#let me know if it's horrible lol and i'll try to fix it

[a-pigeons-soliloquy]

oouugghhh hannigram either 7 or 45. maybe even combine the two.

ok so it has been. a while. this one got, uh, more than a little out of control lmao (almost 3500 words holy fuck). but it's finally finished! i'm not sure if it exactly fits the prompts anymore but i tried to combine them both :) i hope you like it! (even if it did just end up as yet another mizumono fic lol oops)

***

"You were supposed to leave," Will hisses, and his voice is a devastated, furious thing.

There is blood soaking into his shoes and the scent of iron hangs heavy in the air, and the worst part is that Will doesn't even know whose blood it is anymore, but the question is lost to the back of his mind. Because in front of him stands a dishevelled man whose shirt is a mess of shiny red stains, a knife dripping in his hand.

A man who isn’t supposed to be there at all.

"I didn't want to leave without seeing you one last time," Hannibal says. The words one last time should be ringing alarm bells in Will's head, but he can’t hear them over the overwhelming chorus of thousands of other alarms, because everything is going wrong. There is blood on the floor and on the walls and Alana and Jack lie dying among shards of glass, and there is a SWAT team likely only minutes away, and yet Hannibal is still here.

They both are.

And now Will doesn’t know what to do, hasn’t known what to do for the last 3 months and hadn’t known what he’d do next when he’d made that phone call, telling the Chesapeake Ripper that they know. All he’d known was that he didn’t want Hannibal to die, didn’t want him locked up in a cage by his own hands. But here he is, faced with the consequences of his own actions, and once again Will doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to feel, or even what he is feeling beyond the adrenaline and desperation and horror and relief and confusion. He doesn’t want to feel the overwhelming guilt and sense of responsibility that has been steadily building behind his ribs since this whole scheme began. Yet that guilt now tears at the lining of his chest and crushes his lungs and holds his throat in a chokehold, and it’s just all too much and all he can think is none of this was supposed to happen and this is all my fault and what if?

Seeing Hannibal alive, he’d been struck by a sudden wave of relief that had almost caused his knees to give out beneath him. But now, as Hannibal’s eyes meet his, the awful look that greets him makes a pit suddenly form in his stomach, and the relief gives way to guilt again. And Will can’t take it.

None of this was supposed to happen.

This is all my fault.

What if?

And then it hits him: none of this was supposed to happen. And it hadn’t needed to. This awful mess of glass and blood and ruin could have all been avoided if Hannibal had just listened. If he’d trusted Will when he’d picked up the phone with shaky fingers and told him to run. But he hadn't. And this realisation comes with a sick sense of understanding, because for the whole time Will had known him, Hannibal had always had to have something hidden up his sleeve, always had to keep secrets from Will. Always had to know better. Feel superior. At last the final veil falls from Will's eyes, and all at once he can see how foolish he'd been to ever believe that they could be equals. How pathetic it was that, for those few long weeks they'd spent together, he'd actually believed that they were.

(Will fiercely forces back the voice in his head that whispers that he hadn’t exactly given Hannibal a reason to trust him.)

Heart hammering against his ribs, all of that guilt and fear melts together and stretches and twists and is reborn as deep, righteous anger.

Because no, all he’d wanted was for Hannibal to be safe and free and far from here, even if it meant Hannibal hated him, even if it meant they could never be together, even if it meant that one day Hannibal would come back and rip his still-beating heart from his chest without remorse. But instead here they are, highly armed police likely mere minutes out. And all because Hannibal hadn’t listened. Bitterly, Will thinks to himself that maybe he couldn’t change Hannibal in this way after all.

As if hearing the war cry of bitterness and anger, the resentment he’d kept locked away over the last year begins to bay and claw at its cage too, and, with no reason left to hold it back, Will finally opens the latch and lets it loose.

His next words come out as a growl. “Well now neither of us might get to leave at all”.

Hannibal looks at him, and before he can hide any emotion behind his mask Will can see surprise and deep betrayal warring behind his eyes. It should make him stop and consider, that surprise - that indication that he is behaving in a way that Hannibal did not quite anticipate. But the look of betrayal is like a knife to his chest, and so Will grips his resentment tightly and fumes.

What had Hannibal expected? For Will to be small, desperate? Cowering? Begging for forgiveness? His lip curls in derision. As if he would give him the satisfaction. No, mongooses have teeth and claws, and may whatever god he believes in help Hannibal if he thinks Will won’t use them.

Hannibal manages to force the emotion all behind a mask of icy indifference, and now when he looks at Will his gaze is blank. Though it is not his usual blankness which Will has become familiar with. It is an empty, unsettling kind of blank, the sort of blank he’s only ever seen in the eye of a shark. When Hannibal speaks his voice is cold, colder than Will has ever heard it.

"Forgive me for having doubts about the sincerity of your warning when you've been lying to me for the last month. Forgive me for wanting to see the truth of where your loyalties lie."

The acknowledgement is agony. All the guilt Will had been trying to force down suddenly rears its monstrous head again, and he finds his voice suddenly drying up. His throat feels tight.

He whispers. "My loyalties lie with you'

Hannibal only scoffs. It is ugly. Will has never seen Hannibal ugly before.

"A last minute change of heart is hardly loyalty, Will," he says. “What does Uncle Jack think of your loyalty, lying bleeding out in my pantry? Alana, shattered on the street? How can I be sure you do not still intend for me to join them?”

Hannibal takes a step towards him, adjusting his grip on the knife. Will’s heart pounds. He forces himself not to take a step back.

“Because I chose you, Hannibal, I was always going to choose you, I just needed time to accept that.”

But Hannibal just looks away. “If that is what you truly believe, then you haven't just been lying to me, you've also been lying to yourself.”

It’s so wrong, yet Hannibal had said it with such certainty and disdain that all Will sees is the arrogance with which Hannibal always assumes himself to be right. He dares to presume to know what Will is thinking better than Will knows himself? It turns out Hannibal Lecter really is just like every other psychiatrist Will has ever met, and a sense of grief rises up within him at the loss of something he’d never thought he could have until meeting Hannibal.

He hates himself for mourning what he shouldn’t want.

Will smothers the voice in his head whispering that Hannibal may in fact be correct, that he really does know Will's mind better than Will does his own. Instead he lets anger take over again, and this time it burns.

“You know nothing,” he hisses. His hands shake. Deep waves of indignant resentment roll over him, the roaring of the waves matching the blood in his ears.

He doesn’t know what he expects Hannibal to do next, but it isn’t for Hannibal to hum to himself, then huff a mirthless laugh and concede in a tone both melancholy and angry, “Perhaps you’re right.”

Once again Hannibal meets his eyes. “You know, I've never fully been able to predict you, Will, but this time I had hoped. It is a mistake I will not make again.”

He prowls closer still, and this time Will steps forward to meet him. Fight has won over flight and as the rising fury makes it hard to find words Will’s body seems to have decided to speak for him. The ticking clock of the impending arrival of the FBI ignored in favour of the burning, all-consuming rage within him.

But the fear of their time running out is still there, forced down as it is, and between that and the anger it’s only getting harder to think, and Hannibal is only making it worse. Every word that leaves his mouth brings fresh waves of intense emotion and it’s rapidly reducing Will to a state where there is nothing in his brain except pure animalistic rage-fear.

He just needs Hannibal to stop talking for one moment so he can think.

With what little coherent thought remains in his brain, Will decides to tell Hannibal in the only way he can manage anymore.

“For once in your life can you please just shut the fuck up”.

Hannibal's eyes flash dangerously. His lips curl up into a snarl, and the part of Will that still understands anything knows that he’s made a mistake - he’s only succeeded in confirming for Hannibal exactly how his words are affecting him, and getting him to stop now won’t be achieved without consequences.

Hannibal is quick to recover, a cruel grin taking over his face. His head tilts condescendingly. “Terribly rude, Will,’ he taunts.

The fire inside Will soars higher. He can feel it scorching his insides.

“Fuck you, Hannibal.” He spits.

Hannibal begins to loom over him, moving closer still in a manner that can only be called predatory, until all that separates them is an arm’s length. The knife still glistens in his hand.

“Is that all you have to say for yourself, Will? Childish comebacks? I’ve come to expect better from you. I'm disappointed.” There is a gleam of self-satisfied malice in his eyes and the shape of his lips. He looks dangerous. He looks beautiful.

Will hates him.

Will loves him.

Fuckyoufuckyoufuck-

And suddenly Will can’t take it any longer.

Before he knows what he is doing, he’s grabbing Hannibal by the bloody shirt and crashing his lips into his.

Time seems to stop, the world narrowing into a millisecond of time in which Hannibal’s hair brushes against Will’s forehead, breath warm against his mouth, their noses pressed almost painfully against each other. A moment where the cooling blood on Hannibal’s shirt soaks into Will’s palms and stains his fingers red. A moment where Hannibal stands deadly still, as if frozen, and Will feels as if he’s been frozen too.

There is a distant pressure in the corner of Will’s abdomen, then the vague sound of something clattering to the ground. But Will’s lips are on Hannibal’s and it is as if everything everywhere is inconsequential other than the feeling of Hannibal’s teeth against his, just as he’d imagined on so many a lonely night.

The moment seems to last an eternity before Hannibal’s hand finally comes up to grasp the back of his shirt tightly, and Will feels the sharp pull of the fabric against his skin, the pressure of Hannibal’s knuckles firm against his flank. A breathy gasp escapes his burning lips, and he can’t help the animal noise that subsequently tears its way from his throat. Luckily it seems that is what it takes for Hannibal to finally move his mouth and kiss back with equal force, teeth scraping sharply against Will’s. They gravitate closer and closer until Will’s arm is wrapped around Hannibal’s neck and their hips are pressed tightly together.

Eventually, Hannibal lets out a deep growl before he at last pulls away, dragging Will backwards until there is an arm’s distance between them. Will’s eyes flutter open and he gazes up at Hannibal. The adrenaline is still coursing through his veins and setting him alight, but this time it is not with anger but something wholly new.

As they lock eyes, Will realises that Hannibal is finally allowing Will to see, without barriers or veils, the full breadth of emotion in his eyes. There is still frustration and betrayal, yes (indeed, Will hadn’t let go of his either) but there is also - and Will’s heart skips a beat when he recognises it - pure and all-encompassing adoration. A wonderful warmth blossoms within his core, rendering him both weak and solid and light as a feather, and it is unlike anything Will can ever remember feeling.

He wonders if this is what it’s like to be loved.

Then those wonderful, expressive maroon eyes flicker downwards, and Hannibal’s brow furrows, lines around his eyes deepening. Confused, Will follows his gaze, and is surprised to see a growing deep red stain on his shirt, though any reaction he distantly thinks he perhaps should be having is dulled and seems to float just out of reach. It’s strange; there isn’t any pain, just the memory of an odd pressure that he’d ignored at the time and a peculiar sense of unreality.

For a moment he just stands, uncomprehending, but as the adrenaline finally starts to wear off he becomes increasingly aware of a dull ache at the site of the wound, and it isn’t long before that dull ache blossoms into a terrible burning pain. Hand instinctively falling from Hannibal’s shoulder to hover protectively over the wound, Will looks back up at Hannibal, a mix of confusion, surprise, pain and betrayal written across his face. An involuntary whine slips from his suddenly dry throat.

The vocalisation appears to spur Hannibal into action. He takes Will gently but firmly by the arms and quickly guides him to a nearby sofa, helping him lay down across its seats before sinking to his knees beside him and pulling up his shirt to inspect the injury. A moment passes, then a near-imperceptible line of tension seems to drop slightly from Hannibal’s shoulders and he pulls Will’s shirt back down.

“It is as I thought: due to the angle and the quick loosening of my grip on the handle, only the tip of my knife entered your body. The wound is not so deep as to require immediate attention, but it will certainly require stitches.”

He guides Will’s hand back to his injury and helps him to apply the right amount of pressure. It hurts, and when Will winces and lets out small pained noise, Hannibal brings a hand to his hair and cards it through the damp curls. It feels nice, it feels so very nice and right, and Will’s eyes slip closed for a moment, enjoying the feeling. When he opens them, Hannibal is looking down at him, face once again carefully blank.

“There is likely very little time left before the FBI arrives,” he begins, “and I will soon be leaving for Florence. I will offer you this once and only once, and you will have until I return with our passports and a select few other items to make your decision.”

He fixes Will with a heavy look. “One last chance, Will. You can come with me to Florence, and I will show you the city where I became a man. We will leave immediately, take up new identities, and likely never return.

“Or, I can leave you here. You can wait for the cops to arrive and take you to a hospital. Your reputation will remain intact, and you can go back to your job and your house in the woods, your life as you know it, and you will never see me again.”

An almost undetectable pause, and then, “This is your final decision, Will. I suggest you make it wisely.”

With this he climbs to his feet and leaves the room

For a while Will sits thinking, but deep down he knows his mind is already made up. The myriad of complicated feelings he harbours towards Hannibal still plague him, and a part of him still wants to lock the man up and throw away the key, but he’s finally willing to admit that it’s all inconsequential. He knows now he can't live without Hannibal, for better or for worse, whether he loves him or hates him, or a twisted mix of both. He’ll miss his life terribly for the isolated comfort it brought, but he’d miss Hannibal far, far more.

There is only one choice to make.

The moment Hannibal reappears in the doorway Will is speaking.

“I want to come with you.”

Hannibal’s face remains carefully blank. “You understand there is no going back from this. I will not change my lifestyle and you can never return to the false life you have led. You will be shedding your sheepskin for good this time, and the world will be on our tail for as long as we-”

Will cuts him off.

“I want to come with you,” he repeats firmly.

A long pause, and then a small but genuine smile graces Hannibal's lips. With a dip of his head, he seems to accept the decision. “Very well,” he says, though Will can hear the unspoken relief that lies beneath it. He lets himself smile back, tired but overjoyed and honest. It feels right.

Hannibal comes back to where he lies on the couch, and helps him get up, his touch firm yet gentle as he holds Will against his side.

“Do you think you can walk?” he asks.

Will’s breath catches as the shift to being upright pulls sharply on his wound. While it could have been far deeper - and Will doesn’t want to imagine what Hannibal’s initial plan for him was - it is still painful, and increasingly so as the last of the adrenaline wears off. Plus, he’s losing a fair amount of blood, and the change in angle temporarily darkens his vision and sends stars dancing across his eyes. Grimacing, he closes his eyes and waits for the pounding in his head to stop. Hannibal lets him lean against him, steadfastly taking his weight, and says nothing.

When the stars fade and he feels steadier on his feet, Will considers Hannibal’s question, and after a moment of assessment nods - he’s been shot in the shoulder before, he can handle this - and lets Hannibal lead him out of the house and down the street to an unfamiliar car.

Alana is unconscious now, and Will catches Hannibal’s eyes lingering on his jacket where it lies over her body. He looks at her, the person he’d once imagined sharing a life with, and thinks of how important she had always been to him, even after everything. A pang of bittersweet nostalgia hits him, accompanied by a longing for a simpler time when maybe it could have been possible. But ultimately he allows Hannibal to help him into the passenger seat of the car. This is the life he’s chosen, the person he’s chosen, cannibalism and all. There is no going back now, and nothing to be gained from contemplating what ifs.

Then the car door closes, and Alana is hidden from sight.

There is another noise as Hannibal gets in the car from the other side, and after fiddling with some dials and buttons, he starts the engine.

“I will drive us to the airport where our flight awaits. When we are a safe distance from the house we will stop and I will clean and suture your wound. But for now I suggest you sleep - you will need the rest if you are to recover well.”

He must notice the lines of discomfort on Will’s face, as he adds, softening slightly, “There are some painkillers in the door.”

After taking the pills as directed, Will lays his head back against the headrest and allows his eyes to close. The last of the adrenaline has left his system, leaving behind a sudden bone tiredness that makes his lids heavy and breathing slow.

With the sound of the vehicle lulling him and the comfort of Hannibal’s presence beside him - alive, together - sleep comes quickly, and the last thing Will knows before the darkness claims him is the feeling of a warm hand gently coming to rest upon his own.

#nbc hannibal #hannigram #hannigram fic #hannibal fanfiction #my writing #kiss prompts #gonna say ​abigail is in the backseat of the car but it's dark and will is too tired to notice lol #and they find a way to have all 7 dogs sent to wherever they end up :) #i hope this is decent enough and there aren't any mistakes! #pretty sure everything is capitalised and in the same tense now haha #god this has taken forever #also #this is the first fic i've managed to finish in like 7 years so i'm really proud :) #now to work on my many other wips! #also i hope the formatting is ok! #let me know if it's horrible lol and i'll try to fix it

[ohbo-ohno]

If I chant noncon puppy play enough times will you grace us with more ghoap x reader noncon puppy play?

I would really love to see what you could do with Ghost coming across Soap and reader who are in a relationship but it’s rapidly becoming toxic with Soap becoming pervy and flirty with other people and reader being frustrated with it and the unsatisfying sex she’s having now because of it. And Ghost just takes one look and goes “yeah, I can make them happier” and then puts them in crates.

I like to think he’d put them in separate crates so they can’t actually touch each other but he’d make sure they were tied together so they couldn’t escape each other -💙

if you THINK noncon puppy play hard enough i'll probably feel it through the force and try to write it

also i fucking LOVE this ask and concept i love you for sending it in. this post is kinda scatterbrained though because i didn't want to write an actual drabble lol

im not a big fan of cheating in fics so im gonna exclude the idea of soap flirting with other people, but!!! i really really enjoy the idea of soap and reader being wrapped up in a toxic relationship and ghost going "let me get in on that". peak humor tbh.

i think this version of ghost would be sort of like howling and barking ghost - way more... subtle? puppy play. he's not taking you two home and shoving you in cages, he's getting you two conditioned to certain tones of voice and his whistles.

this is kinda difficult to come up for something with, because im trying to think of ways for ghost to slide himself into your relationship that even feel a tiny bit natural

my fave one (off the top of my head) is maybe you and johnny have been trying to pick up a third like every weekend to spice up your sex lives (you end up having near violent sex and arguing through the third person, and they're usually not down to hook up again) and one weekend you just so happen to ask ghost. he'd usually never take up an offer like that, but he sees the little fissures in your relationship pretty immediately and figures "what the hell?" might as well wreak a little havoc. unfortunately for him he gets far too attached as soon as he gets his hands on you two

i like to think he sort of just... becomes your third. at first it's just hookups (regularly, because you and johnny are fighting a lot recently and you love to do it with a third there instead of alone in your apartment and ghost never says no a threesome) but he pretty quickly establishes himself in your lives

from there, the training is easy. you and johnny are both fighting for power in your relationship, and you're too focused on your little game of tug-of-war to realize that ghost is swooping in and taking control of both of you instead. you're too busy working against each other to realize what he's doing to you

to be fair, he actually is helping you and johnny out quite a bit. you two are both hotheads with a lot of energy, fights happen very quickly and get very heated. ghost is there to step in, to knock the two of you on your asses and make you talk. you would not believe how often he sticks you in time-out, otherwise you two would say things you don't mean and end up pissy

he kinda literally talks to you two like you're dogs. a sharp "hey!" for bad behavior, scruffing one of you by the neck to hold you back, whistling to get your attention instead of saying your name, one word commands like "sit", "stay", and "come" instead of "wait a minute" or "come over here". pups need simple commands they can actually understand

he works on fixing your manners too :/

first step is to get you two waiting for permission to start dinner. sits down at the table and glares when either one of you eats before him, clears his throat all obnoxiously, does that horrible "thank you" when you drop your utensil. it's too awkward to push back against him (especially when you know how quickly he could stomp you down) and it's easier to just... listen. you get a pleased hum and a solid pet over your hair, a "good boy/girl" and the trade-off of waiting for permission to eat is worth it

(ghost places both yours and johnny's plate in front of you, smirks when he walks away and neither of you move to eat. fixes himself a plate, sits down, takes a few bites. neither of you move, you both get a little squirmy, huff a bit. he gives you the command word, and praises you both so good in bed that night. neither of you even notice that he's the only one at the table with utensils)

he sleeps between the two of you in bed because you both get jealous and possessive :/ wakes up to johnny snarling over his chest at you, grabs him by the jaw and hisses don't make me fuckin' muzzle you, rumbles all satisfied when johnny settles a bit

anyways you and johnny genuinely are happier with ghost <3 you're also more well-mannered and understanding of your positions!!! you're just a pup, pups shouldn't have an attitude, and they wait to eat until they're told, and sometimes they have to sleep in a crate when they've been bad :/

(when he crates one of you he has to crate the other. if he locks johnny up you spend the whole time trying to taunt him, and vice versa. also you two are more well-behaved when you know you both get in trouble for your misbehavior)

it took a bit of work to get you two used to the crates. really ghost fights you with the pure power of nonchalance. you're both already Attached, and he's in control of so much of your lives (more than either of you really know), and he treats the crates like they're normal. Expected. he's not someone who changes his mind, and both you and johnny know that. you can pitch as much of a fit as you want, but you're going in that crate no matter what. there's just... a sort of inevitability around ghost

#💙 anon #asks and answers #ghoap x reader #bo writes #favorites

[plzu]

cafè closed for renovations - (Adrian Chase x Reader)

part 9 ☕️ series masterlist ☕️ ao3

a/n: this chapter got away from me. there were conversations/dialogue i really wanted in here (for comedy, mostly. lol) but the chapter got so long that it was like. damn. gotta stop. who knows maybe one day i'll do a re-write summary: Vigilante comes to your rescue (again). warnings: explicit 18+ only! canon typical violence, no Y/N, and there is straight up sex in here. wordcount: 7.2k

You wake up, sore and stiff and in the dark. The only light from a lamp post somewhere outside, doing very little to illuminate your surroundings. Coffee heavily scents the air, a bitter and comforting stench that lingers with permanence in the tiles and in your work clothes and stains the walls; you are still in the coffee shop.

When you try to move your hand to rub instinctively at an ache in your head, the movement is abruptly tugged to a halt. This confirms the second thing: you are tied to one of the stupid wooden chairs of the cafe.

You do not ordinarily think of the chairs as stupid, but considering how uncomfortable you are and how badly your buttcheeks are currently yearning for something softer--or the absence of anything against them at all--it seems apt. The chair is stupid.

But not as stupid as being ganged up on by your middle-aged bosses. And your mom.

After you had gone to investigate the noise and the slightly open door at the back of the store, you were surprised to see their familiar faces waiting for you. For one thing, the owners usually let you know if they'd be stopping by, and they'd usually do so way before the store closed. And, also, they'd use the front door; the back door isn’t exactly an adequate entrance, what with it leading to a tucked away alleyway that kind of stinks, thanks to the dumpster.

Your mom was a surprise for several reasons. One, you haven’t seen her in an alarming amount of days. Two, why was she at your job with your married bosses? 

For a brief and horrible moment, the only conclusion you could come to was that your bosses were swingers and have chosen your mother as their third, and it was this big secret she was now keeping from you and your father. It would explain why she hasn't been around. And maybe the cafe was their rendezvous for their surreptitious sexcapades, for whatever reason. Which, ew, and also, yuck.

“Mom...?” you had asked, managing to fix your glare of disgust into a squint of 'hey, is that really you?' “What're you doing here? What are-” your eyes quickly glanced between all their weirdly passive faces- “what are all of you doing here? Not that it's not nice to see you guys, but, uh, usually there's notice beforehand..?” you trailed off, that last bit more directed at the owners than your mother.

(You're not even sure she had known where you worked.)

“You know the Vigilante.”

It was one of the owners--Bob--that had spoken. You remember the chill that took over your body, completely wiping out the mild discomfort and curiosity you had at their being there. The sudden sense that you were in danger took over, and you finally noticed how uncharacteristic their respective body languages were. The unsmiling mouths. The set shoulders. The hardened, focused gazes, all trained on you. Creepy in their lack of individuality.

“Wh- um,” you cleared your throat. “What makes you say that?”

“The surveillance footage shows him here,” Nancy, Bob’s wife, confirmed. “With you.”

They actually check those??

You had taken a tentative step back, attempting to retreat away from the crampedness of the back room and into the openness of the cafe. When you did, they all took a step forward, towards you.

You wished you had done something smarter, or at least cooler, but the sight of their synchronized step had sped up the beating of your heart that only encouraged you to run. And if you ever get the chance to share this story with anyone, you will omit the part where high-pitched, panicky sounds left your mouth as you heard them give chase behind you.

The memory of it gets fuzzy after that. All you can really recall is a flurry of movement as you picked up whatever you could in self-defense, and then blindly threw it behind you. Your captors currently have you facing the front of the store, but you're sure there's a mess behind you of paper cups and packaged pastries and spilled coffee beans. A brief pang of annoyance goes through you, thinking that your and the other baristas' efforts to clean the cafe had gone to waste, but then you remember that you're tied to a chair, and there's more pressing things to be annoyed about.

For example: it was your mother that knocked you unconscious.

She was the one that got her hands on you first, pinned you down against the hard countertop of the handoff station. You squirmed fruitlessly against her unnervingly strong hold, the strength feeling wrong, terrifyingly wrong. It was not your mother's strength, yet it was her hands that were hurting you.

Your heart beat slammed against the hard surface beneath you with the frantic rhythm of a wild animal trying to break out of its cage. It had practically drowned out your captor's stern and emotionless command to stop moving. You didn't listen, you couldn't listen, and this ultimately led to you being knocked out.

And now you were awake, tied to a stupid wooden chair. Overcome with the feeling of helplessness yet again. The frustration of not being able to fight back makes your jaw clench. 

But would it have mattered? You couldn’t possibly throw hands with your mom. For one thing, she was your mom. For another, no matter how much pent up rage you have, it would bend under the duress of your mother’s own anger.

You begin to wonder if your captors left you all alone when you hear conversation coming from somewhere behind you.

Your mother's voice asks: “-and you're sure this person is the Vigilante?”

“Yes,” answers Bob. “We've replayed the video footage. This Adrian in their phone is the only person that's consistently come to visit them at work around this time. When he stopped, Vigilante showed up instead.”

Oh, shit. Were you bait?

“It has to be the same person,” Nancy agreed. “Their body languages are the same.”

This confuses you, but then you shift in your seat and feel the absence of weight where your phone usually sits in your pocket. 

Shit. Shitshitshit.

He'll come. Of course he'll come, even if he figures out it's a trap. You can talk yourself into believing he won't. You can tell yourself that after you kicked him out of the cafe last night, he'd want nothing to do with you. But he's not the kind of friend that would leave you to rot. You know this with an absolute certainty, even in the little time you’ve gotten to know him.

It's one of the things you like about him. And now it might be one of the things that gets him hurt. Or worse.

And, god, you're not worth it. There's no way you're worth it, not with how selfish you've been this entire time. Wanting him, indulging in his attention and his praise and his kindness, in the way he looks at you. Expecting him to be there, even subconsciously, expecting him to be yours.

“You're awake.”

You hold your breath, body going tense; the voice was unexpectedly closer. Your mother steps into your line of sight, dimly illuminated by the light filtering in from the parking lot.

You glance over your shoulder, looking for your bosses, your other captors, but they must be somewhere in the backroom, plotting, no doubt. Your guarded gaze lands back on the woman in front of you. Her unusually cool expression gazes back.

This is not the woman that raised you.

You attempt to put on a brave face. Jut out your chin and ask, “what do you guys want?”

“Don’t worry,” she placates, “we don’t want to hurt you.”

You’ve got sore spots and potential bruises that say otherwise, but. Sure. 

She continues: “As long as Vigilante complies and brings Peacemaker, I should be able to convince the others to let you go.”

Now that makes you pause. Is your mom just as much of a hostage (minus the obvious lack of restraints) as you are? This makes you hopeful. Frowning, you lower your voice. “Mom, what’s going on? Who- who are these people? What do they want with-”

“Your mother isn’t here,” she says, abruptly cutting you off. You notice that she’s also frowning, now, too. It’s the first sign of emotion you’ve seen on her face since… way too long, you realize. 

“Did they… did they do something to you?” Maybe they fucked with her head, and that’s why she hasn’t been herself lately, hasn’t been around. Maybe your bosses were actual criminal masterminds and the cafe has been a front all this time. 

 (You can practically hear Adrian’s voice saying “I knew it!”).

“Whatever it is, I can- I can help, mom. We can get you out-”

“You’re not understanding.” There’s some hesitancy that passes over her face. “Your mother is gone. But I can feel… I can see how much she loved you. And how much she did not understand you. She found it frustrating that you would never open up to her or your father.”

You blink back unbidden tears, confused. Hurt. 

Guilty.

“I can also see she didn’t handle it very well. That was unfair to you.” She pauses, looks away as if contemplating something. “Strange, the way humans seem to have such a hard time communicating with each other.”

This isn’t your mother. This isn’t your mother, no matter how much it looks like her, because the person talking right now was right -- your mother wasn’t good at communicating. Not because she kept everything bottled up, but because her words came out explosively, uncaring if the shrapnel of her words lodged themselves deeply into your flesh, wounding you in ways that were hard to see. Hard to describe, hard to explain, hard to show. Show her. So you withdrew into yourself instead, distanced yourself from your parents as best you could to avoid any more pain.

You were hoping maybe this person in front of you was brainwashed, or something, but you know there was no amount of brainwashing that would make your mother speak like this, have this much self-awareness. There’s no way. 

Grief crawls up your throat. “Mom,” you sob.

“Stop, I'm not-” she wavers, “it's probably better if you don't call me... best if you distance yourself from-”

You flinch away from her outstretched hand. That same hand abruptly pulls away in response, as if startled.

(For her part, the alien residing in your mother's skull is confused by her own reaction. She's well and fully in control, of course, but it's like there's residual emotion in the beating of this host's heart, affecting the synapses of the brain that is looking at this poor human creature crying helplessly in front of them, wanting to comfort, to protect.)

A curious mix of emotions flicker across your mother's face, a wavering uncertainty. “I can't- I can't be a part of this,” she says, more to herself than to you. “But I can't betray my own. I can't-” she glances somewhere behind you, then back to your face. Her own easing into something resolute. “I can't be here. The Vigilante, the Peacemaker- they seem capable. They'll- you'll be okay, once they get here.”

There's a silence, so brief yet so achingly long, that passes between you both as you look wordlessly at each other. You look at your mother's face, lost and confused; she looks back, decisiveness softened into an almost-familiar affection. The space between you feels like a crumbling bridge.

And then she turns around, unlocks the front door of the cafe, and leaves.

She does not look back.

Adrian’s leg does not stop bouncing on the whole ride to the cafe. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this impatient in his whole life. The need to move, for action, coursing through him, his fingers twitching to pull a trigger, his muscles jumping beneath his suit with the restrained reflex of throwing his many knives. 

Can they just fucking get there already!? It’s like no one seems to realize the urgency of the situation. How important you are. 

How much he needs you.

It’s moments like these where he wishes he had a convenient super power. Training his mind and body until both were formidable weapons was great, but if he could just teleport right now and beat the shit out of anything that’s touched you, that would be pretty fucking cool.

And if not innate, it’d be awesome if they had some kind of cool weapon or contraption they could use. Unfortunately, not even any of Peacemaker’s helmets held the power to teleport. Adrian knows this because he asked, like, three times. At least. He lost count. 

“No! For the last fucking time, Vigilante, none of my helmets can teleport me anywhere!”

Adrian scoffs. “Guess your dad isn't that brainy after all if he couldn’t create a helmet as useful as that one.”

“Remember,” Harcourt speaks up from the driver seat of the van. “Talk to them first. Find out what they want. Peacemaker, use your helmet to find out how many are in the area. Don’t do anything rash when we get there. We need information.”

She makes it a point to glance sternly over her shoulder at Vigilante.

“What’re you looking at me for!?” he whines, indignant.

“Probably because you haven’t stopped shaking your leg for the entire drive,” Peacemaker says. “You’re making it look like we’re driving a sex van.”

He manages to get his leg to stop bouncing for an impressive two seconds before his nerves jolt it back into motion. Harcourt and Chris groan from the front.

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” Harcourt stresses. 

She parks the van a block away, leaving Vigilante and Peacemaker to walk the rest of the way. They both have their handguns out, ready, while Peacemaker scans the area for any signs of life on the way to the cafe, confirming that there's no one else around.

When they reach the small lot, Vigilante recognizes your car. It's the only vehicle parked here. The two men stop their steps before they expose themselves under the light of the street lamp, giving Peacemaker time to give the cafe one last sweep.

“That's weird. There's only two of them.”

Vigilante turns his masked head to Peacemaker, but before he can even ask, Peacemaker says, “don't worry, your fuck buddy isn't a butterfly.”

Well that's a relief! Except-

“Well... We haven't actually fucked yet.”

Was tacking on the 'yet' a bit presumptuous of him? Your body definitely reacted to his hands and his mouth like there was a possibility for more.

“Are you serious?” Peacemaker asks. “You're being this annoying over someone you haven't even fucked?” He scoffs. “Unbelievable.”

“Can you two idiots focus?” Harcourt's voice crackles through their earpieces, stern and fed up.

They continue forward, stepping into the halo of light to finally alert your captors to their arrival.

“We’ve done other stuff,” Vigilante mutters.

But before Peacemaker can ask, or jump to conclusions and confirm whether or not, like,  handjobs even count, they’re approaching the front of the store. The silhouette of three figures inside becomes visible, and his eyes land on your figure, still strapped to a seat in the middle of the store. The two butterflies stand on either side of you, at your shoulders, and it pisses him off to see them standing so close to you. The thought that they even got the chance to lay a single finger on your body made him angrier than he thinks he’s ever been.

The door to the cafe is pulled open. There’s a silence that welcomes them that unsettles Vigilante. You usually have some music playing when he stops by, even after hours. His eyes find yours through his visor -- you’re awake! Alive and awake! -- and they’re big and pretty and probably scared and- was that relief? In the twitch of your lips? 

Were you happy to see him?

His heart thump-thumps with his own relief at seeing you. There’s a twitch of movement to your right - a hand that isn’t yours gets raised and-

Fuck the plan.

Vigilante pulls the trigger and a bullet flies through the hand. A screech fills the space, coupled with Peacemaker yelling, “Vigilante! I told you to play it cool, man. Harcourt said we need answers, and we’re not getting any if their meat puppets are fucking dead!”

“Well he isn’t dead,” he says defensively. “I clearly shot a non-fatal body part!”

The two brace themselves for an attack, but none comes. Instead, the man he shot cradles his wounded hand, glowering at them with bared teeth, while the lady on the other side of you whips something out of her pocket and presses it against your throat. It’s a box cutter, he realizes. 

“Put down the guns, and they don’t get hurt.” 

Vigilante hesitates until he receives further nudging from Chris, and he re-holsters his weapon. His gloved hands do not stray away from his hips, though. Poised and at the ready.

“Alright, happy?” Peacemaker asks.

The box cutter leaves your neck. A non-verbal confirmation. 

“Now what do you want?” 

“Our leader wants you, Peacemaker.”

Peacemaker scoffs. “Sounds a little backwards for an alien invasion, doesn't it? Aren’t you guys supposed to be asking us to take you to our leader?”

His comment only vaguely registers for Vigilante, who -- eyes finally adjusting to the dark (which, like, why were the lights off in the first place?) --  cannot strip his focus away from you. Your gaze hasn't left his face (or mask, rather) this entire time. The way your eyes dart back and forth on his visor in an attempt at eye contact. Like, maybe, you’re looking for reassurance. Comfort.

He wants to give that to you. He wants so badly to give that to you. His own eyes widen meaningfully before he remembers you can’t see them properly, so he instead dips his chin forward. A slight nod in your direction. He hopes you understand that he won’t let anything happen to you.

The back and forth continues between Peacemaker and the butterflies, with Harcourt directing Chris to ask what they want with him (they don’t know, they were simply following orders). Chris tries (and fails) to convince them to share the location so that he could meet them there (per Harcourt’s insistence that he shouldn’t go alone, they need the team). 

All the words end up being just vague fragments of conversation that Adrian just barely pays attention to. He keeps his focus on you, and makes sure there’s no sudden movements from your middle-aged captors.

When none of that works, Harcourt decides that she’s heard enough. Vigilante perks up when she gives them the g0-ahead to end this and complete the rescue mission. Him and Peacemaker share a glance, a furtive nod, before they unleash chaos on the motherfuckers that made the mistake of using you as bait.

With a quick flick of the wrist, Vigilante throws one of his knives. It lodges itself into the face of the butterfly he already shot. Another one of those inhuman shrieks erupts. A whirlwind of violence follows.

This time, the butterflies don’t hold back - they lunge at them with a ferocious and uncanny speed. There’s a wonderful, fleeting second of relief at the sight, seeing that you aren’t being used for leverage this time.

The fight unfolds. It’s all grunts and growls and foul language. Blades whipping about and fists colliding with bodies. These fuckers are strong, but Vigilante -- Adrian -- isn’t going to let them survive this encounter, not after they put you in danger.

Vigilante takes on the undivided attention of the male butterfly, who seems especially pissed off, for whatever reason. Having to defend himself, he hears, rather than sees, the sound of glass breaking; someone definitely got thrown through the storefront window.

His left arm deftly blocks an oncoming punch from his opponent. 

“Ow,” he whines, but then a quick glance in your direction makes him deepen his voice. “I mean- is that all you got?”

The butterfly swiftly picks up another cafe chair. 

Adrian’s eyes widen behind his visor. “Oh, shi-” he ducks, just barely dodging the flying furniture. 

“Alright, that’s it. Time to go night night, motherfucker.” He unholsters his again, aims, pulls the trigger - all in one deft motion.

The butterfly’s borrowed body jerks, falls back. Lands with a thud flat on his back, inches from where you sit. 

Vigilante crouches over the body and yanks his knife out; the butterfly had been fighting this whole time with it still lodged in its face. Something tries to crawl out of its mouth. With the same knife, Vigilante stabs down before it can fully emerge. There’s a ghastly squelching sound, accompanied by a dying squeak. Both odd sounds to come out of a grown man’s mouth, dead or alive. 

Vigilante looks up at the sound of discomfort that hums in your throat. “Oh. Pretty nasty, huh? Sorry you had to see that.”

“That was my boss…” is all you say, voice quiet.

Adrian glances back down at the bloodied mess of a face. “Whoops.”

You watch him with watery eyes as he re-adjusts his position and settles himself in front of your tied up legs. He gingerly inspects your foot. “You still have all your toes, right?”

There’s a beat as he assesses, with satisfaction, that both your shoes are still on. And then a huff of laughter makes him look back up at you again, eager to see if a smile accompanies the sound. His heart squeezes almost painfully at the sight of your upturned lips, the squint of your eyes. 

After last night, he was worried he’d never see it again. Worse - that he’d never again be the cause of it.

He finishes cutting you loose, starting with your ankles and finishing up at your wrists. You stand up, and he re-sheaths his knife. 

And then, suddenly, you are in his arms. The weight of you crashes into his chest, and your arms encircle his torso, your face pressed into him. A tumble of repetitive ‘I'm sorry, I’m sorry’ falls from your mouth, and he doesn’t understand. Why would you apologize? But he returns the hug, albeit awkwardly, and basks in the feeling of your body against his body, and hopes his chest piece adequately masks the hammering of his heart.

“Hey, lovebirds,” Peacemaker calls out, poking his head through the now-empty window pane. “Ride’s here.”

Since they can’t just leave your car here, Vigilante ushers you into the passenger seat, then helps Peacemaker drag the two dead bodies into the back of the van. 

Once he joins you back in the car, he takes off his mask and follows the van all the way back to the abandoned video store. Adrian wants to fill up the car ride with chatter, ask you what you were apologizing for, ask if you’re okay; he wants to apologize himself for making you cry, for putting you in danger and letting you get caught like that. But when he glances at your face, he sees the faraway look in your eyes, like you’re not even here. 

For once, he keeps his mouth shut. Just lets the radio fill up the quiet.

When they get to the lot and park, Adrian motions for you to follow him. You blink at him, confused.

“Wh- I have to come, too? Can’t I just stay in the car?”

“I’m pretty sure Murn’s going to want to ask you questions.”

You make a face. 

“C’mon, they’re not going to hurt you! They’re the good guys!”

This gets you to finally unbuckle. Once you’re by his side outside of the car, he says in a chipper tone, “besides, I’d never give them the chance!”

You don’t say anything after that, but you do seem to stick close to him, even once inside the base. Adrian feels warm fuzzy feelings glow in his gut at the idea that, once again, you feel safe with him. 

They settle into a few chairs. Chris and Harcourt are already inside, including Murn and Economos and Adebayo. Harcourt and Chris start to fill them in about what went down. For a while, the only attention you and Adrian draw are fleeting glances from the other members of the team, until finally, Murn’s gaze rests heavily on where you sit beside Adrian.

He asks for your side of the story, if you saw anything or anyone else prior to getting caught. Adrian watches your face, the way a brief frown forms as you pause before answering no, it was just the two cafe owners that had snuck up on you.

Harcourt’s eyes narrow, and she shares a glance with Murn. But the interrogation stops there as Murn dismisses you both.

“Vigilante,” Murn says, “Get them home.”

Dawn creeps in between the edges of the blinds, letting you know that you had too few hours of twitchy sleep. Your body could definitely use more after what you've been through, and your eyes certainly do burn with exhaustion. But you couldn't shake the feeling that Adrian was going to leave again if you didn't keep an eye on him.

Sure enough, it's the absence of his body beside yours on his bed that urged you awake.

Last night, he had known not to take you home, so you once again found yourself in his apartment. (Sober this time, at least.) Through the tired haze of it all, you changed into sleep clothes (borrowed from Adrian, of course) and appreciated the softness against your bare skin, and you washed your face of any residual spattering of coffee and blood (Bob's blood. Ew!).

Adrian had offered you his bedroom again, but this time you wouldn't take it unless he crawled into bed with you. It did not take much convincing. He slipped under the covers with you, and you felt his body heat coax your eyes closed. He had started chattering (probably nervously) about... something. It didn't matter; you were out in seconds after that.

Now, cold and alone, you sit up in the bed and rub at your wrists. Your eyes land on the plastic cup from the cafe that still sits on his nightstand with what looks like the same garbage as before. You snort. Everything about Adrian’s apartment hints at tidiness. Both times you’ve shown up, it’s not like he knew he was going to have a guest over, so it’s not like he cleaned up beforehand. So the garbage on the nightstand feels peculiarly out of place. 

Just then, the bedroom door opens and Adrian strides in, but pauses when he sees you’re awake. A smile spreads on his face, and, fuck, he looks so pretty when he smiles. Your heart clenches -- you missed seeing his face. 

“Hey,” you greet, voice soft as morning.

“Hey.” His face practically glows as he looks at you.

“Why do you have this garbage here?” You gesture to the plastic cup on the nightstand.

Immediately, the mood shifts. His smile drops, and- is that offense? Is he offended? “That is not garbage.” 

You laugh, and pick up the cup. “Then what is-” your question falters to a stop as you notice a familiar D20 die snuggled amongst wrappers and receipts. A particular receipt stands out, now that you’re taking a proper look at the cup’s contents -- it’s the silly little ballpoint doodle you did of Adrian. Finally, your eyes squint and you raise the cup over your head a little to look at the bottom of it. “Wait, is that my scrunchie? I’ve been missing this for weeks.”

“Yeah, you left it in my car after the first time we kissed.”

Your face warms at the memory, the way Adrian handled you so perfectly and continued to do so afterwards, without ever asking for more. 

Trying to ignore the excited feeling that swoops low in your belly, you ask,“why’d you keep all this stuff?”

Adrian stands at the edge of the bed now, having closed the door behind him, and shrugs. “I just thought that this time, if you left Evergreen again, at least I’d have these things to remind me that you were here, and that it wasn’t just a really awesome dream.”

If it were anyone else, you’d think they were fucking with you. No one else has ever managed to make you feel as special as Adrian does. It gives you a kind of high, makes your chest pang with overwhelming joy.

“Why’d you apologize last night?”

The sudden change in topic confuses you. “What?”

“Last night, after I cut your restraints, you kept saying you were sorry. Why?”

You take in a deep breath, trying to quell your embarrassment -- Adrian is, after all, the last person in the world you’d ever feel embarrassed around -- and try to explain, though you’re not quite sure where to start.

“Well, I- I mean it’s my fault that you and Peacemaker risked your lives to save me, right?”

“You told them about my secret identity?”

“Wh- no! I told you I’d never tell, and I meant it.”

“Oh, okay. So you’re just victim-blaming?” Something like disappointment passes over his face. “Wow. And here I thought you were a feminist.”

You put the cup of memories back down on the nightstand because you’re suddenly worried you might crush it. 

“Okay, fine. Then… I’m also sorry because I wasn’t fair to you. When I.. when I freaked out the other night, and told you to leave after you mentioned the, uh...”

“The threesome,” he offers, and then grimaces like he shouldn’t have tried to remind you.

“...Right. That.” You sigh. “It wasn’t fair of me to get mad when you’re not… You’re not mine. It was stupid to let it hurt me. I just- I got so caught up in what we’ve been doing lately that I just felt-”

“Can I be?” Adrian interrupts. 

Startled, you blink up at him. “Huh?”

“Can I be yours? I want to be yours.” He looks at you with a liquid intensity in his green eyes that melds with the overt desperation in his tone, like he never considered before that he could just ask to be yours. 

It makes you breathless. It makes you ache.

You rise to your knees on the mattress. Shuffle towards him a bit, while he says “I didn’t even want to have sex with Peacemaker and that underappreciated lady because all I could think about was you-” and lightly pinch the hem of his t-shirt with both hands once you’re directly in front of him. 

The proximity makes Adrian falter. “Uhh…mm..” His attention darts from your eyes down to your lips then back up again until he squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m trying to apologize for doing something shitty but you make it really difficult to focus when your face is this close to my face.”

“I forgive you. Can you please just kiss me now? Please?”

Adrian’s eyes fly open, and he nods. “Okay, yes, I can do that.” He cups your face between his hands and proceeds to kiss you like it is his mission.

And, oh, how you melt into the kiss. The delicate hold you had on just the hem of his shirt is not enough to keep your body steady, so they instead grasp at his waist as you fall into him, into his warmth. You sigh as he parts your lips with his own, taste the sweep of his tongue on your bottom lip. Your heart flutters with the realization that, hands still cradling your face, Adrian is in full control kiss; he tilts his head and pries your lips further apart so he can deepen the kiss, taste the inside of your mouth and moans, clearly just as lost and deprived as you.

The desperation unfurls after that, the kiss no longer a slow, sweet, gentle thing. Wanting, needing him closer, you tug at his waist. Needing the same, his body complies until he's joining you on the bed, eventually ending up in a heap of roving hands and wanton kisses on the sheets.

Keeping himself propped up on his forearm, Adrian's other hand wanders lower until he finds the bottom of your shirt and thumbs underneath it, caressing at the skin of your stomach above the waistband of your borrowed sweats. You shiver at the contact, and he pulls away from the kiss in wonder. “You really like when I touch you.”

“Yes,” you pant. “Obviously.”

Mischief accompanies the wonder in his gaze. His hand glides up your side, lifting the shirt even more, and you whine at the sensual contact. You pull at the collar of his shirt so that he can get back to kissing you, but he resists, entirely too entranced by the visible effect he's having on you. His thumb grazes just under your covered breast, and that alone makes the yearning in your core flare up.

You squirm impatiently beneath him, hands still clenched around his shirt, definitely wrinkling it. “Adrian, please.”

“Sorry, sorry, it's just that hearing you beg is really hot.” As if to prove his point, his erection grows until his jeans are stiff. The feeling of it pressed against your right thigh makes you wet.

Your head starts to spin with the overwhelming desire; if Adrian does not press himself into you in the next few moments, you may actually die.

You grab his wandering, teasing hand by the wrist and drag it back down. “Touch me here,” you breathe, “touch me lower.”

His eyes widen, mouth hanging open. “Wait, are we really doing this? And by 'this,' I mean sex.”

“Yes,” you say, but then sheepishly rein in your enthusiasm. “I mean, that- like, if you want?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I want to. I've wanted to since high school.”

Your cheeks warm at this admission, of all things. A delirious giggle bubbles out of you.

Adrian's hand slips beneath the waistband of your sweatpants, transforming your giggle to a gasp as his fingers brush against your underwear.

“Fuck, you're already this wet?”

Your hips buck at the question, at the rasp in his voice, making your clothed cunt grind against his hand before your ass plops back down on the mattress.

That's all the invitation Adrian needs to slip his middle and ring finger into down your underwear and into your slit. His digits press into the slicked warmth, pushing inside of you. He watches, slack-jawed, as you groan with relief.

Adrian doesn't take his eyes off of your face as he fingers you, completely transfixed by the divet between your furrowed brow, by the shape of your mouth as you pant, as you gasp.

You fist at the sheets. Your hips rut against his plunging fingers, wanting to feel him deeper, deeper, more, until your body quakes with the oncoming orgasm.

“A-Adrian, I'm..!”

He doesn't let up when you come against his hand, fingers still fucking relentlessly into you as you throw your head back with a raspy cry. It's not until you start slapping at his chest and shoulders does he finally stop, easing his fingers out of you with a broken moan of his own. The color on his cheeks is rosy. He looks at you like you just gave him the best gift in the world.

“That was- wow. I almost came in my pants. Your O face is.. like, don't get me wrong, you're hot all the time, but that was the most beautiful face I've ever seen.”

“Shut up.” Embarrassed, you cover your face with your left hand while your right smushes against his mouth. Truthfully, Adrian's compliment makes you throb all over again, and you rub your thighs together in an attempt to ease your arousal. The movement rubs up against Adrian’s crotch, and his hips jerk forward, instinctively seeking the same kind of friction. He moans into your palm, and you whimper at the feel of his erection against you.

Adrian grabs your wrist and gently moves your hand from his mouth. “Okay, seriously, if I don’t fuck you right now I will actually come in my pants. Can we- oh.” 

You’re already rolling both sweatpants and underwear down your hips, shimmying them off while still lying down. 

“Sweet.” Adrian is quick to join you in removing his clothes, shirt getting tugged off and flung to the side, leaving his hair a disheveled mess of curls. His jeans and boxers get discarded with the same clumsy urgency until finally, he’s settling in between your parted legs.

The morning light is soft and dull as it creeps in through the cracks, barely illuminating the edges of Adrian’s body where he sits above you. The room is still cast in shadows this early, and for a moment, it mellows out the mood, temporarily quieting the desperation. Adrian must get caught up in it, too, as he regards your body beneath him in an almost reverent appreciation until he fists his cock and lines it up with your entrance, shattering the stillness and reminding you how badly you want him inside.

The tip of his cock nudges between your folds. You hiss as he inches forward. Despite the arousal, the wetness from your previous orgasm, it takes some effort for you to take him. After all, you haven’t had anything with this much girth enter you in a while.

“Can’t believe how tight you feel,” Adrian says, voice strained, “even though I got you so wet.” He holds up your right leg, pushing back your thigh to spread you open, focusing entirely on the way his cock eases into your clutch, slowly sinking into you. You whimper at the agonizing slowness with which he fills you; it’s a sweet kind of pain, unused to the intrusion but relishing in the satisfaction of being filled up.

You both groan in unison when he finally bottoms out. You feel like you’ll burst from the fullness, the way he stretches you out. Adrian drops forward, keeping himself propped with his forearms on either side of your face. His body trembles with restraint. “I don’t know if I’m gonna make it,” he says into your neck.

You stay like that for a moment, unmoving but for the slight trembling of your bodies. Adrian’s probably just stopping himself from prematurely blowing his load. You’re just grateful for the opportunity to adjust to the feeling of it all.

Finally, Adrian slides back out before gently rocking his hip back into you. You gasp. He repeats the motion again, and again, until he’s rocking into you at a steady pace, spurred on by the sultry sounds leaving your mouth. As you get used to the feeling pushing into you, the small discomfort ebbs into pleasure that quickly makes the sensation addicting. Your thighs clamp down against his thrusting waist. Your arms wrap around him, feeling his warm, hard back against your hands, gripping at this skin and wanting him more and closer.

The whole time, he keeps his head in the crook of your neck. You feel the way his breathing trembles out of him, hot on your skin. 

“Adrian, w-why won’t you-- mmn--look at me?”

“You jus’ feel sss’good. If I look at you- ah, I’ll come.”

The shattered and whiny twinge of his words go right to your core, making you moan. Suddenly, it’s like you don’t feel close enough, despite clinging to him as he fucks you. Your mouth finds its way to his freckled shoulder, biting and licking at his skin. He hisses in your ear, his hip jerking abruptly at the feeling of your teeth in his flesh. The movement pushes his cock further into you, pressing deliciously deep for a quick moment that makes you sing, a high pitched, throaty “oohhh” leaving your mouth. 

Adrian’s thrusts become wild, aggressive and desperate, the steady rhythm officially disrupted. He presses his mouth against the spot on your neck right below your ear, hot, sloppy kisses and nips sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body. You mewl beneath him, brain becoming clouded with bliss. 

Another orgasm begins to crests, the pressure building low in your stomach. It becomes a high you start to chase, clamping down on Adrian’s stuttering hips, needing to keep him latched to you because nothing else matters except for how good Adrian’s making you feel, how he always make you feel-

You come with a loud, broken sob. Adrian’s thrusts stop, his cock pressed deeply into you as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. You keep him anchored to your body, feel the way your pussy throbs around his girth until you come crashing back down, arms falling limp to your side, throat feeling hoarse. 

Once your hips cease undulating beneath him, Adrian resumes fucking into you, the glide of his cock even smoother and sumptous now that your pussy overflows with your release. You’re perfectly content letting him use you to reach his own end, eyes slipping shut and head lolling to the side. You’re distantly aware of Adrian mumbling praises into your neck, ‘best pussy I’ve ever felt, even better than I imagined’ until the words slur together. 

His warmth leaves you when he suddenly pulls out with a high-pitched “Shit shit shit..!” Your eyes fly open to watch, drinking in the sight of his flushed face, the curls sticking to his damp forehead, glasses crooked on the bridge of his nose. Panting, he gives his cock a few desperate pumps until he comes, painting your stomach with his spend.

“That was… wow.” Adrian picks up the previously discarded shirt and starts wiping at the mess on your stomach. “I’m having a hard time believing we just did that. I was inside you. I felt you come.” He’s grinning like an idiot. 

“Adrian,” you smile. “You’re acting like you’ve never had sex before.”

“I’ve never had sex with you.” He rolls up the soiled shirt and meets your eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever had sex that good. I mean, I thought I did, but no one’s ever made me feel the way you do.”

Not even Peacemaker? But you bite your tongue. This was a you and Adrian bubble, no need to burst it.

While you dress, your eyes land on the cup again, with Adrian’s name and all the little knickknacks he treasures. You think about what he said before, about you leaving Evergreen again. You think about how you wanted nothing more than to distance yourself from this town, up until a few days ago. But now, looking at Adrian as he zips up his jeans, studying the counters of his body, riddled with freckles and scars, Evergreen doesn’t seem so bad.

After all, Evergreen has its own vigilante. 

“Hey, Adrian?”

He’s picking out another shirt to wear from his dresser. “Yeah?”

“You don’t have to worry about me leaving Evergreen.” 

He turns around to look at you, clutching a clean shirt in his hands. “Really?” He looks hopeful. Childishly happy. Boyishly pretty.

“As long as you want me to, I’ll stay.” Because, at this point, the only way you’d ever leave his side is he made the choice. 

“I’ll always want you.” He says this with an earnestness that makes emotions you don’t have the words for balloon in your chest. 

You grin all sryupy at him. 

“Then I’ll always stay.”

taglist: @whatevermonkey @hiddlebatchedloki

@nobodys-baby-now @navs-bhat @afraidofshrimp @training4theapocalypse @abbaenthusiast @jediviolet @t0byisher3 @madhyanas @kores-mun-son-n-more

additional an: only an epilogue left ♡ see y'all on the other side

#adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #peacemaker fic #writing #fanfic #mine

[deviljesterlamb]

The next part to this fic.

This one takes place during NB lesson 17-17 and after it. Just a small update to help move us closer to what I want to hit most soon.

Warnings: None really. Just more angst and drama lol

When Solomon arrived to RAD, he instantly regretted coming over. The loud chattering from everyone around him made his headache only worsen as time went on. Even when trying to tell others, especially Mammon, to not yell around him. It didn't help.

Not only that, it was hard for Solomon to hide the fact he wasn't feeling well at all. He looked like he was about to hurl again, and faint at the spot.

Though the sorcerer tried to keep his composure, the best way he could. As well kept his eyes on Jayce for most of the time...Even though they rarely locked eyes with him, and if anything, avoid any eye contact with him.

This all only made Solomon more upset, and wanted to leave now. Though same time, drag Jayce with him, to demand some answers on why they were treating him the way they did...

After Raphael arrived and gave his important message to the demon brothers. Everyone was dismissed and sent back home to have a moment to think about what just occurred, as well, what their plans will be from here on.

Solomon took this moment to pull Jayce away alone for a second. With how the brothers were acting and feeling right now. They wouldn't notice Jayce missing for a bit.

"Quite a surprising heavy start to this day, isn't it?" Solomon said with a forced smile, trying to hide his real feelings.

"Yeah...I really should get going. They need me." Jayce was about to leave, but Solomon stopped them.

"I know. But I need you too..." He noticed Jayce's gaze stray away from him. Once again, they were trying to avoid any eye contact with him. "Jayce, why are you acting distant around me and trying to avoid me suddenly? Did I do something wrong?"

"Did you do something wrong? You're joking, right?" Jayce's voice rose, and unaware to them both, Barbatos was nearby overhearing this all.

"I'm not..." He frowned, upset to see Jayce acting like this towards him. "Did something happened last night between us? I know I drank a lot, by how horrible I'm feeling...But beyond that, everything is...a blur. So please...Tell me what happened. If I did anything to upset you, then tell me. I want to fix this." Solomon reached a hand out to hold Jayce's but they stepped back, not letting him even touch them.

"Stay back. I don't want you touching me right now." The drop Solomon felt in his chest was one he never thought he'll feel over Jayce. Just hearing them say that to him, made him not only upset but angry too. But not at them, but at himself.

"Jayce...Fine...I'll let you go. The brothers need you more right now anyway, I feel...But, we're going to continue this conversation later. You're going to tell me EVERYTHING. You got it? Promise me." Jayce looked away, not wanting to show their tears building up again from this talk alone.

"Yeah...Sure..." All Solomon could do was just watch Jayce run off, leaving him alone in the room to sink in his own despair.

Barbatos only stared at Solomon from afar. As much as he was upset with him for his own personal reasons. Seeing Solomon like this, wasn't a sight to enjoy either.

Solomon was about to leave the room himself now, planning to head back home to just go back to bed. Until he got a text message from someone and checked his phone to notice it was from Barbatos.

"I wish to invite you over for some tea I just prepared. I hope you'll join me." Solomon stared at the message, surprised by the sudden invite. Then looked up, hoping to see Jayce come back to him to apologize, or yell at him more, anything than have them avoid him. But nothing happened...Solomon responded back to Barbatos with a simple "Sure. Be right there." Before heading over to the castle.

The visit from Barbatos wouldn't be the greatest moment for Solomon. Especially by how Barbatos didn't shy away from expressing his thoughts and feelings towards Solomon.

Though the tea Barbatos prepared especially for Solomon, was a special one. A special blend, with magical properties to not only help on clearing headaches, or hangovers for Solomon's case. As well, to both clears one mind, and even help recall missing or forgotten recent memories...

The moment Solomon started to recall what had happened last night. His eyes widened and his chest started to feel tight from it all. Did he really act in such a way towards Jayce, as well say those things? It was foolish of him, reckless as well, now he started to agree with everything Barbatos called him or said to him.

"...I'm sorry, but I need to--" Barbatos raised his hand up, stopping Solomon from speaking.

"I know. Now do not waste this chance to fix what you can. If things can be fixed, that is." Barbatos already was cleaning up the table and preparing to leave.

"You talk as if Jayce and I are a lost cause already...But I'll fix this. I'll have Jayce back by my side, and never let this happen again." Solomon stood up from his seat, ready to leave to go back home and wait for Jayce to come back. "Barbatos...Thank you for helping me."

"Don't be foolish. I didn't do this to help you, at least not directly. I only wish for this issue to be resolved as quickly and cleanly as possible, for Jayce's sake...and the brothers that will surely be effected by this all too. If not resolved sooner than later."

"...Ah...I see...Anyway. You still have my thanks, from the both of us." Solomon gave a smile, a weak one, since its all he could force out right now. Since remembering his falling out with Jayce from last night, was taking a emotional toll on him. But he still appreciated what Barbatos did for them.

To be continued...

#I didn't put much effort on this one since not feeling too great rn but still wanted to write lol #obey me #obey me nightbringer #;mc jayce 🐑 #obey me mc #obey me solomon #obey me barbatos

[blueisquitetired]

ABANDONED WIP WEDNESDAY

Welcome back to abandoned WIPS! The part of the show where I show off writing that will almost certainly never come back.

Today I bring you my first ever fan fiction for this fandom, something I wrote because the hyper fixation was killing me and I needed an outlet. I pretty quickly wrote the whole thing off as a lost cause though as I was certain my horrible health wouldn't let me finish it.

How I actually ended up writing fan fiction is a tale and a half, but I'll save that for another day. So for now, I present to you:

Akari Would Like to Say a Swear (but she can't remember any)

This was a pretty straight forward dad!Ingo fic where Akari was found by the Pearl Clan instead of the galaxy team. She was also from earth. (As usual for me honestly lol)

The prologue and first chapter got written out- neither of which have Ingo in them yet. Ah well.

Length: 2,204 words

Rating: G

No warnings applicable

Prologue

She doesn’t remember falling. She remembers an impact, a freezing feeling as snow burns her skin and obscures her vision, a panic at the sensations far too cold for her bare arms. She remembers struggling, trying to dig herself out of the snowbank that she’s trapped in, but she’s upside down and her head hurts and her arms are freezing and-

She remembers muffled shouting, the tugging on her legs as they pull her out of the snow, confused faces, concerned questions, stranger’s hands helping her up onto her feet but her legs are numb and she-

She wakes up somewhere strange, in a tent of some kind, warmer but not warm enough, the fire not strong enough to fix the chill in her bones. A lady approaches, a stranger she does not recognize, murmuring soft reassurances and helping her drink something that is warm and comforting and she’s so tired and-

She is not the first to forget the fall. 

oOOo

It’s two days before she wakes fully, sitting up and looking around herself in confusion. A man sits by the fire, speaking in a language she does not know- but somehow understands. He tells her that he’s glad she’s awake and that he’ll go fetch… someone. He leaves the girl in the tent alone, giving her time to wake more and take in her surroundings. Her clothes have been changed, a pale pink tunic replacing the clothes that she fell in. Said clothes sit folded at the foot of her bed, a pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a cute cartoon eevee on it.

Eevee is her favorite pokemon. She always goes out of her way to catch it in every game she plays.

The tent flap opens to a gust of cold wind as a teenager steps inside. She’s younger than the girl, maybe 15 or so? But she has the air of someone important, a determination in her eyes that commands respect. A few others follow after the teenager, standing behind her and staring the girl down. It’s an unpleasant feeling. The teenager steps forward and speaks, her language unfamiliar, but the girl understands it anyway.

“I am Iridia, the leader of the Pearl Clan. Two days ago you fell from the space time rift into a snowbank outside of our village. You have been unconscious since we dug you out and you very nearly died.” Her eyes soften at the girl’s baffled gaze. She speaks softer, as if to a child, “You are obviously quite far from home. Your clothes are foreign and are inappropriate for the icelands. While the Pearl Clan is weary of outsiders we are not cold enough to turn away a child in need. Do you recall where you came from?”

‘I’m not a child’ The girl thinks but starts to tell Iridia where she’s from anyway. Or at least tries to. The words are on the tip of her tongue, it’s a place she knows well, she lives there doesn't she? But the answer doesn't come, and it slowly dawns on her that she forgot. She forgot something as important as her home. 

Iridia lets out a quiet disappointed sigh and the two adults beside her exchange glances. She softly sits on the bed beside the panicking girl, taking her hands in her own as she looks at her with a soft, sympathetic gaze.

“It’s okay if you don’t remember. I honestly didn’t really expect you to.” She smiles sadly, squeezing the girl’s hands a bit. “Do you at least recall your name?”

That one’s much easier, her name has been with the girl her whole life after all. 

“I’m-”

But the word won’t come out, her identity slipping away just as her home had. She actually forgot her name. Something she’d carried her whole life, a word that grounded her to this reality as proof of her existence. Your name is something that is impossible to forget, a thing that distinguishes you, separates you from the people around you. The most important, unforgettable word-

A word that she somehow forgot.

“-frick”

Chapter One

“So your name is Frick?” 

The girl balks at that, shaking her head and waving her hands in a bit of a panic.

“What- no- that- uh- frick is a word you use when you’re like, frustrated you know? Like a swear? But not?”

She wasn’t allowed to swear in her house. Her mother would have had her head if any of her younger siblings started mimicking her. Substitutes were tolerated, but only barely.

“It’s a- uh- censored version of… something? I dunno my head feels kinda funky and I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact I can’t remember my own fricking name-” Another pause, Idrida’s looks like she doesn't know wether to laugh or be concerned, “-which definitely isn’t Frick. I don’t know what it is but it’s not that”

Iridia gives her hands another soft squeeze, a small chuckle escaping her.

“Not Frick then I guess. Good to know.” She glances back at the others in the tent before furrowing her brow in concern. “Is there anything you do remember?”

oOOo

She didn’t remember much apparently, and what she could remember wasn’t much use. Her favorite color (Pink) wasn’t very helpful and her age (19) was just plain incorrect.

Iridia asked if she meant that she was nine. She didn’t and was pretty frustrated that the teenager wouldn’t believe her. That is until one of the adults rolled their eyes and pulled out a small handheld mirror. There was a child in the reflection. 

Despite that, Iridia encouraged her to keep trying, and that she could stay with the Pearl Clan as long as she needed. The adults finally spoke up then, protesting about taking in more strangers from the rift, especially a child that would be of no use. Iridia asked if they really wanted to send a child out to die, to which the answer was apparently no. She was given a person to stay with, clothes to wear, a promise of security, and most importantly, a name.

Akari 

“Of course, you can change it any time.” Iridia said, helping Akari settle into her new lodgings. “If you remember your old name or think of one you like better-”

“Akari is good. Thank you for coming up with it” Akari flashed Iridia her best smile and Iridia blushed a bit at the praise.

“I’m glad you like it. I just kinda suggested the first thing I thought of.” 

A freezing chill blew in and both girls turned to the entrance. The owner of the tent Judy, a kindly old woman and Akari’s new roommate/guardian, came in holding a small bundle under her arm. Iridia beamed as the woman handed it to her, before turning back to Akari.

“You’re actually not the first person from the rift we’ve taken in.” Iridia began unwrapping the bundle “About a year ago, a man named Ingo came to our settlement with the same problem you’re having now. His clothes were strange, his words were baffling, and his memories were somewhere he could not find them.” 

From the cloth Iridia pulled out a bound journal with a stick of graphite. She smiled as she handed them to Akari.

“He said that journaling helped keep track of the few memories he could recall, I hope it’s the same for you.”

Akari flipped through the blank pages of the journal, fiddling with the graphite stick as she did so. Looking back up at Iridia she asked, 

“Did he make it back to his home?”

Iridia shook her head. “Ingo’s still with us, and I’ll admit he hasn’t remembered much… but he’s one of our Wardens now, a very special position only a few can hold.” She smiled fondly. “He has found a place here, and I hope that you will too.”

oOOo

Akari looked down on the village from her perch at the top of the hill. It was probably her favorite spot to write, close enough to the hot springs to feel it’s heat, while also against a cliff face that blocked the south blowing wind. Of course, that didn’t stop the north blowing wind, but she’d take what she could get.

Tracing patterns in the snow with the tip of her boot, she flipped to the front of her journal to review what she had written so far. It was a depressingly short list, full of stupid things like her favorite season (spring) or her opinion on spicy food (tastes bad). Of course, some of them were a bit concerning. Like her age that was off by a decade and-

Pokemon aren’t real

That one really confused her. Akari knew pokemon. She knew what they looked like, their types and names, heck she even had one printed on the shirt she showed up in! But…they all looked wrong, like playing an older video game on a bigger tv and seeing the pixels that you’d never noticed before. There was too much texture and detail and it all felt off. Frankly, it was quite disconcerting at first.

But once she got used to it?

I really like pokemon

The creatures fascinated her. She wasn’t quite sure how she had ever lived without ever seeing one before, (She had also never seen snow before now. Maybe that was related?) but now that she had- she never wanted to go back.

Pokemon were cool. Akari spent most of her free time watching them, watching as they talked, battled, and played with each other. She observed them, taking small notes when they did something interesting and-

I like to draw

That was a fun one to find out. She had been sitting at her spot trying to recall memories as always when one of the hot spring swinub got flipped on it’s back. It squirmed around a bit before it realized it was stuck and it let out a frustrated snort. It was hilarious, and Akari wished she could take a picture. Unfortunately, she was pretty sure pictures didn’t exist and it was another one of those malfunctioning memories of hers. 

‘Maybe I could draw it’ 

Well it wouldn’t hurt to try.

Turns out, she actually kinda knew what she was doing. The picture wasn’t perfect, it was covered in charcoal smudges and the swinub righted itself before she could finish, but it was good enough. Soon her writing journal was more of a sketch pad as it was filled with images of all the local pokemon. 

She hummed softly as she flipped through the journals pages, a history of the past two months recorded in charcoal sketches and notes. A swinub shuffled out of the hot spring and over to her, sniffing her and giving her a short whine.

“I don’t have any food for you” Akari said, laughing as it bumped into her hands looking for treats. “Nothing here but me and my thoughts.”

The swinub snorted, turning away from her and down the hill to the village proper, off to beg someone who actually had food. She watched it go, trailing aimlessly among the Pearl Clan. Her eyes drifted over to the other children her age, laughing as they chased each other across the village. She watched friends chat as they did their work, watched mothers yell at their children in exasperation, watched older folks gossip over a shared meal. 

Her heart ached, most people were friendly but none wanted to be near her much. Children ran from her giggling while adults gave her side eyes. Iridia was almost a friend, but she was a busy lady who had a very important job to do. Judy was kind, but uninterested in any kind of real relationship with Akari. It had been two months of being alone with her thoughts, nothing but lost memories and the endless snow to keep her company.

She flipped back to the front of her journal, going to the bottom of the list and after a bit of thought wrote,

I wish I had a family again.

Chapter Two- A New Friend

Being a small child with no friends gave Akari a lot of time to explore. Sure she had technically had chores, but Judy really didn’t have the time or patience to teach her how to mend clothes properly. Akari would still give it her best effort, but usually after an hour or so Judy would get tired of her shoddy craftsmanship and shoo her off.

The Pearl Settlement was tucked securely in a small valley, large cliffaces shielding the village from the elements and wild pokemon.  The only real way out of the town was to the west, where a small river blocked the settlement entrance from most land-based dangers. 

And the dangers were out there. Iridia and then later Judy did their best to stress to Akari how vicious and brutal the wild pokemon were. The Alabaster Icelands was one of the most dangerous places in all of Hisui and for some reason the pearl clan decided that their home had to be there. (Apparently the Diamond Clan lived in a swamp, which was a different brand of insane)

And then this was supposed to be much later in the fic, after a few Ingo chapters at least:

Emmet remembers falling. He remembers finding his brothers pokeballs in the train tunnels, all alone with no Ingo in sight. He remembers the questions from police, the missing posters, frantic searching. He remembers overworking, 14 hour shifts every day in a desperate attempt to cope with the loss. He remembers slowly falling apart as every day ticks on and there’s no sign of his twin no matter where he searches. He remembers, and he doubts he will ever forget.

#blue’s writing #WIP #akari pokemon #pokemon legends arceus

[mooodyblue]

pity party | elvis x gn!reader

summary: (requested) after a rough day with the colonel on elvis's birthday, you decide to throw him a surprise party.

warnings: cursing

wc: 1.3k

note: happy elvis day <3 i won't lie, i struggled with writing this idk why LOL hope y'all enjoy ❤️

masterlist | request | taglist

"honey, i'm tellin' ya, all the bones in my body could be broken and that man would still call a meeting." elvis sighed, putting his signature glasses on. you frowned, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "i'm sorry, baby. i'll be here when you get back though, maybe we can have mary make us something for your birthday." you smiled.

"oh, that's today?" elvis rarely ever met with the colonel in person, really only seeing him at shows or conferences. so the thought of his birthday had crossed his mind. "lord, how did i forget my own birthday..." he muttered. "i'll see you later then." he returned your kiss before heading out the door and to one of his many cadillacs, heading out the gates of graceland.

you shut the door behind you before turning around and glancing at all the christmas decorations around the foyer. with your arms crossed, you wandered around the house, thinking of what to do for elvis's birthday. your thoughts were interrupted as jerry wandered in, calling for you. you made your way back to the foyer, a puzzled look on your face. "why are you here? shouldn't you be with elvis?"

jerry scoffed, "hello to you too. he said he didn't want me today, whatever that means."

you let out a small laugh. "well, you know how he is." small talk was really not your thing. jerry was usually out with elvis whenever he went, so you rarely ever saw him or any of his other friends without elvis around. "i was actually trying to think of something for his birthday today, you got any ideas?"

jerry thought for a moment, "well, i don't know if he'll love it or hate it, but you could throw him a surprise party." he suggested. "it could be nice for him to come home to after dealin' with that old man."

you hoped the colonel wasn't being too rough on elvis, chances are he probably was. the holidays were over therefore, it was time for him to get back on the road and back in the studio. you nodded at the suggestion, "let's do it! if you can get the guys over here to help out that'd be great." you said excitingly.

while jerry made calls, you had some extra help from some of the workers around graceland to decorate for his birthday, even baking a cake just for him. with the christmas decorations still being up, it made the house look even more special. you still worried about elvis though. you didn't know if elvis would appreciate a surprise party or if he would even be in a good enough mood when he returned home. "what if he comes in and just starts shootin' at all the balloons?" said billy, who was on the couch tieing up the ends to the multicolored balloons. "the last thing i want is to get shot on elvis's birthday."

you rolled your eyes, tossing another pack of balloons at him, smacking him in the chest. "just shut up and keep filling the damn balloons." as you left him on balloon duty, more people started to show up. some people brought more decorations, gifts and offered their help in the kitchen. while your main focus was to make sure everything was perfect, you also made sure his birthday cake was even more perfect. elvis had always preferred when you cooked or baked for him, he could tell when it was made by you and not someone else.

you got one final look at the decorations and refreshments set out for the party, fixing things and setting out a couple more items. then began the hard part. you made a final call to check on elvis who would be arriving home soon. the conversation you had with lamar made you nervous, elvis had lashed out with the colonel once again and was in a horrible mood. you could even hear elvis raising his voice in the background. "that overseas tour that we had planned got cancelled again, he's real disappointed." he said quietly into the phone, occasionally turning back to make sure elvis wasn't listening. "he wants him back in vegas in a few weeks, i don't know. it's not soundin' great. this better be this best party you've ever thrown cause i don't know what's gonna happen when he shows up."

your grip on the phone tightened and you began to anxiously bite on one of your nails, worried for elvis. "i can't cancel now, lamar. everyone's already here, i've got the driveway cleared out....christ. what do you think he's gonna do? s'he gonna be mad?"

he scratched the side of his head, looking back again. "i don't know, let's hope not." he sighed. the arguing in the background stopped, then a slam of the door. "oh, he's leavin', i gotta go. should be there in ten-" there was a shout of his name along with 'let's just go.' before the phone clicked. you let out a frustrated groan and placed the phone back down before going back out to the small crowd of friends and family.

everyone turned their heads to look at you, growing silent as you stood there with your arms crossed. "so, he should be here in ten minutes, but...." you let out a nervous laugh, rocking back and forth on your heels. "he's a little....mad."

"how mad?"

"um, well. the overseas tour got cancelled. so, i would assume very mad." everyone began murmuring and looking at eachother, you cleared your throat, anxiously picking at your nails. "look, i-if he gets upset about the party, he gets upset. i put this together and he'll most likely just be upset with me so...we'll just...figure this out. i don't know."

before you could get another word out, headlights shined through the window, pulling up to graceland. "they're here! everyone, hide! go!" you gestured with your hands, shooing everyone away as they all got in their hiding spots.

you smoothed out your clothes and braced yourself for the worst or best night of elvis's and possibly your life, cringing slightly at the slam of the car door and angry stomps up the steps. you beat him to the door, opening it with a wide smile. "hi baby!"

elvis's face lit up at the sight of you. despite his awful day, he was always happy to be around you. "hi darlin'" he gave you a kiss on the cheek as lamar walked in behind him, giving you a look and shutting the door behind him. "i'm tellin' ya, i outta fire that man. that tour we planned? cancelled. can't have shit without the colonel ruining it." he vented, not even noticing the birthday decorations in the foyer. "but at least i got to come home to you." he smiled, wrapping his arm around your hip.

just as he was about to kiss you again, you placed your finger on his lips. "actually, about that." you said, elvis giving you a puzzled look. you cleared your throat loudly as a signal, everyone jumping from their spots to yell out 'surprise!'. elvis even jumped himself, looking around at the birthday decor. "well i'll be damned! did you do all this?" he asked, turning to you.

"are you mad?" you pouted

his mouth turned into a smile, grinning widely. "mad? are you kiddin'? i can't believe you would do this for me."

"well, it was jerry's idea. i just did the hard work." you joked. "just wanted to show you some appreciation, i know today was rough. but it's your birthday! you deserve a good time."

"is there cake?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

you nodded. "baked with love by yours truly."

"oh baby, you spoil me. i love ya. thank you." he kissed you again and released his grip from your waist. "and thank y'all for comin'! let's have a good time!"

taglist: @aconflagrationofmyown @butlersluvbot @arianatheangel-girl @steph-speaks @vintagegirl50s60s70s80s @flwrs4aust @imgayreal @kiankiwi-blog @father-of-2cats

#elvis x reader

[jamesunderwater]

on being unfiltered once more

it's interesting how pre-surgery charles did a lot of social mirroring, and how much that's changed... before, if i got an ask, i'd work hard to reply the way i saw other people reply to things, or based on what vibe i thought the sender would want.

but then the first several weeks after surgery, i literally didn't have the energy to filter or monitor how i interacted with others, so instead I was just fully my chaotic, long-winded, rambling self. and at first i was too exhausted and drugged to even notice let alone care. but then even when i did start to see it, i still couldn't find the energy or even the ability to communicate differently.

now i'm at the point where i'm trying to go back to the mirroring and filtering, but it's like my brain lost the ability to actually do it -- so it remembers that we're supposed to, and can tell what i'm doing "wrong" or need to "fix" in my communication, but when i try to actually express myself in the way i think is more appropriate/desired in the interaction, my brain fritzes. HARD. and that's how i've ended up spending TWO hours at work trying to send one simple email, and taking an hour to reply to a text, etc. so that by the end of the day my brain is so fucking tired from agonizing over every single word i wrote all day, i am almost unable to write a full sentence.

and maybe in another post i'll go into how this is, in essence, exactly what it looks like for a high masking autistic to no longer be able to mask (due to continuous overstimulation/burnout, in this case).

but right now i just wanted to say all of that to say.... i didn't know that i liked the choatic, rambling, long-winded way i like to write and speak. i just knew i had been taught other people don't like it. and i am really kind of enjoying the way that -- at least sometimes, at least here -- i have been liberated from giving so much of a shit.

before all this, i knew in concept that everyone has their own way of communicating, especially writing, and some people will like it and some people won't. i even thought it was really badass when someone communicated very differently than the norm, and didn't seem sorry about it. but, of course, none of this sunk in enough to change my unconscious chameleon training to become whatever kind of communicator people wanted me to be.

but NOW... i've gotten a taste of it. a taste of responding as ME and believing that it's okay if the other person doesn't like how i talk/interact. also helps that my "mirroring skills" are like, comparable to Light Hope in she-ra when her programming was wiped. Which is to say, so low as to be basically useless.

and so thus we witness the return of teenage Charles, who, once comfortable, is not totally dissimilar in energy and vibe to characters like jake peralta, robin buckley, jaskier, shawn spencer from psych... lol NONE of whom are autistic-coded... /j

and yeah. hopefully this becomes a space where i feel safe to practice being unmasked me. so far so good, anyway. and, uh, if you think i'm horribly annoying now.......... i probably already believe that's how you see me, too, so maybe we can both practice not giving a shit either way? 😅

#those of you who actually read all of this. i am sending you a pretty envelope with a kiss inside. and a pic of your favorite animal. #it's also a very new venture to write out stuff like this and put it on my blog literally not FOR anyone or to DO anything #but just cause it's my blog? and in ye olden days this was where we elders put our thoughts. like a lil keepsake box under our beds. #charlie chats #recovery #recovery* #autism #autistic things #asd #neurodivergence #neurodivergent #unmasking autism #autistic burnout #unmasking #audhd #me

[ponponpopcorn]

DB Fanfic made on franticfanfic so it's sloppily written LOL

@superduperdragonball and i both wrote it! squiggle marks ~ where we each leave off. ill let u guys (pointing at the screen) guess who wrote what part

THE POWER OF THE IPHONE

Prompt Characters: Piccolo and Bulma

Info: Set in Super Hero time, Piccolo just wants to fix his broken iphone and it leads to an unlikely scenario....

"Why isn't this thing working...?"

Tap Tap tap, Piccolo's nail hits his phone screen rapidly like a beginner playing Pikachu in Smash Bros. Three days prior, he dropped his Iphone 500 mid-flight and he remained unaware of the limits of current technology. His screen was cracked horribly and it had ceased function, staying frozen at his google search of "Best Romance Novels 2024".

"Tch. It looks like I'll have to ask Bulma for help." Piccolo groans. He flies off from home on his way to Capsule Corp.

Bulma is excited at the sight of her green friend greets him, "Piccolo?! How rare! It's been since the SUPER HERO stuff!"

~

Piccolo landed before crossing his arms over his chest.

"Don't assume this will be a more common occurance. I"m just here to fix my IPhone."

he pulled his torn to shreds IPhone out of his pocket and threw it towards the woman.

Barely catching it, Bulma balanced on her toes before settling with a sigh

"You ZFreaks never visit me just cause! It's always FIX THIS or FIND THE DRAGONBALLS with you guys! Why can't we just like- I dont know... Go BOWLING!"

...

"Bowling..?" Piccolo tilted his head

"Oh it's like... you throw a ball and hit pins." Bulma took out her pocket tool kit and started finnicking with the Phone

"Hm... Well, if it would please you I would go 'Bowling' with you. I figured it would be a fitting thank you for fixing the phone."

"Aw geez Piccolo! You know you dont owe anything. Just kidding, you do! Lets go bowling this weekend"

Bulma handed Piccolo his repaired Iphone before Trunks ran out and pointed at it and said

"Iphone"

~

piccolo mutters as he leaves, "Iphone...."

Timeskip to Saturday!!!!!!

Piccolo: Vegeta's here too...?

Vegeta: Don't get the wrong idea. Kakarott cancelled our dat- Our fight. our fight. Something about goten's band recital. I'm going to go for Day 2 of the concert tomorrow.

Bulma: Isn't this great!!!! I'll go get some pizza and you boys can hang out here.

Vegeta: .....

Piccolo: .....

Vegeta: ........ So you had that thing fixed?

Piccolo: ..? oh . oh yeah! Now I can play Suika game on my phone again (insert suika game music)

Vegeta: How stupi-......... Let me have a try.

Ten minutes later..

Bulma: Hey guys I'm back! Hope you like BBQ chicken pizza! Oh!

Vegeta: YES NEW HIGH SCORE!!!

Piccolo: Heh, not bad.

Bulma: wowww on they phonesssss let's start bowling

Bulma surprisingly does well at bowling. Okay people need to acknowledge she's not super weak like she can get around she seems a lil sporty at the very least OK!!!!

Piccolo; (panting) how does she get so many strikes

Vegeta: FUCK ANOTHER SPARE!!!!!!

The game ends with a Bulma sweep, Vegeta does better and piccolo... needs to improve, but it's only his first time. Vegeta's been a couple of times with Trunks like when he got an 80 on his last math final.

Vegeta: ...... That was a good experience.

Piccolo: Haha, yeah. How about we go again.

Bulma: what happened

#bows to audience #dragon ball #piccolo #bulma #text #ponpost

[cinnabundolly12]

Hey I was thinking about making the fnafhspr au into a comic again now that what I needed before having to be made into a video isn't necessary anymore I still have no knowledge how to make these but I'm going to try ;v; with every new fnaf drop I end up trying to adjust my au to fit in the new details and I thought that maybe once I am so sure that what I have later down the line with to be locked in place I'll be able to go back to video and fix any errors I had or changes I made when it's "finally ready". this is also for an art style problem of mine which doesn't matter rn I don't think I have to say cuz I'm sure you guys already know

Official fnaf stuff (movie, games, books, and merchandise, ect.) will be heavy inspiration but also some theories I hear online will most likely be the reason I end up doing stuff in the story

The main characters will be the animatronics (freddy, bonnie, chica, foxy, gold and) so when it "shifts(?)" to another characters story it's not like what edo kept doing with her mistake in forgetting freddy is the main character but it's that the whole 5 missing kids is what started all this they were the main reason for the whole story to start so the animatronics will be the main characters with their own mc story while still being in their little friend group but to also let in other characters come in even for a moment but also because I'm terrible at story writing I've never actually written publicly cuz I get nervous and I get horribly side tracked and so far the writing process has bounced around from character to character

I'm still going to try making it horror maybe not so much gore like I had originally planned now that the villains motive for the au has changed. they'll still be violent tho because I really want it to be what I vision for fnaf but you know- it's high school lol

The whole art problem I have is I really want to actually try drawing backgrounds properly I still need to practice buildings and furniture design for rooms I have to teach myself how to do everything so I hope you forgive me for some of the wonky drawings. I'm going to try simplifying a lot of stuff not for shortcut purposes but skill issue reasons as I unfortunately do not have resources to help me

Last thing I want to clarify is some stuff will be nonfiction I don't want to offend anyone so a lot of health issues with a certain character is not going to be real it will be made up because story purposes so when a character has a real health issue I will try my best to make it as close to the real thing since I am no doctor obviously and I don't trust doctors here as they lie or gaslight you into thinking you're actually fine so anything I find will be online and if the source I use lies to me I am very sorry for being stupid 💀

______

The comic will have no schedule as you guys know I go from one drawing to another and then back because my brain doesn't know how to function on one task all the way through and people ask me for art stuff and idk how to say no plus I like to enter into art contest stuff from time to time c: aND I'M SLOW AT ART

OK BAI :D

#don't mind me #I don't know when first page will drop #i doubt anyone will read the comic bUT IF YOU DO #the story is still in progress as now I am my own proof reader and audience because critique is non existent for me #why am i cursed to have everything be this way? idk #if you read all the way to even here- hello! and congratulations as you get a lollipop 🍭 c: #will i have translations? no idk who would help me with that #har har har har har #fnaf movie animatronics behind the scenes hint hint wink wink nudge #never gonna give you up never gonna

[queenofgravyfries]

OK SO-i actually wrote a rc9gn creepypasta, it doesn't have "hyperealistic blood" or anything though so hopefully it'll still be good lol

DEATH AND MUTLIATION WARNING ⚠️

It's called ACCEPTANCE:

• starts in randy Cunningham's day off, all the scenes with Randy are completely empty, no talking, everything else plays as it should as if he's there.

• keeps glitching when doctor Sam's on screen to his one line "get well soon, which you won't".

• Howard starts acting off, there are points where you can vaguely see "where are you Cunningham?" Very lightly watermarked on the corner of the screen.

• things take a more creepypasta turn when the hungerbot attacks, Howard's lines turn into pleas for Randy to come and save everyone only for the screen to turn black.

• it says "he doesn't understand I'm the threat."

• hungerbot starts to attack the kids but the screen(or Disney+ if you want it to be that kind of creepypasta) bugs out and starts flashing warnings about a flood watch.

• the screen(or, again Disney+) returns to normal, the Episode starts again, Randy's here sometimes but he just keeps repeating his line when he was being quarantined; "PLEASE! you have to let me out!."

• doctor Sam's scene comes up again, this time he and Randy have a semi-argument the constantly flashes between randy shouting "please" to doctor Sam saying "won't", for a brief second "I can see you watching me, I wish I was blind to you" appears watermarked over Randy's face.

• the episode abruptly restarts, Randy's there in a way, all his scenes appear to take place in mount chuck but it's much much darker and his face is Hella bugged out, his lines are right except his voice glitches and fluctuates.

• it gets to the point where Howard calls mcfist except he's calling doctor sam who, again, shouts "which you won't" except "you" is replaced with "he", Howard shouts, "Cunningham" over and over again before abruptly cutting to McFist who suddenly repeats his line from Episode 1; "i haven't seen him all summer" but summer is cut off, Viceroy repeats his as well "I haven't seen him".

• It suddenly cuts to hungerbot attacking again, the kids get horribly mangled as Howard shouts for Randy.

• the screen cuts to black with a message that reads; "i was on life support, we were comatose, it was dark. Until it wasn't, they wouldn't let me die, now I can't. No. Not anymore. They won't let me".

• it restarts the Episode again; this time directly at the scene where Randy's quarantined, the scene plays out semi-normal but Randy's face and the audio get progressively worse, his faces contorts as if the viewer forgot what it's supposed to look like and was trying to remember, the audio is slowly taken over by the loud blaring of a floodwatch warning.

• the scene ends with Howard hiding under the table, hands covering his face, soft cries could be hard but the scene was so still you'd think it was frozen.

• one last message flashes on screen; "I know to much, everyone's paying for it, they remember to, but I'll fix this, I always fix it"

• the hungerbot appears again this time, however, Randy actually shows up, but the screen soon flashes to mount chuck then cuts to show Randy and hungerbot near the museum of silt, one last very hard to see message appears near Randy's chest, "I'll fix this" as the scene from monster dump where Randy uncaps the lava plays out.

• a very quick flood watch alert plays as randy and the hungerbot are consumed by the lava, the Episode quickly bugs out before abruptly returning to normal, everything plays as it should.

• Randy is no longer "sick".

#rc9gn #rc9gn randy #disney #rc9gn au #rc9gn julian #rc9gn theresa #randy cunningham 9th grade ninja #creepypasta #creepy

[limeade-l3sbian]

how do u handle depression, if that’s something u ever struggle with?

i know this is gonna make me sound horrible and i probably am, but i become really toxic unintentionally when i’m very down. i push people away, my temper is explosive, i’m irritable, dismissive, can even go as far as be verbally abusive. it’s like there’s just this huge hatred within me sometimes and it’s really exhausting.

I think you said it yourself. There is some huge hatred within you sometimes. It might not be the base of your depression, but it certainly has a knack for inflaming it, right? I have depression as well. But there is something that is making you angry because I was and am the same way.

It could just be the unfairness of depression. It could be something you know even as you read this but might not want to admit or talk about with anyone, including yourself. I don't know 🤷🏾‍♀️. But for me, it was familial issues and not being in control of more of my life or even the world around me that, once I faced, did not get rid of my depression (obviously, lol), but it did let me breathe a little better, mentally.

But for those moments when you're in the thick of it? I just cry. I let myself cry and I listen to sad music to help me cry even more. I say what I think is making me sad and express myself, out loud to myself. It sounds simple, but you'll be surprised how emotional you get when you verbalize things. I tucker myself out until I am literally laying down staring at a wall and then ask myself, out loud, "What now?"

I can't kill myself, too many ppl care about me and love me and I'm super cool. Then I think, well I shouldn't have to live for other people! What kind of bullshit existence is that?! And then I think, what do I have to live for? For me?

Well, I'm really good with kids, and I want to foster down the line. And I think, what if there's a kid out there that I connect with one day and we change each other's lives? Wait, that's still living for someone else! See, I should just kill myself! And I've tried. But goddamn was I at my absolute lowest after each attempt. Bc I didn't want to die, I just wanted life to be easier and kinder to me than it had been all this time. I wanted life to show me the same love and mercy I tried to practice in my life. So I'm laying down again, staring at the wall, wondering, "What now?"

Well, right now I'll just get up and see if I have any assignments I have to do. Tears are still going down my face as I sit at my desk, struggling to breathe through the crying hiccups. I'll put on some music. My lady friend or friend try to text me. I tell them the situation. "I'm not in a great place right now and I don't want to lash out at you. I'll hit you up a little later." I'm angry. I'm frustrated. Maybe I should go back to cutting? No, it didn't fix anything. Let me just do these assignments and then I'll put on something so I can go to sleep.

It's about distracting yourself. Waiting through the storm until I passes. I know it hear that shit all the time but it really is true. Cry, anon. Give yourself the space you need away from people you love and curse, cry, scream into a pillow. Do it all. Don't try and stifle it.

And keep in mind that people care - like me! 😊💜 I've got this weird thing where once I meet someone, I start to care about them as a fellow human. And now you're on my radar. 📡📡

#ask

[bane-amesta]

Free will may not be an illusion Note: I have never posted a fanfic here so apologies if the format is messy, I'm more used to AO3

Before anything, I must clarify: English is not my first language, and here I am, trying to write for a videogame series highly regarded for its incredible and beautiful writing. Lastly, I think it was like 2 AM when I wrote this. So yeah, I did watched some cutscenes to be sure, but I'm sure it'll be plenty of mistakes for you to "enjoy" lol.

My apologies in advance, please let me know of anything that needs to be fixed.

I just had to give it a try, I think. How else can I get better at the language without a good challenge right? So a little excercise like this seemed good enough for a start. I hope you enjoy :)

Here I am again, trapped in the spectral realm, with the voice of my old "friend" for sole company. And I was already dreading the possibility of falling into madness after a new eternity of that torture. Between this, and my predetermined destiny of the Soul Reaver becoming my jail, I cannot decide which path is the worst.

The feeling of uselessness is overwhelming. It seems that the other side of my coin is to fail everything I try. Even when I successfully purified the Reaver, its purpose now fades, with no way to use it, nor a chance for me to escape. My supposed 'free will' is worthless when I can't even save one life, or kill another when is needed.

But... I could not bear to kill Janos again, even when he begged me to do it. The horrible scene of my past self, mercilessly ripping his heart out of his body, was too much, and Janos didn't deserve such cruelty. Now his body is being manipulated for forces I can't fully understand, and it is, once again, my fault.

Even worse, the only task I was asked to do so many times, the one that made me sick to just hear about it, to the extent to actively try to avoid, it was done at last. Kain is dead, to the joy of Moebius and the 'Elder God'. And it doesn't bring me anything even close to that. My revenge path ended in a bitter note.

Now that I am certain it was part of their plan all along, I feel like a puppet, and is infuriating. Maybe I was manipulated in that moment like Janos? Does that even matter anyways? ... But that is a question for which I'll never get the answer.

At least, the old vision of me slaying poor Ariel's soul did not come true. After so many eons of haunting the Pillars, she deserved a peaceful end. It is a small consolation, indeed. But her words are still sounding in the void, and I can't comprehend them.

The Scion of Balance. I could vaguely try to give it a meaning, but I did not have the means to do so.

Meanwhile, the parasite in front of me is rejoicing in his victory against our meager attempts to change our destinies, and my attention was fading, trying my best to escape his voice. But then, I heard something falling on the ground behind me. Oh surprise, if is not the body of Moebius. The fact that I can see it on this dimension has only one meaning: he's dead. I was starting to feel angry about losing my chance to kill him first, when his soul left his body and he scanned his surroundings. With nothing on his sight as I moved directly behind him, he joined his hands in prayer. I carefully observed.

-Master, my apologies, a momentary oversight. Somehow Kain still lives, and has unexpectedly dispatched me. Make use of your good servant, and-

The news shocked me. My hand moved by itself, not just to finally slay him as I should have done from the start, but also to prevent Moebius from resurrecting again. This is probably the only good thing I can do on my current situation.

-Go to your master then. I release you to the Wheel.

But then something unexpected happened. Moebius's expression turned into horror, which made me realize. The Reaver purified him, which means that now he can see the true form of his "God". And the irony is sweeter than blood.

-Ohh… god, no…

-Do you see it now? The monster that you served? Is this what you imagined when you worshipped it?

-Noooo!

-And in that knowledge, go, and feed it. I release you.

Oh, such a small triumph never tasted so good. I knew his faith would falter. Of course, the Elder is still saying that it means nothing, trying to undermine my determination. But he's not omniscient, as I discovered, not only by his lack of knowledge about Kain’s return.

He doesn’t have the power to kill us. Only to trap us and hoping the endless passage of time will make us go deranged. And he acknowledged it.

Lastly, the Elder also forgot a crucial detail, right in front of him. A way to go back to the material realm, and Kain, alive, waiting at the other side.

Ariel’s words came back to me, like asking me to reconsider their meaning.

You must unite that which has been set asunder…

The Wheel will keep spinning for all eternity, dragging all of us in a circle of meaningless suffering, to feed a parasite masquerading as a god, if I don’t make a choice. But what exactly can I do?

Moebius never saw the true form of his master until the Reaver purified his soul. The ancient vampires never knew what they were worshipping.

The coin is still turning…

When I heard those words the first time, I was convinced that Kain’s coin was already in the ground, and the result seemed obvious. But I could not understand the real message hidden behind them.

…Only then will the Scion of Balance be armed for his true endeavor…

Then, I knew exactly what it was needed to do. Saying I was not scared of the result would be a lie, but maybe I could finally change the ending of this story. And for that, I need Kain.

As I suspected, he impaled Moebius' body as soon as it rises from the ground. My time now is limited and every second counts. He needs to know what he's about to face.

-No, this can't be the way!

He seems painfully worried and regretful. This has to be the first time I've seen such a genuine expression on his face. Concern, mixed with regret, refusing to believe what's happening; trying desperately to take the sword away from me. I have known and served him for so long, but never seen him like this. Like a loving father, broken seeing his son mortally wounded. I would chuckle if I had my lower jaw, and the strength to do so. How curious to see Kain acting like this, and how sad that only in my last moments I can witness such a scene.

Was this always part of his personality? Or is maybe that my sight was contaminated as well, blind on my quest for revenge? Maybe the corruption of the Pillars changed him, and now that he's purified, he can finally show some emotions.

Whatever the case, the result is the same. Kain is worried for me. And that thought is oddly comforting. It seems that my long years of service and loyalty were not in vain, and I did not choose the wrong lord. He doesn't say it, but I can see the determination on his eyes. He will go out of his way to try to free me from my prison.

But I feel myself weakening again, and I have to focus. Is crucial to warn him about the real enemy, hidden in plain sight, before he can even attempt to manipulate Kain like he did with me.

Finally, I ended up fulfilling my destiny, the one that I feared so much. By my own free will. And there's no words to describe it... I can't even imagine what the future awaits me, but for now, the only objective is to settle the matter at hand.

Kain is naturally shocked to see the Elder in all its parasitic glory. But as I expected, he understood immediately the situation.

When Kain attacks and harms the body of the parasite, he doesn't take the credit all to himself.

-Your words are heartening. For you would not fear us unless we could truly do you harm.

We, he says. A small detail maybe, but he doesn't know how much I appreciate it.

I thought it was a jest, but I can barely believe what I’m hearing now. The Elder is once again threatening with the same words used with me. Is that truly the Elder's plan to stop Kain? Merely burying him alive for all eternity? Doesn't he know all the means Kain has to overcome the obstacles on his way? Turning into bats to fly, into mist to pass iron bars... Oh well, I suppose I should have seen this coming. And the ancient creature looks almost pathetic now, seeing that he barely defend himself against us.

But then the battle ends, the parasite suffered the fate he wanted for me and Kain, and now, the rest of Nosgoth is in front of us. This is the moment that marks the birth of Kain's vampiric empire, the Pillars falling on the distance. Kain looks at the sword on his hands with a sad expression, one I'm sure I'll see many times from now. Still, there's a glint of hope on his eyes, and for the moment being, that's enough for me. I can't see the future, no, but my heart says that this time, I made the right decision.

#fanfic #legacy of kain #soul reaver defiance #just a simple cutscene rewriting #kain #raziel #moebius #the elder god

[carnie-calorie-counter]

Day 1 of 90•160

So it's obvious now that I'm planning my death. And some people know that I want to die on my birthday. Well I realize me getting drunk and admitting that was really, really dumb. So, I'm gonna pretend to get better and hope it makes all anxiety and worry about me dying disappear from people's minds.

If I'm successful and everything goes as planned then I'm just gonna keep researching places near me and find a quiet place where kids aren't at and I'm just gonna take some pills and hope the coma route doesn't happen.

I am sad actually since I didn't really want it to come to this, but it's really no ones fault but my own. I mean I was the kid who failed to grow up and I probably deserved the abuse because I was such a hard kid to raise...

I really was horrible and still am.

Anyway, I'm gonna do a diary everyday if possible and just let the days count down. I'll post this accounts name to my main because Lord and Lady knows that Eliza most likely won't say anything lol.

I don't want any of you to try anything after me okay? Because honestly, you all actually have places in life and have the ability to be good people and progress through your trauma. I'm never going to be able to be normal, and after twenty something years I can see it now. Not only that every time I've thought about my death I cry and I think that's incredibly narcissistic, telling and a huge sign that I'll never get better.

The reason I've chosen OD is because I'm too chicken to slice my wrist open and I don't wanna jump off a bridge or building and have someone call a clean up crew.. I don't wanna be THAT much of a burden in the beginning stages of my leave. It defeats the purpose.

It's all very surreal if I'm honest, I'm obviously going through the grieving stages. Of knowing I'll never be normal and knowing what I have to do to lessen the blow on everyone else. I'm happy one day, torn apart the next and then I'm calm. Calm as calm could be.

I've utilized the Do Not Disturb on my phone finally, it helps because I think eventually I'll stop wanting for attention at all. My absence may also really help everyone, you know, get over the person they'll eventually learn was really fucked in the head.

I'm gonna miss my dog, but everyone else will either abandon her like they would have abandoned me if I kept on living or they will be definite better owners than I had been.

I'll miss food, I've already looked up ways to help me decompose better if my friends go the funeral route and I'm gonna be liquid dieting until I completely stop eating/drinking. It'll be nice to be kinda skinny when I die though, that's a mediocre plus I guess.

I never actually had sex either, I mean I'm not a virgin but I don't really think I've ever been able to finish, have anyone else finish, or be able to say I liked any of it. It actually makes me feel like a failure too, I mean I'm supposedly hypersexual so I should just enjoy it no matter what right?

Sometimes I wish I were okay with all I wasn't alright with, maybe then I wouldn't be so insufferable.

I seek attention and I'm gonna start being alone to think about why I seek so much attention. It's not healthy for anyone because no one should have to be around me when I want attention just because I want it. I should earn it honestly. But I'm obviously not earning it and I'm not enough because I'm not getting enough. You know, data tells. Or something like that.

You know I'm really depressed too. Like it sucks knowing I have to die but what sucks is it got THIS bad until I decided "yo, nothings gonna fix so we gotta find out what to fuckin do" and the final fix was death lol

That's so sad and pathetic isn't it?

I chose 90 OR 160 days because I'm either dying on my birthday (161 days from today) or I'm gonna try dying in a cold month if my head gets too horrible to handle. (90 days)

I might have to start biting at people since I heard if you get people pissed at you before you're dead they won't miss you and they'll forget you easier.

Well this is all I can say for today.

It's 5:01 PM and I have work tomorrow

It's Wednesday June 28th 2023

And eventually I won't be here anymore 🪻

#gelli #countdown diary

[rippeds0cks]

6/2/2023

Today's pics were horrible. The entire country is currently in a typhoon. I got complimented that my "knuckles are very hard" when I fist-bumped someone. I am going to Costco tomorrow hopefully with some buddies if they don't cancel. If they do its okay. That's all that was notable about my day today. My Japanese friend is bumping up the process date for fixing the apartment stuff which means I can go out to sea earlier. So I'm happy about it but I'm also concerned cause the reason she's doing that is cause she's moving in with her bf and they are getting married. Which wouldn't be bad in n of itself but they've known each other for two months. It's a really dumb decision but it's also her decision tho so idc. Anyways I was scrolling through my old posts to look at how I used to look and I saw I wrote this and I found it very funny cause this fuckin guy doesn't even know what's about to hit him in a lil under a year after this was posted. I thought things would get better once I came to Japan and got a fresh start but things are so much unquantifiably worse lol. I should've known when a week before I left I almost broke down in therapy when despite having a big smile on my face and laughing about stuff and doing my best to look and sound happy my therapist said "You're moving across the planet like you wanted why do you have an air of sadness in your voice?" n I had to be honest and say "its cause I feel like I'm abandoning my ex. I haven't spoken with her since that day but I guess I feel like I could still fix things and help her." That convo burned itself in my mind cause how fucked up it made me for the week. Look at me now tho, so much worse than I was in that moment. My therapist just said the same old "you aren't responsible for anyone else happiness" "let others be hurt it's not your problem" and "mourn the relationship" stuff that she always does. That's no hate to her though she's an amazing therapist I'm just a lost cause. I was back then and I'm even more lost now. My plans are set in stone though cause I have no way to fix these issues and living with them is atrocious. I don't know how I could possibly fix any of these without talking one on one with my ex and closing the chapter or whatever else. I try so hard to think about anything else all day but every thought I have brings me back to it. I made a Spotify playlist to listen to while I sail since to get as far out in nowhere as I wanna be I'll have to sail for a couple days. Its not done but I'll link it for all 0 of u to listen posthumously. I thought about it and ill definitely put the @ for this blog somewhere on the boat for if it ever washes up somewhere cause I don't wanna end up one of those unsolved bullshit things. Anyways

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4L0lsnbEBer1tgD6oVPQOn?si=FrME9IlkQQiDRUpcgHjNWA

[farfartothewestofeverywhere]

so i'm still annoyed about this tumblr person who blocked me (no not that one) – like – wow tumblrinas are block-happy jfc. — anyway — i was in the tag for a show, liking & reblogging, and i think i saw a post asking for suggestions of what to GIF for the current episode. excitedly I mentioned three scenes/moments i really loved and would love to see. later i went to try and check back on the post/her blog and couldn't find it. then eventually realized i had been blocked. as far as i could tell – all for engaging with a post in the show tag.

i just. I'm so mad. not a ton of people are GIFing that show and they have SO many good GIFs. and now i can't see and reblog them. because...i suggested GIFs in a post literally asking for suggestions???

now I've looked at the blog since then – because of course i can't let things go and it does seem like she's a block-happy person. which is "fine." like. a strange number of posts about how much she enjoys blocking without thinking twice. so. ok. maybe it's not 100% me. maybe because I was too chipper responding, maybe because i suggested more than one scene. i don't fucking know.

but being blocked. just know. that if other people out there are like me – being blocked is one of the most painful experiences on the internet. like it DESTROYS me. i even hesitated blocking some porn bots until this most recent surge because i wasn't always 100% sure they weren't just tumblr people who happen to enjoy porn and the stuff i reblog.

like i AGONIZE over blocking someone. because i know how it makes me feel. now. i have unfollowed people more readily. not VERY. but there have been times I've asked people to tag things and they don't – and i can't have certain things untagged on my dash – so I'll unfollow. i don't block. because they're not part of my experience anymore. and someone reblogging from me...like...whatever you add to a post will NEVER bother me. (probably). but I'm definitely not going to block someone over ANYTHING trivial. and especially not over one possibly misinterpreted interaction.

like believe me i remember almost every time I've been blocked on any social media. and it fucking HURTS. it hurts like being ghosted by a crush. and it's mostly that lack of closure. WHY. what did i do? why can't i get a chance to fix it or know what I've done to cause harm? why can't i be asked politely to please no longer interact?

i get that no one OWES me that. and your online experience is your own to curate. but that doesn't change the effect it has on me. it Hurts so painfully. absolutely more than it should. but it does. and I've tried to learn to let go. but there is still the absolutely horrible pain in my chest. physically, mentally, and more – from realizing I've been blocked.

anyway. also i assume there are a lot of cptsd-related reasons for this but i have no coping mechanisms or real outlet or support and my therapist is worthless when it comes to the real, hard, deep stuff ✌️

thanks for reading or, lol, not blocking. as always if you want me to add a certain tag, especially to posts like this, that you want to be able to filter – please just let me know. <3

#personal #rant #tumblr #long post

[mika-shion]

I'm tired, but I still have hope.

How do you tell someone who's blocked you everywhere they can, that they misinterpreted what you were trying to say and that you're sorry?

Answer: You don't. You just twiddle your thumbs, do your best to get through the day and not obsess over it, and pray that it doesn't take a year or longer for them to change their mind.

I hate that I keep ruining friendships and making mistakes, purely because it takes me 1,000 times longer to recall the one good reason that would prevent me from making said stupid mistake.

Improving behavior and thinking patterns is one thing, But how in the hell do you remember the important things that people rarely talk about?

Reality keeps hitting me in horrible ways and I've realized I'm scared of going into 2023 with a fraction of my friends/family that I had in 2021. It's extremely disheartening when you feel like the one thing you need to change/fix so they'll be comfortable enough to come back is almost completely out of your control.

I'm tired and scared because every time I find a new barrier or limit to what I can do, I find I don't know where to go next until another problem arises in my life.

I've already committed myself to not chasing you, because I saw where that got me before. But am I going to meet your standards? Will you ever really want to come back?

I guess this is what I get for trying to push you all the way in the first place.

You know, for the longest time, I've desperately wanted a way to explain how my mind works, because somehow I convinced myself that that would be the only way to prevent all of this drama from happening again. But now I just wish I didn't feel the need to constantly explain myself and my actions/opinions.

Surprisingly I have seen some improvement in trying to stop that way of thinking, but it's still just takes up so much fucking time and energy... and the worst part is that I actually have to explain myself sometimes, just so I can resolve some conflicts or I can get someone to help me resolve a conflict.

I would be lying if I said that I didn't feel lost or hopeless, but I know I'm not giving up. I have come way too far to let this be the farthest I'll ever get.

You can't pour from an empty glass, but lately it feels like that's all I'm doing. I put on a fake smile and it's gotten easier to mask it at times, but I still feel like I'm broken somehow... Which is why I doubt anyone is coming back anytime soon.

...But I can say that I'm getting better, So I'm going to continue. I've got myself started on a decent schedule. Now I just gotta check with my therapist tomorrow what she thinks my next move should be lol

Hope you all are having a beautiful day, and apologies for the emo dump lolol

#mika-talks