him in vision.

“Y-yes Dabi, I love you.”

His silence seemed to scream unimpressed, so you hurried to salvage the situation as best as you could so it wouldn’t escalate the knee-deep shit you were already in.

“And I’m...sorry I was being such a brat today, I just missed everyone I used to be close with. But you were right, I should be more grateful after everything you do for me. It’s not fair that I don’t treat you with the same, uh, affection that you show me. A-and I’m sorry I put... rat poison in your food.” You whispered this last part, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes.

He snorted, not entirely convinced at your sincerity in the apology but it was enough for him to loosen his grip on your head and take a step back from your personal space.

You sink down the wall to your knees, curling up slightly and taking shaky breaths as you attempt to calm down. The room is still engulfed in flames, but thanks to Dabi’s foresight and extensive planning, most of the furniture of fire-proof (god knows how he got it like that, it’s not like he was the son of the number one hero or anything to accumulate such wealth) so the damage was limited save for your mental state and injured hand.

Dabi crouches down in front of you, an odd smirk on his face as you peer up at him in caution.

“You know, I didn’t say I forgive you princess, or that you’re excused for your little tantrum.”

He cocks his head at you and lifts your chin up towards him with a scarred finger. You blanch at the implication of this ordeal not being over from your excruciating apology, and his disturbing Cheshire-cat grin stretches so wide over his face, you wonder distantly if his stitches are going to pop loose any second.

“Please, I’m sorry. I’ll do anything, just please don’t...please don’t burn me.” You whisper in defeat.

“Anything, you say? But why? Isn’t it more fun if I brand my name into your back? Oh wait! Maybe I’ll burn you so bad you’ll look like me! Then we’ll really be a matching couple, you’d like that wouldn’t you? I mean if you love me as much as you claim you’ll let me, right?”

He’s trapped you again. If you deny, he’ll ruthlessly berate you for lying to his face and who knows what he’ll do just for the sick, sadistic satisfaction he’ll get from making you stumble over your own lie.

If you comply, however, you’ll look like burnt bacon, just like this fucker.

“I’ll do anything to make you forgive me.” You quietly settle for.

He studies you for a moment, and the uncomfortably silence he grants you makes you shift in your place.

Dabi finally stands to his full height and stretches his arms back with a content groan.

“If that’s the case, then don’t say I didn’t let you choose how you wanted to make it up to me.”

You glance up when you hear the sound of a zipper being undone, and you mouth gapes at his innuendo. You can’t seem to look away as he frees himself from his black boxers, the sound of his belt and pants rustling as they hit the floor.

“Now then, what was that you said about redemption? I think this is a great way to put that mouth to good use, little mouse.”

#tw dubcon #dabi smut #mha x reader #yandere mha #bnha yandere #yandere #yandere dabi x reader #kidnapping #dabi #bnha oneshots #dabi x reader #bnha dabi #mha dabi

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