#listen i know they might be going more in the direction of “blitz has a personality disorder”

[hazbinhotelho]

Stolas and Blitz are both autistic and just have different special interests. You can't change my mind.

#stolitz #helluva boss blitz #helluva boss blitzø #helluva boss #helluva boss stolas #stolas #stolas goetia #listen i know they might be going more in the direction of “blitz has a personality disorder” #but hear me out #people who have autism. can also have those #(yes im projecting a little bit but that's what fandom is for) #listen that one interaction with little blitz and stolas?? peak me as a kid #as in i was both sides depending on if it was related to my special interests or not

[vidavalor]

The Blitz, Part 3 Theory: The clues that suggest what it might be about & how it's affected what's come after it

I rewatched 2.04/The Blitz, Part 2 last night and a moment stood out to me that made me think I have an idea of what might happen in the flashback we all seem to have collectively agreed is almost certainly in S3-- The Blitz, Part 3.

When Crowley & Aziraphale are in the magic shop and Glozier is there in the background, the camera jumps to a pretty significant reaction shot for Glozier when Aziraphale tells Crowley that he has a Derringer hidden in a hollowed-out book in the bookshop. I think everyone sees that bit as important-- it's a literal Chekhov's gun sitting out there for the future story, after all-- but I was thinking about why it matters that one of the Zombie Nazis overheard this when they're... ya know... zombies. Their methods of murder tend to be a little more direct, yeah? lol What do they need a gun for when they eat people to death? But then it hit me why it will matter that Glozier heard this... it's not about the Zombie Nazis, exactly. It's about Furfur.

When we leave Furfur in 1941, he's just been embarrassed in front of The Dark Council by Aziraphale, who has swapped out the picture of him and Crowley for a flyer for the Ladies of Camelot, right? They literally laugh in Furfur's face. Furfur's entire plot in 1941 is about how he's been stuck in processing for millennia and he's trying to get out of it-- about how he's jealous of Crowley and the few others who get to go to Earth. He's dealt slight after slight after slight during this night in 1941. He fails to get proof against Crowley, who doesn't even remember him. He gets shamed and embarrassed in front of the higher-ups and his peers. His fledging... whatever it is exactly lol... with Shax-- who is the closest thing he has to a friend-- is damaged as she's gone out on a limb for him and he hasn't delivered. Most terrible, he's sure he's never going to get out of his miserable eternity of grunt work. He's *very, very, very* unhappy and boxed into a corner, right? So what does Furfur want, now that he's stuck in Hell forever and all of it is laughing at him?

Revenge. He wants revenge.

In the short term, he also wants someone to scream at, so he goes back up to Earth and finds the Zombie Nazis, who are roaming around London eating people. They can't go very quickly so they haven't gotten far and aren't hard to find lol. Furfur knows it's not exactly their fault that he was tricked by the angel as, technically, they completed the tasks they were given, but he's furious and he needs to vent it, so he starts yelling that he's going to revoke their zombie-life-on-earth clauses. (Even *the Nazi zombies* get to be on Earth and Furfur does not? Yeah, he's not going to be able to handle that...)

The Zombie Nazis, understandably after seeing that video he showed them in Part 2, start freaking out because they don't want that whole fly fate for all of eternity and they don't know how to reach anyone beyond Furfur so they'll do anything to keep Furfur from taking out his humiliation on them. Upon hearing that this is all about how Aziraphale tricked Furfur and got him humiliated by Hell, the Zombie Nazis start desperately suggesting that it's not too late! They can help Furfur still get Crowley and Aziraphale! Even if Hell thinks Furfur is a joke and won't listen to him about the angel and demon being involved, they can still help Furfur get revenge!

They bring Furfur to outside the bookshop to find Crowley and Aziraphale because that's where the Zombie Nazis say they saw them together earlier & they know Aziraphale lives there. Furfur's in a rage because through a side window, he's observing Crowley and Aziraphale drinking wine together by candlelight in what is the "I know you'd come through for me" scene from Part 2-- and Aziraphale even has the photo Furfur took of them earlier in his hand. (Insert here more of the recurring gag about Harmony lip-reading as now he's also looking through the window and probably gets a line like "he is saying it again! 'banana fish go-RILL-ah...'").

So Furfur is in a fur-furious rage here and is ready to murder these two but... there's just one *slight* problem...

He's a demon.

He can't get into the bookshop.

Aziraphale would have to invite him in and he's certainly not going to after their meeting earlier. But! This is when Furfur and the Nazis realize that there is someone in their group who *can* get in the bookshop...

....our fave fascist, Fraulein Greta Klauschmidt.

As "Rose", Greta recruited Aziraphale-- entering his bookshop when she was a human, invited in by Aziraphale. She can still get into the bookshop. (It's also a parallel to Shax tricking Aziraphale into letting her into The Bentley in S2.)

Once Furfur and the Nazis realize this, the question then becomes: okay, so if Greta can get into the shop, how is she then going to kill Aziraphale and Crowley? (*Especially* Aziraphale, whom Furfur really, really, really loathes at this point lol.)

This is when we go back to the scene that triggered this meta, which is that this is when Glozier then volunteers the information he overheard in the magic shop-- that there's a Chekhov's gun in the bookshop.

The Derringer works as a weapon here to do that because, as Furfur himself pointed out during the magic show earlier, if Crowley had shot Aziraphale in the face, it wouldn't just be paperwork but it might not be possible for them to "put him back together again"-- indicating that there are some things that can happen to angels and demons that are irreversible and can effectively kill them, more or less-- and a gunshot to the head is one of them.

(I'm also realizing as I'm writing this that that Glozier's *ear* falling off in the magic shop is another nod to him having *heard* important information and so far, we've only seen half of what he heard pay off-- the time and location of Aziraphale's performance in the West End. We're still awaiting pay off of the gun bit.)

My bet is that Aziraphale's Derringer in a hollowed out book is something he actually *showed "Rose" like the cinnamon roll idiot that he is* lol... so once Glozier brings it up, Greta remembers and she knows what book it's in and exactly where it is in the shop.

So Furfur still cannot get in but Greta can get in... which means Greta is now the most powerful character here. If Furfur wants Aziraphale dead, Greta can make that happen... *if* they cut a deal. What kind of deal? Well, the only thing Greta is going to want that she thinks that Furfur could give her is to not be a zombie, right? To be alive again? Reverse the clause in the paperwork and give her her life back. Whether or not Furfur can actually do this (and I'm not sure if he can or not, really, but I'd wager probably not), Furfur tells Greta that he can and she and the other Nazis believe him.

The plan is that the four of them go to the bookshop, where Furfur activates a miracle blocker card for a few hours surrounding the shop in an effort to limit Crowley and Aziraphale's powers and give the Zombie Nazis the advantage. Once the miracle blocker is in place, Greta goes inside while Harmony and Glozier make noise outside, in an effort to separate Crowley and Aziraphale to make it easier to kill them by attempting to lure one of them outside. Greta is to kill the one that stays inside the bookshop while Harmony and Glozier are supposed to kill the one that goes outside. (This will not happen according to plan at all, whatsoever, but it does seem like the most likely plan these four characters could form where they all have a role in it.)

So because Greta is the only one who can get inside, she has go to into the bookshop and be the one who can kill, most likely in their mind, Aziraphale. She'll still be a staggering zombie when the extremely bright Furfur sends her in there to obtain and fire a gun at a pair of supernatural beings lol but she manages to sneak in the back door without Crowley and Aziraphale really hearing the breaking & entering... or whatever noises the other two are making outside... as Crowley and Aziraphale are a little busy gazing at one another.

It would actually be a really funny, very Good Omens-y gag IMHO, if Greta is colossally unsubtle in entering the other side of the shop from where Crowley & Aziraphale are and is banging into stuff while Harmony and Glozier keep coming up with more and more insane noises outside... but Crowley and Aziraphale are too busy making heart eyes at one another to care or do anything about it. A very "did you... hear that?"/"oh, must be the war, let's go back to gazing" type of attitude with a steadily increasing series of sounds that are harder and harder to dismiss but they are trying, ok? lol. (This would also parallel Aziraphale ignoring the demons outside for as long as he could during The Ball in S2, until the bookshop begins literally breaking around them.)

So while we watch scenes of Furfur and The Zombie Nazis Hatch A Plot, the relationship tension between Crowley & Aziraphale is building as much as the plot tension. They intercut Furfur & the Nazis scenes with Crowley & Aziraphale having quiet, romantic, candlelit glasses of wine after their very intense and illuminating evening together. Each time we go back to Crowley & Aziraphale... they seem to be getting increasingly cozier. They sit a little closer, they get a little looser around one another. Crowley's glasses might come off. We get the sense that this is all Going Somewhere and it's somewhere they've never let themselves go before but after the events of Blitz 1 & 2 tonight? It's becoming increasingly clear to them that they will. There's virtual certainty that if *nothing else happens* to these two tonight and they're just left alone for once, they're at least going to kiss and what we're watching is them slowly enjoying the path there and them enjoying silently knowing that they're going to.

At some point, we hop from the Nazis back over to Aziraphale asking Crowley if he'd like a little music... Aziraphale might even have something *modern* kicking around, he's excited to tell Crowley (like he might have been totally not at all fantasizing about this exact Crowley-dashing-in-his-suit-with-a-glass-of-wine-smoldering-in-the-bookshop scenario when he bought this record from Maggie's grandfather recently lol)... and he goes over to the gramophone to put it on and now we've got Crowley and Aziraphale with candlelight and wine and music and they're each just taking step after slow little step that slowly acknowledges the romance at play here. Aziraphale's record is probably Glenn Miller. We know he likes big band and The Bentley played him "Moonlight Serenade" in S2 and Glenn Miller also recorded "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square", so it's one record where "Moonlight" could play and then, eventually, so too could "Nightingale" without Aziraphale getting up and moving away from Crowley... and you better believe that when we get to "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" playing that Crowley and Aziraphale are a literal breath away from kissing.

It'd be completely perfect to them, right? Very romantic. They're there together, alone, they've survived the Nazis and Mrs. H and threats of Hell and have spent the night gazing at one another and now they're here and it's quiet and there's candlelight and it's the familiar, comforting bookshop that is home for both of them... the same place, ironically, that they will drink wine together and make eyes at one another *for decades* after this night-- without Aziraphale putting on The Song, of course-- and you know they will think about 1941 every. single. time. while never actually recreating it.

(It's also why, when they're both wasted in the bookshop in S1's "Eleven Years Ago", Crowley is rambling on about bananas and gorillas and bouillabaisse/fish stew-- ya know, "banana fish gorilla..."-- and they're both so drunk and thinking about how they're almost out of time... and so they're both thinking of 1941 and wind up making those hilarious kissy faces at one another because they both obviously still want to actually kiss some 80 years after the night they almost did. Crowley also calls Aziraphale "baby" in the middle of his ramble. He might have called Aziraphale that in 1941, when they weren't drunk and were on their way to kissing. He also might have just wanted to, so it turned up in "Eleven Years Later" and might come up again later on in the present of S3, whenever they inevitably get to finally have a decent, uninterrupted, not painful kiss.)

Back in 1941, as we flip between Furfur/The Nazis and our heroes, maybe Crowley's even gotten comfortable enough to lose the glasses (though he can leave them on if he still has the hat on when they go to kiss so that he can take the hat off like a gentleman to kiss Aziraphale *swoon* and actually that's how Aziraphale died everyone surprise twist he's been dead since 1941 an a ghost this whole time lol)... and there's romantic big band on the record player and there was magic in the air and angels were dining at the Ritz when a nightingale sang in Bahhhrrrrk. Leeeeee. Square... and they're *almost* there, right? They're basically kissing. There is no way for either of them to ever legitimately pretend that was not was going to happen (even if they will try in the future lol) as their lips were a millimeter away and both of them want it and just like this and it's been six thousand years of pining and so, of course, that is when...

...Greta zombie-crashes into the room with Aziraphale's once-hidden Derringer aimed at them.

(Aziraphale's probably furiously muttering "oh good Lord" under his breath with a very different tone than in 1793 lol. That is his attitude, at least, if not the dialogue.)

So then they have to try to protect one another right and it's mild chaos for a moment as like Crowley starts looking out the window at Furfur and the rest of the Zombie Nazi Trio (paralleling his demons-outside-the-bookshop paranoia in S2) and realizes they were the noise while Greta is all "pity you both must die" again with a little smirk and Aziraphale is trying to calm her down and reason with her while also subtly trying to get close enough to get the gun and she probably fires but she's a zombie so she misses lol and he's like glancing over for Crowley and Crowley seems to disappear for a moment while Aziraphale stalls Greta and just when we think where the hell did Crowley go?! Aziraphale is about to be shot in the face!...

...Greta is shot in the face instead.

By Crowley.

With The Bullet Catcher.

And the bullet that was in Aziraphale's teeth a couple of hours ago.

Crowley has not so much has blown the fluff off a dandelion since he arrived on Earth six thousand years ago but you interrupt his first kiss with the angel and you. are. dead, you Nazi bitch...

I don't have a theory as to what happens after this beyond that we already know that Furfur is in Requisitions in the present now so he's going places lol. Also worth mentioning that Crowley or Aziraphale (I'd lean towards Crowley) could get shot by Greta's wild aim when they are trying to protect one another but it would be more of a graze that one could write a hundred h/c fics over than anything worth actually worrying about lol. It could be something like Crowley gets nicked but goes down as dramatically as he does in the paintball scene in S1 and Aziraphale is horrified but also fighting for his own life so he winds up focused on Greta and neither of them see Crowley slip away to come back with The Bullet Catcher... something like that. I'm just pretty sure that the fact that there are really *two* Chekhov's guns in the bookshop and that Greta is the only 1941 antagonist who can get inside it maths out to Crowley-- shooting her with The Bullet Catcher.

I'm not sure what happens to Harmony and Glozier. Aziraphale says in S1 that he's never killed anything so he can't kill anyone here and while I'm fine with Crowley mowing down Nazis with every Chekhov's gun left in the plot lol, I don't know that that's what happened or if, honestly, the two of them and Furfur just see Greta die through the window and run off. Maybe Aziraphale miracles the Nazis to Siberia. Who knows. But the main gist of it, I think, is that Crowley kills Greta when the Zombie Nazis and Furfur try to exact revenge on Crowley & Aziraphale and, in doing so, interrupt what would have been their first kiss and it's while "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" is on in the background so that every time the song comes up in the future, it's a reference to this near-kiss in 1941, adding layers to scenes from Soho 1967 to the end of S1 to the end of S2, etc...

Kind of makes Crowley desperately kissing Aziraphale in the middle of the bookshop while a vengeful Heaven, this time, is trying to separate them, even more aldkjlkfjlewje, yeah?

I'd also like to just throw in here that it's actually possible that all of this is the same but they *did* kiss... that they were kissing when Greta burst in. Part of me really wants that to be the case. That maybe they did get to have this kiss, if only because even if only a tenth of what I've said above is anywhere close to right, it's still pretty romantic and it would be nice if they got to have that, especially then, even if it was ultimately interrupted. It's Soho 1967, though, that convinced me that they came *very* close but ultimately didn't (and honestly, the only way they don't in 1941 if they get that close is if they're interrupted and an armed Zombie Nazi crashing through the bookshop feels about right lol.) It's this bit from Aziraphale to me that says they almost kissed but didn't:

The picnic was likely Crowley's 1827 date in Edinburgh. The Gabriel statue was there for amusement but you know Crowley had a picnic set up nearby. (It's not that weird-- people used to picnic in graveyards in the 1800s & the only time Crowley & Aziraphale would be able to together would be under the cover of darkness.) Then, they ran into Elspeth and the night took a turn. (Elspeth was also digging up bodies from graves, which is a parallel to zombies, hooking 1827 to 1941.) Dining at the Ritz-- literally going to The Ritz and eating together, which they do twice in S1-- is something Aziraphale would literally like to go do as a date as but it's also code in the 1967 scene for "perhaps, one day, we could finish 1941." He's telling Crowley in 1967 that he would still very much like to kiss him one day.

The near-kiss in 1941 would then also be what gives Aziraphale the motivation to eventually give Crowley the holy water in 1967. Back in 1863, Aziraphale didn't totally see that Crowley wanted holy water to protect them. By 1941, when they're staring at the corpse of a once-Zombie Nazi on the floor of the bookshop that Crowley just killed with the gun that's in his hands, it's a different sort of proof. 1941 becomes the era of 'here is proof that Crowley will literally kill to protect Aziraphale' and maybe it freaks Aziraphale out a little (as well as also turning him on a lot lol). Maybe that's why they spend the next years after that until the '60s together but not really together. Maybe that's why they don't have another chance at the kiss after 1941-- why they don't just try again-- because Aziraphale slows down a bit after it, afraid that Crowley could get hurt and that this is too dangerous, but he also understands now that Crowley is in love with him and when he hears in 1967 that Crowley is going after Holy Water, Aziraphale just gives him some, as a way of saying that he knows they're in love but this is impossible and they need to not pursue this in a way that will get them killed because he can't lose him.

A near-kiss in 1941 adds layers to 1967 Soho by adding an additional meaning of 'physical intimacy' to "dining at the Ritz". It adds even more weight to the end of S2 and the kiss and the "no nightingales" through to the Tori Amos angsty cover of "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" in The Bentley. There are other scenes (the end of S1 and others) that it touches as well, if indirectly, but maybe my favorite is this scene, which has already been given extra layers of meaning since The Blitz, Part 2 and The Bullet Catcher plot but lol now add in the idea that the rest of the story is that Crowley and Aziraphale were going to kiss and they were interrupted in the moment, shot at with at least one of them probably getting nicked, and then Crowley killed someone with The Bullet Catcher and tell me it doesn't make this already amazing sequence even more amazing:

#ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens theory #good omens 1941 #good omens meta #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale

[pinkandpurple360]

The comic where Angel meets Charlie and Vaggie makes the Stolizt parallels even more obvious and I can't even start how much it disgusts me-

First, Valentino calls AD to his limo- I know it's because chatting in the middle of the street is a bit tacky but to me it always felt so...delivered, like a way to even control the very atmosphere the victim is in (doesn't help the fact that in Addict, what looks like the first time that the assault happened, was in that very same limo) now what do this reminds me of? oh yeah! Of Stolas constantly "inviting" Blitzo to his huge ass castle- more specifically the room where all this shitshow started. Lovely. For someone that preach about how much he loves to spend time with Blitzo, the only time I recall him going to his place was when Via took the Griamore.

The fucking petnames- "Sweetheart, baby, cutiepie, sugar" ew, and they are all came in such an infantilization way to cut any explanation that Angel had about why he was out of the studio doing what he knows best- mob stuff. But Val don't care about whatever job AD might take on his own- oh no he just wants him paying HIM via exploration (Angel even offers an compromise of doing a "double shift tomorrow", but he is immediately silenced and threw to do work in the streets, as a punishment) now well- what does this reminds me of?- oh yeah! how in Murder Family Stolas went full "well you have MY book to do MY job, so...." while Blitzo is literally being chased by sociopaths. Again, is never about the "compromise" that it's absurdly disgusting and unbalanced to begin with, is about control. The main difference between these two assholes is that Valentino is more direct and threatens Angel with violence if he doesn't bend to his will, Stolas "sugarcoat" what is essentially an a threat to Blizt and his friends's only source of income- or pity.

Oh god yuck the parallels really are crazy aren’t they. All those times stolas calls his phone and he has to answer no matter what. And no matter the circumstances he always says “this is a bad time” “I got a chemical peel today so I can’t have sex with you” all this ways he’s trying to dodge him but he doesn’t listen or insists on it. LooLoo land is just as bad as murder family its unbelievable how hostile they are.

And YEAH it’s always a summon. He beckons and blitzo answers his call and arrives in that big stupid van. Then as we see in Harvest Moon, he goes to MnM for comfort, and completely relaxes there. He’s terrible to moxxie, but he does love him, and he makes him feel better. Millie too but we don’t see then talk enough. In seeing stars when stolas arrives in blitzos space, what does he do? He screams at and intimidates the three of them, as they cower in fear for their lives. The thought of calling stolas had Blitzø in a panic. He is scared of him. It’s so dark and fucked up. When I mentioned this on Twitter, people called stolas a parent scolding his kids(??!!) and insisted he was in the right both times he verbally abused them.

He threatens them as well “if you get in trouble I get in trouble, we don’t want that” This is a threat. But stolas is just allowed to abuse them and get away with it completely because he cries about how hard his life is. It’s actually unbelievable. It’s like Val screaming at Charlie for burning his set, then after she runs away Vaggie turns to Val like “ugh sorry sir, she’s a fool” then we get a sob story song about Val crying over how much he misses angel. Hell, give Valentino a kid that he sings lullabies to and you’ve got stolas 2.0

It reminds me of that “””heartbreaking”” scene where stolas says he liked the ‘date’ despite the fact he was just called out for giving up his daughter and guy life for sex— saying that his heartbroken confused teenage daughter is away this weekend so they “could” fuck and Blitz gets angry and says no..then softens and rephrases it to be like “I’m not in the mood” and even “I’m sorry” It’s just heartbreaking for blitz not the fucking owl

How many times do you think Angel said “I’m sorry I have a headache” “sorry I’m not in the mood Val” “I can’t do it tonight can we do it next time?”

#helluva boss critical #hazbin critical #angel dust #Valentino #stolas critical #Stolitz critical

[axemetaphor]

Everybody Loves a Mystery reached 50 hits on ao3 yesterday! I’m fuckin’ thrilled ‘cause I loved it a lot but was worried it’d be too niche for anybody else to give a shit. To celebrate, here’s the fic playlist. [YT] / [S] 

Since I tried to approach this fic like a movie, I decided the theme playlist for it works best as a soundtrack.

Here’s a breakdown of why I picked each song, under the cut.

Overall Theme: Werewolves of London Werewolves of London is everything I wanted this AU to be— fun, jaunty, surprisingly dark. It's cheesy and goofy and also talks about a little old lady getting mutilated by a werewolf with great hair. It just works! It's the perfect cheesy 80s werewolf movie song. I’d want a sample of this over the opening credits, if it were a movie.

First-Arc Theme: Renegade Renegade to me perfectly captures the opening tone: Amy’s journal entries about the dead dogs are a little dark, but once she actually reaches Undisclosed, she’s really kinda viewing it like a vacation. The lyrics themselves remind me of how John might feel—They haven’t actually had someone come in to monster-hunt before, but it’s not like he’s gonna take it seriously. The word is out, the jig is up, they’ve finally found me / The renegade who had it made, retrieved for a bounty is pretty dark, but sung in such a bright cheery tone. Putting it through the lens of perception that is John here, I’d call it mocking, even.

John's Parties: Dead Man's Party, Love Shack, Ballroom Blitz, When the Lights Go Out, Welcome To My Nightmare 

Dead Man's Party Dead Man's Party is the most cheery ominous bop I've ever fucking heard. If Amy weren't so single minded maybe she would've noticed how truly strange John's house parties were. She got a bit of a clue towards the end, with how pushy everyone was, but she never really got a grasp of how … lifeless other people around her really could be. When John didn't want them to act up, that is. 

Love Shack Alright, I'll confess, I'm guilty: this is just a for-fun add. I consider this one to be just the kind of song I'd want playing in the background during a party scene. It’s also a song that, I guess, if you held me at gunpoint, I’d remove from the soundtrack. But I wouldn’t be happy about it.

Ballroom Blitz Okay, I'm guilty again. I just fucking love this song. John's parties aren't violent scenes at all so it doesn't really fit, but it has that energy of being a fun party on the surface, while being very threatening underneath. It's another one I'd just want playing in the background of a party scene. 

When the Lights Go Out I can and will force you to listen to two Oingo Boingo songs on this "soundtrack." You have no choice. Fuck you.  When the Lights Go Out is the most ominous song in this section and that's on purpose. This is how John's parties really are— Kinda fucked up, ethereal, liminal not like the inside of a grocery store but like an acid trip. You don't know how long you've been in this, you don't know when it started, and you can't imagine it ending, let alone anytime soon. Despite that though the speaker, who I consider kind of a John-analogue in this case, seems to utterly love the place. 

Welcome To My Nightmare Welcome to my Nightmare is… equal parts suave and playful. Kind of. To me it feels like a clunky kind of suave but yaknow, maybe I don't know what suave means. Either way the lyrics feel like a pretty direct parallel; Amy’s stepping into John’s world here, and it’s a place that’s pretty fucked up but pretty fun. 

John Songs: Master of Puppets, Everybody Wants to Rule the World, Dude Looks Like A Lady

Master of Puppets Alright, let's get this out of the way first. No, I did not pick this song because of Stranger Things. Yes, Stranger Things reminded me of how much this song fucks. My dad was always more of an Iron Maiden kind of guy, but I grew up listening to a little Metallica too. This song fits John's whole shit— they are the puppet master of Undisclosed. They're running the whole show. This is the kind of thing I’d want as a credits song, as well as maybe a background song in an earlier scene, for foreshadowing purposes. 

Everybody Wants To Rule The World Beyond the fact it's an absolute bop, this is another obvious, on-the-nose pick for John. They do want to rule the world! Preferably with David as their right-hand man. Or lapdog. Whichever he'd prefer. Right now, though, they'll settle for ruling Undisclosed with Dave. 

Dude Looks Like A Lady This is another obvious pick for John here, to me anyway. If this shit were a real movie I'd picture it playing when Amy meets John at the post office. It's just the nonbinary energies John has. Also I think if you read into the lyrics it's about a trans woman who, I don't know, commits some crimes? It sounds to me like she rubs some place at gunpoint and the lead singer thinks she's so hot doing it he wants her to rail him. More power to him, honestly. 

Dave Songs: Hungry Like The Wolf, Werewolf

Hungry Like the Wolf This song honestly is more sexual than I always thought it was as a kid, which is kind of hilarious, but it's also, in a sort of a way, how Amy at first views Dave. He's dangerous and scary and kind of attractive but she's for sure frightened of him. He's absolutely not that scary in reality, but many things get filtered through her perception.

Werewolf If you've seen the poster for this fic then you know this is the song that started it all— It was part of what kicked off the ideation ghost-wannabe had before handing this project to my dumbass. It's not 80's whatsofuckingever, it’s brand-new at the time of posting this, but it does contain references to 80's songs, and it seems to have been written with the same kind of intentions as this AU. My reading of it is a man in love with his werewolf half, which … Dave isn't that self-loving but… well, I'll talk more about his relationship with his werewolf self in later works.

Amy Songs: Under Pressure, Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps), Bad Moon Rising

Under Pressure I have to be honest, this one is the least “thought-through” choice on here. Not like I’ve just slapped it on here, but because I can’t articulate the ways my brain is insisting it fits. It just does. Maybe something about how this AU’s Amy sounds similar to the friends being sung about in the song, maybe just because it’s a really good song, maybe it’s just that this Amy loves Queen. It’s in the second half of the soundtrack because it feels more “thematic” than “accurate to events in the work,” so it could be something like a credits song. “Axel, how long would these credits be?” Well, I can’t decide if this would be animated (so that I have an excuse to try and draw an entire fucking movie myself,) or live-action, so maybe they’d be some damned long credits. 

Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps) This one feels almost like a John-and-Amy kind of song, in the sense that John would see her as similar to the woman spoken about in this song— naïvely opening doors she can't close, exposing herself to things that drive her mad. There’s a little pity in them for her, because of that. Also I wanted to put some Bowie on this soundtrack, is that a crime? This is another song I’d think of being played in the background of one of John’s parties

Bad Moon Rising Bad Moon Rising is another one that nearly perfectly captures this AU's whole shit. It's got an upbeat tune and it's a song all about disaster and how shit's about to fall to pieces. There's something great about applying it to this Amy's almost clueless self-confidence— things continue to escalate, but she's still so sure she can fix it, handle it no problem. And to her credit she is very capable! Nobody could possibly have been prepared to handle what was really happening in Undisclosed. Maybe if things had just been a little different…

#jdate #jdate au #john dies at the end #everybody loves a mystery #elam #my au #my writing #not sonic

[hazbincalifornia]

Woo hoo I'm going to Hell with everybody in this damn show, but regardless! I just saw the "Sunny probably had a short-lived crush on Ozzie" thing, and would also like to offer you this: Sunny has a thing for their dad. He's just pregnant ALL THE FUCKING TIME, and he's got a body count longer than the constitution of people who openly talk about how good he is in bed, and he's always taken care of them, and they know they look like their pops, and they low-key hate Fizz a smidge during their adolescence, so all of this wraps up into "okay he's not here, I'M here, when is it my turn to give you a baby??" This probably doesn't come out very much in a super... Direct way? It's just an amped up "we don't need that guy, I can protect you, we're all we need" mindset on Sunny's side.

Adding on to that last one PURELY to make it worse, Sunny definitely would listen in on their dads to sort of... Move themself into Fizzarolli's place. Maybe this crush on Blitz and Ozzie are actually stemming from a Fizz issue, who knows, but they just KNOW they could do it better than their pops. Whether it be more in a nurturing spouse (but still horny) way with Blitz, or a specifically horny (with a sprinkle of validation seeking) way with Ozzie.

Hey, I have a ficlet half-written that I’m probably going to post as a send-off when I officially move Stella into the ‘new’ story where she moves into the castle at age five instead of age 18, and it’s going to make half of you hate me, so we’ll go down together. 🤝

I like this, a very literal daddy kink manifested partially of spite at Fizz and partially because of the clinginess that was partially because of their upbringing and partially just inherited from Blitzo himself.

We know Blitzo’s crude to everybody, so a few tossed off ‘oh, you’re really fucking your dad right now, you know that?’ when Sunny does something stupid or ‘oh, I could suck you dry, that was amazing’ when they do something good ends up tangling the wires a little extra. He doesn’t mean anything by it of course, but Sunny just basks in it every time and keeps for later.

The psychosexual implications of wanting to replace the often-absent father because you know you remind your dad of him and want to be the closest person to him no matter what is…. Whoof. Sunny was always probably clingy and wanted to do what they could to make Blitzo happy, so ‘I can be everything for you’ isn’t out of the question, and fantasizing about having a kid together that they wouldn’t abandon… They’d probably never tell him, just get closer and closer as they try to prove themselves, and since he’s such a cuddly and affectionate guy in general, he might not even realize until they got drunk and spilled the beans.

With Ozzie, ‘horny with a sprinkle of attention seeking’ sums it up, yeah. Ozzie’s thousands of years old and they know he still sleeps around now and then, and they want to be ‘worthy’.

#asks #anonymous #incest cw #fitzo kid au #sunny

[blueroseava]

The Start of something Dangerous Pt2

Here is a link to Part 1, if you haven't read it yet ;) And here is Part 3

No under 18's

Pairing: Yandere Machine Viktor x F Reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood and gore. Alludes to possible SA/mugging. Some possible angst? And stressful situations.

Note: I wrote this while listening to the Arcane Score soundtrack, so if you want to add to the angst and dread, I suggest listening to that as you read this. Enjoy. Part 3 coming soon.

I named your and Viktor's son Ambrose because if you search the meaning, Ambrose means Immortal or Immortality. Thought it kind of fitting ;)

The door creaks open slowly and out of the corner of his eye he can just see Blitzcrank peak his head inside of his work room. With an audible sigh the Machine Herald looks up at his creation, the mask obscuring the frown on his face.

“What is it Blitzcrank? You know I do not like being disturbed when I’m working.”

“Father unit, there is a child at the door seeking…”

Blitz doesn’t even get a chance to finish his sentence before a child rushes past him causing the Machine Herald to jump to his feet as Blitz tries to grab the small intruding figure, failing as the child nimbly moves out of his grasp and runs to embrace the Machine Heralds leg in what he can only assume is a hug. The child looks up at him with an expectant, almost hopeful look and there’s something familiar about the young face staring up at him. The Herald lets out a huff as he, as gently as is possible for him, tries to extricate his leg from the death grip the child has on it.

“Who are you, child? And why are you here? You don’t seem to need my help?”

“I knew you were alive! And now I’ve found you! Mama is going to be so happy when I tell her!”

…

Your boots thud against the cobbled road as you run towards the bridge, not sure how Ambrose made it across, but knowing him and his determination, if that’s what he wanted to do he would have found a way. You silently curse yourself for being so foolish, an intelligent boy such as himself, of course he would want to see the place his father grew up in; but what does this Machine Herald have to do with that? Even in Piltover you’ve heard talk about him, how he experiments on the residents of Zaun only to leave them disfigured once he’s done with them or grows bored of them. You shudder to think what he might do to your dear Ambrose should he get his hands on him. You ignore the burning in your chest as you start to run even faster, your son’s safety the only thing you care about.

It took a substantial bribe, but you’ve made; “Welcome to Zaun” you think to yourself as you wrap your scarf around your mouth and nose to try and block out the smog clogging the air. Pulling up your dark grey hood you set off deeper into the dark undercity, praying your sense of direction doesn’t fail you as you glance at the map Ambrose had left in his room. You’ve only been here once before, and that time you had Viktor as a guide. You had foolishly accompanied him on his quest to obtain shimmer from an old acquaintance of his in his pursuit to use the Hexcore on himself. You hadn’t wanted him to travel to the undercity alone, even if you didn’t approve of his plans. You sigh as you now try to navigate these twisted roads and alleyways on your own, your heart ready to jump out of your chest at the rate it’s beating. You glance down at the map in your hands, just a few more turns and you should be there, you just pray that Ambrose is safe. You look up from your map as you turn a corner, only to stop dead in your tracks. Your path is blocked by two rather imposing men who suddenly look up at your arrival, stopping whatever discussion they were having.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I think I took a wrong turn.”

As you spin around to leave, you walk straight into the chest of a third man entering the alleyway just behind you. A sturdy arm wraps around your waist to keep you from falling, but doesn’t seem to be letting go now that you’re steady on your feet again. A menacing grin spreads over his face as you try and push him away from you with all of your might. You hear the other two men now start to move closer and you feel panic rising in your throat like bile.

“Let go of me!”

“Now, now. The less you struggle, the faster this will be over.”

“I said let go of me you brute!!”

The three men erupt with laughter at you; weather it’s because of your useless struggling or your feeble attempt at name calling, you can’t be sure. The arm around your waist becomes a crushing vice and you struggle to draw a full breath, hopelessly pushing and swatting at the man holding you. You can hear your own blood pounding in your ears, deafening you to the sounds around you as your fight to free yourself consumes you; when suddenly the arm around you goes slack and the feeling of something warm and viscous sprays onto your face. You open your eyes that you hadn’t even realized you’d shut tight only to be met with some kind of horror in front of you. All three men lay bloodied and bleeding around you, their eyes open and staring at nothing as a small river of red slowly pools around your boots before flowing out into the dark abandoned street of Zaun. You feel your body tense up and as you inhale to let out a scream, something clamps over your mouth. A strange, yet sweet smell fills your nose and lungs and fogs over your brain and suddenly everything goes dark…

#viktor x reader #viktor #arcane #netflix arcane #viktor arcane #arcane lol

[hopelesshawks]

Physical Fatality Part 3- A Night to Remember

18+ Hawks x fem, pro hero!reader

Summary: You’re a rising star in All Might’s agency. Hawks is the darling of Endeavor’s. By virtue of your job descriptions, the two of you are supposed to hate each other, or at the very least be cautiously neutral. For a long time that’s exactly what the two of you did. You stayed out of each other’s way and formed little opinion of the other. One fateful night at an HPSC gala changes all that. Based on the album Hopeless Fountain Kingdom by Halsey.

If you don’t want to see Physical Fatality content blacklist #hopelesspf

This story will have multiple NSFW parts so it is 18+ ONLY minors dni

Warnings for graphic descriptions of unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (receiving), creampie, and minor dom/sub themes

Masterlist

Let no one say Bakugo doesn’t make good on his promises.

You wore a black gown that hugged your figure perfectly and a matching black mask. The dress had been designed specifically with you in mind with silver detailing spiraling throughout. The designer had said she chose it because of the way silver would wind up and branch out along your arms when you used your quirk. “I’m not sure how else to incorporate telekinesis in a dress so I hope this is enough,” the small owl-eyed woman had fretted. “It’s perfect,” you had assured her, and now, as you stepped onto the red carpet with Bakugo on one arm and Midoriya the other, you were proving your assertion correct. The press had, of course, immediately picked up on the lack of an engagement ring on your hand and the lack of a fiancé on your arm but you ignored any and all questions about your engagement as you otherwise charmed the press. Then the minute you all were safely inside the hotel the event was hosted at, you and Bakugo had exchanged mischievous looks before making a beeline to the bar. It had taken Midoriya at least twenty minutes to coax you both from the hotel bar to the main banquet hall and by then you already had a pretty good buzz going. That of course didn’t stop your quest to get blitzed on the agency’s credit, however, as the two of you simply switched from the cocktails downstairs to drinking the complimentary champagne like it was water.

“Kacchan, (y/n)-Chan, please, slow down,” Midoriya fusses. “I didn’t think he’d actually fuss the whole time,” you confess to Bakugo. You’re taking the glass of champagne currently in your hand slower. As much as you’d talked about being the opposite of respectable you don’t want to tip over into sloppy territory. You and Katsuki are a little too friendly and a little too loud and that, in your opinion, is the sweet spot. “Tried to warn you. Go hang with your girlfriend Deku we’re fine,” Bakugo insists. “Are you guys fine though? You know this is technically a work event,” Midoriya chides. “If they didn’t want us to get at least a little drunk they shouldn’t have offered free champagne,” you point out. “We’ll be fine dumbass, go hang with your girl and we’ll stay here and be responsibly drunk,” Bakugo insists. Midoriya looks between the two of you multiple times before casting a look back over his shoulder where he can see Uraraka, Iida, and Yaoyorozu all talking. “We’ll even let you be the one to take us home! Promise!” you add on. Midoriya casts one last skeptical look before breaking. “Ugh, fine. But I’m serious guys! You better stay right here,” Midoriya finally relents. You and Bakugo both give him a mock salute before he finally relaxes and goes to join Uraraka. “Hey Katsuki?” you suddenly pipe up. “What?” “I just realized something.” “What did you realize?” “I’m pretty sure since Monoma and I broke up I’m technically fucking homeless right now.” It’s not funny but the two of you crack up anyway.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Tokoyami groans as he trails behind Hawks, who is on the lookout for Mirko. “Even Dark Shadow thinks this is a horrible plan,” he insists. “Dark shadow does not think this is a horrible plan. Don’t put words in his mouth to prove a point,” Hawks says rolling his eyes. “I’m not, look,” Tokoyami insists. Hawks sighs and turns to face his friend. As the now very familiar black form emerges from Tokoyami’s torso, Hawks is 90% sure he’s about to be proven correct. In reality it’s a very good thing Hawks doesn’t gamble. Dark Shadow had promptly agreed with Tokoyami and it had only made the other man even more smug. “Whatever, I’m still going to find her,” Hawks huffs. “Why are you so insistent?” Tokoyami questions him. “She’s the love of my life! I’m sure of it!” “Oh my god you finally snapped.” “Fuck off.” “She is not the love of your life and even if she was she wants nothing to do with you now!” “You just don’t understand. I have to fight for her back.” “Would you tell her your real name?”

The last question makes Hawks stop in his tracks and whirl around back to this friend. “What are you on about now?” he asks. “If she’s the love of your life would you let her touch your wings and would you tell her your real name and if you had to choose between her and work would you choose her?” Tokoyami presses. Hawks opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He wants to say yes. He wants to stick it to his friend and tell him he would indeed let himself be vulnerable with Mirko because she’s the love of his life so there! But Keigo has always hated lying and he knows the answer is no to all of the above. So he opts instead to say “I don’t see how that’s relevant.” “I give up. When Mirko inevitably slaps you or this otherwise blows up in your face at least try not to let it happen in front of paparazzi. Endeavor is very proud we’ve been bad headline free this month,” Tokoyami sighs before turning the opposite direction and leaving Hawks to his own devices.

“One question remains (y/n),” Katsuki announces to you as you both finish your drinks. “And what would that be?” you giggle. “Who are we taking home tonight? Or I guess who am I taking home and who are you convincing to take you to their home since you’re technically homeless,” he elaborates. “We told Midoriya we’d stay here and he could escort us back home so he wouldn’t have to worry,” you reply. “You were actually going to listen?” “No I was gonna sneak off during the speeches to bang someone and then be back here in time for Midoriya to escort us home.” “Smart woman.” “Thank you.” “So who are you thinking?” he asks.

Your eyes scan the banquet hall before finally alighting on a pair of red wings. He’s wearing a black suit with a tie and mask to match the color of his wings. His sandy blonde hair is wild and you wonder if it was styled that way or if the man had flown here and made it that way. Something about him is magnetic and you can’t explain why but you have a strong desire to follow its pull. “I may have found someone, not sure yet,” you hedge. Bakugo hums in acknowledgment as he too scans around the hall. “Why are you bothering to look?” you ask. “The fuck are you on about?” he questions back. “We both know you’re big gay for Red Riot. I would bet you have been since high school,” you tease. “Shut up,” Bakugo grouses. “Am I wrong though? He’s gotta be around here somewhere,” you say looking around. You finally spot the tell tale red hair of the man Bakugo once drunkenly confessed to you he lusts after. “There he is,” you grin. “I swear to god dumbass,” Bakugo warns, looking suddenly nervous. You roll your eyes and flag down one last glass of champagne. You press it into Bakugo’s hands and then you look him in the eye with all the seriousness your tipsy ass can muster. “Listen here Katsuki. Take this liquid courage, down it in one go, march right up to that sexy ass motherfucker and whisk him off his goddamn feet. You are Katsuki motherfucking Bakugo aka Dynamight aka explosion murder GOD, the number three hero in Japan. Now go get your mans,” you tell him. You watch his crimson eyes fill with determination and you have to resist laughing at the way he looks eerily similar to how he does before a particularly daunting battle. “I’m gonna do it,” he decides. “Fuck yes!” you encourage as he knocks back the champagne before passing you the empty glass and storming over to where Kirishima is.

Meanwhile Hawks is still searching for Mirko when he lays eyes on you instead. It’s like everything else stops. The rest of the world fades away as he watches you talk with Bakugo. There’s something about how casual and wild and free you look, even dressed as elegantly as you are. There’s something different about you and he can’t peel his eyes away. How has he never seen you before? Surely he would’ve noticed someone as captivating as you sooner. The speeches are due to start soon and he really should find a seat or something, but then Bakugo leaves and you’re standing there all alone and Hawks’ feet are taking him over to you without his brain having consciously decided to do so. “Mind if I join you?” he asks before he can talk himself out of it, taking a spot next to you leaning against the table. “Not at all,” you reply with a grin. Mirko walks right past the two of you and he doesn’t even notice, too caught up in your smile and your voice. God your voice is just as beautiful as the rest of you. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” Hawks admits. “I could say the same to you,” you fire back. “Trust me this isn’t my first rodeo around here. But I’d remember someone as stunning as you coming to one of these,” Hawks replies easily. “Probably not if I was on another man’s arm,” you admit. “Oh, you have a boyfriend.” “Had a fiancé. Now I’m free,” you pause, looking him up and down, “well free as a bird I guess,” you finish smirking. Hawks laughs at that. “Wow, I definitely haven’t heard that one a million times,” he teases you. “I never said I was creative, just that I was free,” you tell him. When your eyes meet again it’s like a million volts have shot through your gazes and suddenly you’re hungry for him in a way you haven’t been hungry for anyone in a very long time. The lights dim as the first speaker takes the stage, out of the corner of your eye you notice a familiar blonde head leading a red one out of the room. A quick search soon reveals Midoriya eagerly watching the stage for whatever crusty retiree is about to speak. Basically, the coast is clear. “As much as I would love to listen to a bunch of old people recount stories of their hero glory days, what do you say you and I sneak over to the hotel bar for a drink,” you offer. “I’d like nothing more,” Hawks grins.

As it turns out the hotel bar is closed, but you and Hawks have no intentions of letting that stop your fun. After a quick check for security cameras or nosy bystanders, you reach out with your quirk and carefully bring a nice bottle of hard liquor from behind the bar. You promptly pass it to Hawks who raises an eyebrow at you. “I’ve been drinking most of the night, you sir need to catch up,” you explain cheekily. “Fair enough,” Hawks laughs. He cracks open the bottle and takes a long pull from it, wincing a little as it burns down his throat. “Now where to since the bar isn’t an option?” he asks. You pause and think for a moment before coming up with an idea. “Follow me,” you whisper conspiratorially before grabbing Hawks’ hand and dragging him down the hall to the stairs, both of you abandoning your masks as you go.

Hawks has never done anything this wild and reckless before. Regardless of the press’s perception of him, Hawks has had a highly regimented life since the HPSC took him in, and his sense of duty and responsibility had only grown since he properly began his career. Sure, he’s had a few girlfriends over the years, but he truly was looking for love in every one of them. Yes, even the ones after Mirko.

You are something different entirely. What he felt for all of them combined could not compare to the feelings racing through him now as the two of you run up the stairs two at a time, the sound of your footsteps echoing up the tight stairwell. He can’t take it anymore and when the two of you reach the next landing he tugs you into him by your hand and kisses you. He can taste the champagne on your tongue but there’s also something uniquely you in the kiss that he can’t get enough of. So he takes and takes and takes like a man starving and you’re all too happy to give it to him. When you two stop to catch your breath you whisper, “come on, we’re almost there,” and then press another kiss to his lips quickly before tugging him out the door into the hallway.

You keep going until you finally find the door you’re looking for. When you try the handle it’s locked but you’re not concerned. You bend down and extend your quirk into the lock, closing your eyes so you can concentrate. You can feel the different tumblers and get to work pushing at each one experimentally until they click into the proper position and the door unlocks. You grin and push the door open. “After you,” you say. “That’s a neat party trick. You sure you’re a hero?” Hawks teases as he steps into the room. As he finally turns to take it in he realizes you’ve brought him to the hotel pool. “I’m sure,” you laugh, “just grew up a bit rougher than most have. Lockpicking is pretty simple to be honest. Regardless, we should have this place to ourselves.” Hawks can relate but he’s not allowed to tell you that, so instead he asks “Oh really?” “Really.” “Wonder what we should get up to then,” he muses before suddenly pushing you into the water.

It takes a half a second for you to register what’s happening and then you’re plunging under the surface of the water. You quickly resurface and you want to be pissed but your mystery man is laughing and it’s so beautiful it’s as if the sun itself is contained within his smile. Something tells you he doesn’t laugh like this much, so, instead of getting angry, you decide to get even. “Oh you think that’s funny bird boy?” you ask. “I do,” he grins down at you as he stands what he thinks is a safe distance away from the pool’s edge. “Then why don’t you come join me,” you smile back. You reach out with your quirk, feeling it wrap around his body and then tug. You can see the shocked look on his face as your quirk drags him to the water’s edge and then unceremoniously dumps him in the water. As he comes up for air, shaking water out of his hair he looks so affronted but you can see the amusement there too. He hadn’t expected you to retaliate. So now it’s your turn to laugh. Even though your dress is probably ruined and your perfectly styled hair definitely is for the night, you laugh in a way you haven’t in ages. “Oh it’s on now,” Hawks declares and suddenly the two of you are splashing each other like children, both trying to use your quirks to gain an advantage. It’s crazy and chaotic and soon splashing turns to all but wrestling and when he finally has you pinned against him and immobilized, your back to his chest and his arms holding you tightly so you can’t squirm away, both of you stop. You both try to catch your breath, the sound of the water and your heavy breathing echoing off the pool walls. You can feel his growing erection pressing against you and you know how the rest of this will go. You’ve got an impressive resume of one night stand experience, have heard all the lines, so you’re prepared for whichever one he’s about to use. At least you think you are. “I’ve never met anyone like you before,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, “I don’t usually do stuff like this. Someone like you is new to me.” You’re about to roll your eyes when you notice his hands are shaking and it occurs to you that he must mean every word.

You hadn’t expected that. Not at all. This is different than those one night stands. He’s different. The scariest part is that this is new for you too. You don’t do play fighting in the pool. Even with Monoma there had been no magic in the relationship. It was a necessary work deal and then it morphed into something comfortable. When you invited Hawks to the bar you had just meant to drag him away for sex and then leave to go back to the gala the minute you both were satisfied. You’d weather Midoriya’s concerned look and Bakugo would high five you and then you’d forget about the mystery man with the red wings. You turn in his arms, your eyes meet his golden ones, and immediately your heartbeat is kicking in your chest. This is not that. This is more than that.

And that fucking terrifies you.

Before you can fully panic Hawks is kissing you with an intensity you can appreciate and a yearning you are shocked by but can relate to all the same. This is a one night deal. That’s how these things go. But there’s a small, traitorous part of you screaming that it doesn’t have to be this way. So you kiss him like this is the first of many to satiate that small part of you, but you also kiss him like it’s the last one ever because you know that’s the more likely option. You kiss him until kissing isn’t enough and your hands move to push his suit jacket off. He catches onto the memo quickly and removes his jacket easily before tossing it aside. He goes to remove his shirt and fumbles, Jesus Christ his hands are still shaking, so you replace his with yours and carefully begin to undo each button as he instead reaches to pull down the zipper of your dress. Between the two of you and your quirks it isn’t much longer until you’re both naked, pressed together, your clothes laid out on the side in the vague hope they’ll be drier by the time the two of you have to leave the haven you’ve created. You don’t even notice that Hawks is walking you backwards until you feel the pool ledge against your back but small details like that feel irrelevant when he’s got one hand on your waist to keep you steady and the other on your breast to thumb at your sensitive nipple.

“Up,” he commands and it sends a bit of a shiver down your spine as you obediently hop up onto the ledge. You expected him to join you but he doesn’t, instead grabbing your thighs and pulling you closer to him. It’s interesting looking down on him like this but you think you could get addicted to the hungry look in his eyes. He slowly spreads your thighs apart, maintaining eye contact in a silent request for permission as you realize what he has planned for you. You give a short nod and then he’s diving in, his tongue immediately licking up along your folds. You shudder and your grip on the pool ledge tightens as he finds your clit and begins to lavish attention on it, licking at and sucking on the sensitive nub. You think you could get off on that alone but then he switches focus, not wanting to end things too quickly, as he instead begins to tongue fuck you like his life depends on it. You throw your head back and moan as you feel his tongue sliding in and out of you, his nose occasionally brushing over your still sensitive clit. He reaches one hand up to give your nipples some attention too and soon you can’t help the keening noises that spill from your lips unbidden. You card one hand through his hair and then grab onto some of the locks as you press him in deeper, helping guide him and that magic tongue of his exactly where you want it. It doesn’t take much longer after that for you to reach climax and the look of smug satisfaction on his face after has you hungry for more of him.

You’d let him be the boss so far but it’s your turn now. “I need you up here now bird boy,” you pant as you try to catch your breath, tugging on his hair to emphasize your point. He looks a little bewildered but you can tell by the way his dick twitches he’s not opposed. “Yes ma’am,” he replies cheekily as he climbs out of the pool. As soon as he’s on the side with you you move to straddle his hips and his hands instinctively go to your waist. “Ready?” you ask and he quickly nods his head. You don’t need any more encouragement as you line yourself up and then slowly sink yourself down onto his dick. For some reason the moment you’ve fully sunk down and he’s buried all the way inside you is incredibly overwhelming. So overwhelming, in fact, you think you might cry. It’s inexplicable, but when your eyes meet Hawks’ you can tell he feels exactly the same. You stare at each other with watery eyes as he whispers “This is...” and trails off, shaking his head as he struggles to find the words to describe this moment. “Heaven in hiding,” you finish for him and it’s like something clicks into place in both your hearts. “Yea. This is heaven in hiding,” he confirms and then he’s kissing you and there’s something there you’re too terrified to identify but you still give it back to him.

You start moving, lifting your hips slowly before sinking back down onto him again and the way he whimpers into your mouth is intoxicating. He lets you control the rhythm as you ride his dick, instead focusing on trailing kisses down your neck as he rubs and pinches your nipples. You’re so incredibly tight around him that he can barely stand it. So he allows himself this surrender, allows himself to be lost in you and wholly unrestrained for the first time in a very, very long time. “Can I-?” you ask with your hand reaching for, but stopping just shy of, his wings so he can see what you’re doing and decide first. He drops his hands to your waist to still you for a second as he stares at your face in wonder almost. “No one’s bothered to ask before,” he confesses and he hadn’t really realized how much that bothered him until now. “They should’ve,” you reply simply. He takes hold of one of your hands and brings it to his mouth to press a kiss to your knuckles before guiding your hand to one of his wings. You carefully run your hands through the feathers beneath your fingertips, shocked at their softness, and notice the way he shivers at the touch. “Are they sensitive?” you ask curiously as you continue to stroke them. “Fuck. Yes baby, very,” he groans as he leans forward to rest his head against your shoulder, his grip on your hips tightening. You experimentally clench your fist around a handful of the feathers and tug slightly, immediately his hips buck up into you and he groans. “It’s ok I’ve got you,” you tell him. He pulls back so he can finally look into your eyes again and quietly replies “I know.”

You’re not even sure who initiated it this time when the two of you begin kissing each other again. You start riding him again, the two of you quickly finding a tender rhythm together to move in sync. His wings flare and puff up behind him as if loving the sudden attention you’re giving them and as you continue to stroke through them Hawks brings one of his hands to your clit to provide extra stimulation to you too. Your moans echo back to you and it’s like the two of you are creating a symphony in this little safe haven you’ve created for yourselves in the hotel pool and it’s all so much. Almost too much. You can feel tears on your cheeks and you’re not sure if they’re yours or his, but you don’t care. You don’t care in the slightest you just need him, all of him. Finally you give a particularly strong tug on his feathers and it’s enough to have him crying out as he reaches his orgasm. The feeling of him filling you up and the gorgeous picture he makes is enough to send you over the edge as well and there’s nothing either of you can do besides hold each other tightly, moans choking out of your throats like sobs as you’re overwhelmed by your climaxes and the unnamed feelings bursting between the two of you.

When the feeling finally passes it leaves both of you somewhat drained as you pant to catch your breath. Hawks carefully reaches a hand to your cheek and brushes away your tears. You’re more than happy to return the favor. Turns out both of you had been crying. “Was that as insane and overwhelming for you as it was me,” Hawks asks quietly. “Yea... Yea it really fucking was,” you confess. “Good,” Hawks replies before pressing another sweet kiss to your lips. Both of you have the distinct thought, “I could stay like this forever,” at the same time, but it would seem the universe has other plans.

Your quiet moment is disturbed by the sound of an alarm blaring overhead. You both curse your luck but still are in no hurry to move. You carefully remove yourself from his dick, trying diligently to ignore how obscene it looks to watch his cum start to dribble out of you and how it feels like a loss for it not to stay. Hawks seems to be having similar thoughts but tears his eyes away as he goes to get dressed. You use your quirk to squeeze out as much water as you can from your dress without further damaging it. The alarm is still blaring and you’re both well aware you should be moving with more urgency but it’s hard to make yourselves leave the little world you created for yourselves in here. Once you’re both redressed you quietly clasp each other’s hands and finally leave the room.

The alarm is even louder in the hallway and it’s like the magic of the previous moment is shattered by it. “We probably should arrive separately. Avoid scandal and all that,” you say. “You’re right,” he admits. Neither of you let go of the other’s hand. Finally you sigh, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, before slipping your hand from his and heading the opposite direction. You both jog away in a bid to exit the building and figure out what’s going on when a thought strikes you. You don’t know each other’s names. You decide it’s for the best. Hawks spins around to try and catch up to you and ask but you’re already gone. It feels like an ending.

It’s actually only the beginning.

Author’s Note: I typically try to keep the reader’s quirk nonspecific in my work because I know a lot of people have ideas of what they’d want their quirk to be if they were in the MHA universe but (y/n)’s quirk has plot relevance so I gave her a specific one. She can move objects with her mind (telekinesis) but she feels it almost like a physical sensation, as if there’s an invisible extension of herself reaching out to grab things. It’s why she can use it for something as specific as picking a lock. As y’all can see this one got away from me lol but I hope it’s worth the wait. OH ALSO the pool scene is inspired by the one from Baz Luhrman’s Romeo and Juliet.

Taglist [open]: @akkaso @cathy8taffy @eeppff

#hopelesspf #hawks #wing hero hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n

[r6shippingdelivery]

headcannons for hobbies? Like what they do on their off time?

Hi nonnie! I actually did a Hobbies HC for “all” ops a long time ago. But seeing that was before the expanded bios, and it only reached up to Gridlock and Mozzie, I’d say it’s time for an updated version, don’t you say? 

Some of the answers are unchanged from the old post, because I already nailed it or the new info didn’t disprove my ideas. But I had to revise a lot of the answers I gave the first time around! In order to find their hobbies and/or get a glimpse of their lives beyond Rainbow and what they might like, I read all the bios, and looked up concept art, and elites, and past battlepass content, etc. And when none of that was enough, I just went with my gut instinct 😂 Thank you to @grain-crain-drain, @dagoth-menthol & @todragonsart for bouncing ideas with me when I was stuck! 💕

Hobbies Headcanons for ALL ops (up to Neon Dawn)

FBI

- Ash: According to her savta, shooting things is not a hobby, but Ash disagrees. And since according to her expanded bio she knows Hebrew, Arabic, English, French and Greek, I’m willing to bet she enjoys learning languages as well. - Thermite: He grew up on a ranch and loves riding. He’s also taken an interest in improving gadgets it seems, so my old proposal that he dabbles in forging/smithing stuff seems plausible. And based on this concept art, demolition derbies attending and maybe even competing himself too? - Pulse: He’s interested in a variety of topics and goes through phases of intense, nearly obsessive focus, until something else captures his attention. He still has a lingering fondness for building muscle cars, since it was something he used to do with his father. And like Thermite and Hibana, it seems he might enjoy demolition derbies. - Castle: He’s a language nerd, studying/reading/practicing new languages is his hobby for sure. Since the expanded bio says he rescues abused dogs, I don’t think it would be far fetched he volunteered at animal shelters too.

SAS

- Thatcher: Aside from repairing his boat, The Iron Maggie, he also enjoys fishing. He used to do that with his dad & brothers, and tried to take the rest of the SAS fishing as a bonding experience. It didn’t go very well - Sledge: He plays rugby, and has an inexplicable fondness of trying the wildest ideas that tend to end with something broken, be it one of his bones or a structure or wall (just read his extended psychological profile and you’ll see, lmao) - Smoke: Boxing, it helps him focus all his chaotic energy. And chemistry in general, it’s not just a hobby but a passion of his. - Mute: he enjoys tinkering with stuff, taking it apart and then putting it back together in a different way, just to see if he can improve it or make it work in his own way. Flying drones plays perfectly into that, with the added bonus of being able to do the flying part just for fun too.

GIGN

- Montagne: His main passion is working with people, teaching and mentoring others, and therefore when he’s not on duty, his main passtime still is mingling with people and getting to know them. I could see him making overtures with Castle, interested in the American and fascinated by his knowledge of various languages, an area Monty feels insecure about due to only knowing French and English.  - Twitch: Engineering, robotics and developing an empathic AI is her life.Twitch is a workaholic passionate about those topics. She also greatly enjoys traveling and, according to her expanded bio, people watching.  - Doc: He surely had some hobby at one point, but he can’t remember it, or the last time he had free time for it. Doc is also a workaholic, although one that loves to complain about it.  - Rook: Apparently he’s passionate about cycling, auto racing, and rock concerts. Mainly cycling though, since he dropped out of university to cycle around France.

Spetsnaz

- Tachanka: He collects and repairs old weapons. Mostly soviet, but he has some interesting pieces from other countries too. And he dances surprisingly well.  - Kapkan: Aside from a certain interest in psychology, his main hobby is hunting, of course. But he also whittles and carves wooden figurines.  - Glaz: Quite obviously, painting. He’s an artist, and quite a good one. He also likes playing cards, especially poker. - Fuze: He builds new weapon prototypes for fun. And tests them, if he can convince Six of it. He also likes to bake from time to time, a skill he learnt thanks to his grandma - and because he has a sweet tooth.

GSG9

- Jäger: Planes. Model planes, repairing old WWI & II planes, you name it. And watching copious amounts of documentaries.  - Bandit: His bike is his main hobby, both taking care of it and riding it. He also likes playing pool; and, if pranking people counts as a hobby, that’s his oldest one, dating from when he was a kid. - Blitz: He was and still is an athlete at heart, and Blitz loves running. - IQ: In order to disconnect from engineering pursuits, she indulges in rock climbing, spelunking, and writing science fiction stories.

JTF2

- Buck: He crafts mechanical puzzles, and enjoys all kinds of physical activity that can take place outdoors. - Frost: She just loves being surrounded by nature, and often goes mountain climbing or diving.

SEAL

- Valkyrie: Swimming and diving, of course! She wanted to be a professional swimmer, but now it’s just a hobby. And apparently she enrolled for a helicopter pilot license, and language classes. - Blackbeard: According to the expanded bios, he likes sailing and even participated in a championship. And since he climbed Mount Everest, it’s safe to say he also likes mountain climbing.

BOPE

- Capitao: He loves football, playing or watching it, doesn’t matter, he’s all for it. - Caveira: Spends a lot of time practicing Jiu Jitsu, in the gym and also on unofficial tournaments.

SAT

- Hibana: For her it’s traditional Japanese archery (Kyūdō). And probably demolition derbies too accounting that concept art from before with Thermite and Pulse. - Echo: According to the expanded bio, he has few interests outside work, but I always imagined he’d be into gaming and e-sports. Hacking too, and that’s a direct influence from Dokkaebi.

GEO

- Jackal: He plays the acoustic guitar/spanish guitar, and sings too. And now we also know he volunteers with at-risk youth. - Mira: Fixing cars is second nature to her, and thanks to her expanded bio we know she also does metal sculptures that incorporate used mechanical parts.

SDU

- Ying: Extreme driving, which can sometimes trigger her PTSD, and traveling. Especially exploring cities by randomly jumping in public transport and just going anywhere. - Lesion: He is also one to volunteer in underprivileged areas (like Junk Bay, where he grew up), and clearing mines and other unexploded devices. I also imagine him with a certain gusto for playing blackjack.

GROM

- Zofia: If obsessing about her father’s supposed suicide and the oddities surrounding it, and desperately trying to reconnect with her sister count as hobbies, sure, she has those. - Ela: She’s also an artist, one with a very particular vision that some have called narcissistic. Apparently she also does some “freelance” volunteer work, roaming the streets at night and offering help/comfort, or a willing ear to the people she meets.

707SMB

- Vigil: He likes to take walks around the forest, just aimless exploring and marvelling at nature and any animals he might come across. Often listens to relaxing music while doing so, and he might pick a pretty rock here and there to bring home. - Dokkaebi: Hacking is her hobby, of course. She also has several social media profiles and is an active member in a couple of hacking forums. As per a previous battlepass, I believe she enjoys mountain trekking too. And dancing to electro beat, due to her elite.

CBRN

- Lion: His rebel years left him with an appreciation for rock music and a dream to be in a group. Lion still plays the electric guitar, when he’s not off volunteering at the local church. - Finka: Pushed by her parents from a young age to try different sports, just like her siblings, she eventually discovered a strong love for fencing and ice-skating.

GIS

- Maestro: Cooking, and boxing, an interest he shares with Smoke. But mostly cooking. - Alibi: She’s also a marksman, engages Ash in friendly shooting competitions.

GSUTR

- Clash: She’s very involved in different activist causes, mostly surrounding racial issues and inequality. - Maverick: Photography, mostly nature or candid shots of his fellow operators. I also think he likes horses and riding. And Buzkashi of course, but he hasn’t played since he left Kabul.

GIGR

- Kaid: Playing chess, he’s a good strategist and it shows. And  while dozing off with a cat on his lap is not a hobby, he also loves that. - Nomad: Traveling to all sorts of remote locations, she’s an explorer with a thirst to prove herself. She also keeps a travel journal, which includes maps and some drawings of the places she’s seen.

SASR

- Mozzie: Dirt biking, of course. The more dangerous the jumps and stunts are, the more he likes it. He knows his limits and works to surpass them. - Gridlock: Robotics. She still wants to compete again in robot championships, just like she and Mozzie did so many years ago. She would consider that fixing cars and vehicles has become more part of her job than a hobby, but still loves it too.

Phantom Sight

- Nokk: Fencing, as evidenced by some of her concept art, she participated in fencing tournaments. - Warden: He knows appearances are important, and he cultivated a very specific image, so he likes to take care of that, be it by buying luxury or antique cars, or designer suits, etc.

Ember Rise

- Amaru: Archeology and exploring the Amazon jungle is her passion. It used to be her whole life and job, but since she joined Rainbow, she’s been busy with training and missions, yet she never lost her love for adventure, history and protecting her country’s cultural artifacts. - Goyo: He’s a really good chess player, and enjoys other games where he either has to think, or his usual poker face and calm demeanor can throw his opponents off.

Shifting Tides

- Kali: When she’s not writing reports about her underlings progress, or making lists about who should be ascended/rewarded, who needs to be punished or chastised, etc, she’ll be doing yoga, since it helps her focus. Or hardcore pilates when she needs to burn away some frustration first. - Wamai: Diving and being underwater in general, be it on his special immersion tanks or on the actual sea, it doesn’t matter. He finds it calming (and he’s addicted to the anoxia sensation)

Void Edge

- Iana: Space exploration fascinates her, and she’s always trying to learn everything she can about the cosmos, watching documentaries and conducting her own in-depth research. - Oryx: Wrestling helps him hone his physical prowess, and it’s also a measured outlet for his deep seated rage. He also greatly enjoys reading poetry.

Steel Wave

- Melusi: She’s committed to the conservation cause, which stems from both her love of wildlife and nature, and her protective instincts. She likes to explore too, although she’s not driven by a will to prove herself or reach certain goals, but simply for the joy of seeing natural spaces. - Ace: Social Media. He’s obsessed with his public image and popularity. While he travels quite a bit, it seems he does it more to share new and exciting selfies on Instagram than for the pleasure of visiting new places.

Shadow Legacy

- Zero: He knits and crochets, it’s an engaging hobby that helps him clear his mind, plus he enjoys making stuff too. Not many people know about this side of him though. 

Neon Dawn

- Aruni: She and Hero, her giant pouched rat, volunteer on landmine detection and removal efforts. She also likes to travel extensively, and has done so in the company of Twitch and Nomad.

#rainbow 6 siege #r6s #rainbow six siege #rainbow 6 #headcanons #Anonymous

[duhragonball]

Hellsing Liveblog Ch 28-34

“Alucard, you’re the laziest vampire on Mars.”

So, I’ll be wrapping up the “D” arc in this post.   Previously, we saw a squad of Millennium goons commandeer a British carrier.  Their leader, Lt. Rip Van Winkle, has a musket that shoots magic bullets that can change direction in mid-air.    Also, Integra cut her own finger and made Seras lick the blood off.    As for Alucard, he’s been binging medical blood and taking a nap.

This is all to set up a one-off gag where Alucard has a dream similar to the one Seras had back in Brazil, where she was visited by the spirit of her cannon, which looked a lot like the guy who played Lord Harkonnen in the Dune movie.   Not the new one, the one with Sting in it.    Not the wrestler Sting, the musician.  

I don’t know why, but the spirit of Al’s gun, the Jackal, is Bruce Willis, but then Bruce gets killed by another guy who looks like Muldoon from Jurassic Park?  Maybe?   I just googled Muldoon and he doesn’t quite look like I remembered, but there’s no point to any of this, so let’s just move on.  

Aboard the H.M.S. Eagle, now renamed the Alder by Milennium, Lt. Winkle has painted a swastika on the deck and she’s taking a nap in the middle of it.  Her team is all holed up inside, and they talk about how they’ll never be able to venture out in the sun again.   This seemed like a continuity gaffe to me, but then this one dude points out that unlike them, Winkle is a werewolf.   So that’s why she can go out in the sun and they can’t.  

Maybe the Hellsing Ultimate anime covered this, and I just missed it, but when I watched that series in 2016, I found it strange how there only seemed to be two werewolves in Millennium: The Captain, and Warrant Officer Schrodinger.   And yet, Schrodinger speaks of his fellow werewolves with some pride, as if there were more than just two of them, and it turns out that this was what he meant.    Rip Van Winkle’s a werewolf, and I’m starting to think Zorin Blitz must be a werewolf too.   

And that explains a few things, because the real inner circle of Millennium is those four characters, the Doctor, and the Major.   Their 1,000 soldiers are vampires, but their leaders are not.   Like the guy in this scene observes, Millennium’s vampire corps are “mere rookies” compared to the werewolves, and that’s why they’re the ones the Major put in charge.   

This also puts the Dandyman in context.   The Doctor seemed to have high hopes for the Dandyman, but he failed to put a dent in Alucard.   I never understood his confidence, seeing as Winkle and Blitz were stronger, but now it makes sense.   The Doctor’s been trying to perfect artificial vampirism for the last fifty-odd years.   Dandyman represented the most powerful vampire he could produce, and he paled in comparison to the real thing.    Millennium’s werewolves are far more capable, but I don’t know if the Doctor had anything to do with them.    Even if he did, his success with them is unrelated to his vampire research.   

Also, Rip just looks... different somehow.   Maybe I’m grasping at straws, but her design might be intended to evoke wolf-like features, as opposed to vampiric features.   Well, I’ll worry about that later.

In England, Sir Integra barges in on the British Navy HQ and all the officers there take offense. They seem to find the idea of vampires ludicrous, even though Hellsing is an official government agency and has been for over 100 years.   Their commander, Vice-Admiral Shelby Penwood, asks her to stay, but it’s like his subordinates don’t even notice this.   He’s a pretty weak leader, is my point.

The Navy insists on handling the Eagle crisis without Integra, so she lights up a cigar and observes them in action.   They send some helicopters to check out the carrier, but Winkle shoots them down with her magic bullet.   It quickly becomes apparent that nothing can get close enough to the Eagle without getting destroyed, and since the Navy won’t listen to Integra, she withdraws to her own HQ to consider a proper strategy.   

The fundamental problem for Hellsing is that they need to get Alucard or Seras aboard the Eagle in order to neutralize the threat, but vampires can’t cross running water.   A boat is out of the question because it’s too slow, and an aircraft would be shot down by the magic bullet.    But there is one aircraft that can get the job done...

So Integra arranges to launch a modified SR-71 Blackbird.     Comics fans will recognize this as the plan the X-Men used in the comics.   I don’t know if they still use it.    At some point it probably stopped being cool, but in 1999 it was cool enough for Hellsing.   Strictly speaking, the Blackbird in this comic was heavily modified by the RAF’s research and development teams, so it’s practically a whole other aircraft.   The main point, though, is that it’s a reconnaissance plane, capable of flying at speeds of Mach 3 and at altitudes of 16 miles.  Unlike Sir Penwood’s aircraft, this one can approach the Eagle high enough in the air to avoid enemy fire.

Below, Rip Van Winkle appears to sense Alucard’s approach and seems to have a panic attack over it.   Me, I’m just wondering why Hellsing wasted precious time having their cutesy logo painted on the tailfin of this plane.  

So how the hell does Alucard plan to get the plane down without getting shot at?   SImple, he doesn’t.    He just nosedives straight down onto the carrier, and what does he care if the plane gets shot to hell on the way down?   

A lot of this arc is just badass shots of this crash landing, and the ensuing carnage.   I’m skipping a lot of beautiful artwork, but there’s really nothing going on beyond “Alucard crashes his plane onto an aircraft carrier.”

Once he hits the ground, Al releases his restraints to Level 1, the same level he used against Luke Valentine, and he goes to town on Milennium’s soldiers.    Rip Van Winkle keeps whimpering about Zamiel, which is a reference to Der Freischütz , a German opera about a huntsman with a musket that fires seven magic bullets.   The first six will hit whatever the huntsman aims for, but the seventh belongs to the Evil One, Zamiel, who can guide it wherever he pleases.   

Winkle flashes back to a coversation she had years ago with the Major, who recognizes her musket as a reference to Der Freischütz, and he warned her to remember how the opera ends: With Zamiel coming to claim the soul of Kaspar.   Rip is terrified because it doesn’t take a genius to see how Alucard’s attack might resemble this moment.   

After her men are all destroyed, Rip gathers enough composure to put up a fight, but her magic bullet can only hit Alucard, not kill him.   Eventually, he just catches the thing in his mouth, neutralizing her power entirely.   

Then we proceed with what I consider the most gruesome scene in the whole story.   Alucard starts by impaling Rip through the heart with the barrel of her own musket.

Then he sprouts all these extra hands and grabs hold of her like some horrible nightmare-spider or something.   

Then he starts licking up the blood from her wound, really taking his time with it.    He’s stuck on this boat, after all, and there’s no one else alive to distract him.   

And finally he goes for the jugular, as it were.   

Aboard his zeppelin, the Major is watching all of this.   I guess Schrodinger’s power to be anywhere makes it possible for them to keep tabs on what’s happening.   All he has to do is bring a video camera along.   The Doctor prepares to activate Winkle’s self-destruct chip, but the Major forbids this.   They used this device on Jan Valentine and the Dandyman, but only because they failed in their missions.   As for Rip Van Winkle, the Major declares her mission a complete success.    He orders his men to salute as they watch her die slowly at the hands of Alucard.    A twisted honor, to be sure.

And with Winkle finally dead, Alucard just laughs up a storm.  

Here’s the problem, he’s stuck on that boat now.  And Hellsing knew it would go like this when they sent him, but they didn’t have a choice.   Early into the crisis, Integra and Walter recognized the Eagle as a mere decoy, one that would distract them from the real threat, but they couldn’t ignore it, and now Alucard’s on the Eagle while Millennium’s true forces are heading for Great Britain.

So yeah, take a good look at Alucard, because we won’t be seeing him again for a while...

#2021hellsingliveblog #hellsing #lt rip van winkle #the major #the doctor #alucard #sir integra hellsing #walter c dornez #seras victoria #bruce willis or something idc

[misterewrites]

Hellish Blitz (Welcome to the Underground)

Hey everyone! E here after a pretty long month. Sorry it's been a rough one and I've barely had time to actually write the next part down but it is here, it is ready and I hope you all enjoy it! I am very pleasantly surprised how well this original work is doing and I appreciate everyone who reads this story or shares with your friends. Thank you so much and I hope you keep enjoying it. Stay safe, wash your hands, wear you mask and take care of each other. E out have a great week!

Here’s the link if you wanna read it on ao3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/73437030

Chapter summary:  Now trapped in prison for a demonic hellspawn, Abigail and co. race to find the seal that will weaken the demon and prevent its a escape before it grows too powerful to stop. As Abigail and Oliver search for the seal, it is up to the forsaken paladin Fen and Archibald to distract the demon long enough for everyone to escape.

-----

“You’re terrible.”

“And?”

Abigail frowned, unsure how to respond to the simple matter of fact tone of that answer.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” She asked curiously.

“Why should it?” Oliver eyed her carefully.

“It might affect my opinion of you.”

“So?” Oliver began plucking books off their shelves and tossing them to the floor haphazardly “I don’t really care about your opinion.”

Abigail pursed her lips unhappily “You’re just the worst.”

Oliver kicked over a chair “Maybe but I’m exactly who I said I am. I’m not pretending and putting lives in danger.”

Abigail said nothing, opting to check under a rug for any sign of the seal.

“Besides what do you care?” Oliver shot back “It’s not like we’re not friends.”

“I’m trying to be polite.” Abigail mumbled softly under her breath.

“Don’t.” Oliver said simply “Speak your mind. You might not get a chance later.”

Abigail bit her lips, unsure if this was a trap or some other angle the bard had planned.

Oliver leaned against the wall, arms crossed and eyes focused on Abigail.

Abigail sighed and rose to her feet, brushing away the dust from her hands and pants “I think you are a jerk who has never learned manners ever. I think you get your kicks from pissing off people and making them feel miserable. I can’t get a bead on you and it’s frustrating! Every time I think you might not be that bad, you go and kick a paladin when they’re down! And now I’m going to die with you being an ass.”

“All better?”

“Yeah actually.” Abigail admitted, surprised how much anger and frustration she been holding in. Three days and she hadn’t really realized how much was eating at her.

“Good.” Oliver pushed off the wall, his eyes darting around for any sign of a hiding place “Let’s get a move on.”

“That’s it?” Abigail tilted her head “You’re not gonna say what you hate about me? How much of a goody two shoes I am or that I’m annoying?”

“Nope”

And like that Oliver disappeared deeper into the house, not another word escaping his lips.

-----

The creaking of the house did not help Archibald’s nerves as he and Fen moved silently through the unhallowed halls of the prison.

Archibald’s six months with the Swift Slivers brought him vital battlefield experience he never got as a recruit on the surface but nothing prepared him for this nightmarish situation: Hunting a demonic being from another plane alongside a forsaken paladin with the only goal being stalling long enough for Abigail and Oliver to find a well hidden seal and figuring out how to restrengthen it without any prior experience or knowledge. He didn’t have his family of warriors, clerics and Cecilia his basically sister. He was fumbling in the dark surrounded by strangers whose shared goal was trying not to die.

“Does your bard always make friends this way? Insults and disrespect?” Fen asked bitterly, lute locked in a death grip.

Archibald sighed. Fen had been poking and prodding about Oliver since they parted ways and always with a harsh tone.

Archibald wasn’t sure what to make of Oliver and while he only known him for a day, there was something about the bard that brought him an odd comfort. He was sharp and not just with his tongue. His quick decisive thinking had saved their lives and his firmness reminded him of Borrick. He saw through Fen’s deceit and within moments already figured out the severity of the situation and knew the paladin must’ve arrived with some sort of plan. He subtly pushed everyone into the roles he knew they would be best at: Him and Abigail the noncombatants searching for the seal and the fighters keeping the hellspawn occupied.

Archibald wasn’t sure if he liked Oliver but he knew as long as their goal aligned, he could trust him. Still wouldn’t pay to see him sing though. Too pitchy for his taste.

Out of all the terrain the archer found himself in his six months in the underground, this had been so far the worst. Nothing about this house made any sense: Halls seemed to stretch into impossible lengths, doors tilted and opened at odd angles with rooms changing each time he took his eyes off them. Fen told him the demon would regain more control of the house the more the seal weakened and was no doubt alternating any and everything it could to disorient and distract them. The good news that Oliver and Abigail should be free of such issues as the demon was more concerned with those hunting it.

“On guard” Fen firmly ordered as the pair stepped into a large dining room that no way should’ve fit inside this tiny house.

The room would’ve been spacious to move about if not for the long dinner table centered in the middle. Rusted cups and plates laid rotten and decayed across its surface as the dust swirled about in the air.

Archibald held his bow in one hand with an arrow at the ready resting between his fingers. The holy water vial was safely tucked away in his cloak pocket. He already dipped the arrow within the blessed liquid but he’d doubt a single arrow would slow the demon for long.

“Let us pray your bard is good as he claims he is.” Fen narrowed his eyes, searching through the dark for their prey.

Archibald could feel his skin shiver as the air turned hot and stuffy, a low growl faintly echoed from the shadows.

The beast asked something once more in its infernal tongue but Archibald had never been good at other languages aside common. Borrick taught him dwarvish curse words he’d never use though he desperately wished he could now.

“Steel yourself” Fen murmured unhelpfully

‘No shit’ Archibald thought to himself, notching the arrow in his bow.

-----

“So there’s nothing you believe in?”

Oliver sighed, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice as he pushed a chair onto the floor. The search was going poorly and little time remained.

Abigail rolled her eyes “I take that as no.”

“I didn’t say that, I’m just annoyed.”

“Nothing new then.”

“Well more so.”

“Just answer the question bard. I’m trying not to panic.”

Oliver paused thoughtfully, pursing his lip in concentration before answering “I’m really big in The Choir.”

Abigail raised an eyebrow “A choir? Isn’t that a little too tight knit for such a….solo act?”

Oliver shrugged “Sometimes you need an aria and sometimes you need the marching band.”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

“Yeah that’s par for the course.” Oliver sighed tiredly “We’re getting nowhere.”

“We need to think like the people who made this place.”

“No duh” Oliver scoffed “Okay. This is a prison for a demonic hellspawn.”

“Right.”

“So.” Oliver began to pace back and forth, the creaking of the wood thundering in the silence of the house “It would have to be hidden so the demon didn’t claw at it to break free.”

“Of course.”

“But they couldn’t just let it roam around here unchecked.” Oliver continued “they must’ve intended to come back periodically to check on the prison. Doesn’t matter that they suck at their jobs and forgot!” he threw his hand up in exasperation “Whatever. They needed it somewhere they could access it quick and easy.”

“I know you’re not actually listening to me but I feel uncomfortable just standing here.”

Oliver paused, Abigail could practically see his brain whirling and steaming as he tried to will whatever he was putting together into existence.

And into existence it came when Oliver let out longest unhappy groan Abigail ever heard.

“FUUUUUUU...”

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“...UUUUUUU...”

“Okay you can stop now, we don’t have forever. We don’t actually know how much time we have so be dramatic later.”

“...UUUUUUCK. It’s in the front.”

“What?! SERIOUSLY!?”

“Yes!” Oliver grunted before bolting down the hall “It makes the most sense!”

“Hey wait up!”

“Like you said no time!”

-----

“On your left!” Fen warned but Archibald already ducked under the wide swing of the demon, darting forward underneath its arm to clear some space for his shot on its backside.

The demon was prepared for this though: its arm elongated then bent itself backwards, twisting inhumanly with a sickening crunch of bones as it began to reach for Archibald.

‘Are you kidding?!’ he thought to himself as he dove sideways. He slid across the wide end of the table, knocking the various decayed silverware and plates to the floor as the arm snaked after him in pursuit. He braced himself against the wood and jabbed the holy water tipped arrow in his hand wildly.

The demon grimaced as the hand reeled back, smoke and the hiss of burning infernal flesh filling the room. Archibald scrambled backwards, allowing himself to hit the aged floor with a creaky thud.

“Regain your bearings!” Fen shouted from somewhere “I’ll distract the beast!”

Fen bull rushed the hellspawn and brought down his full weight into his swing. The demon’s face curled into something that reassembled pained surprise as Oliver’s lute crashed into its shoulder, the unmistakable sound of cracking bone filling Archibald’s ears. The demon stumbled back in a moment seemingly confused. Fen pressed the attack, chasing after his hated foe with reckless fury.

Archibald wished Fen focused more on fighting than trying to direct the archer. Any useful information he attempted to convey was already too late and pointless by the time he said it. It was clear he was not used to working in a team: In the Swift Slivers, Borrick more or less taught them to act with autonomy and to trust your fellow mercs. Fighters fought and kept the enemy distracted, archers aimed for the most dangerous foe and Cecilia blasted everything with arcane magic.

Archibald scampered to his feet, his eyes trying to readjust the chaotic back and forth of the battle: Fen fought as furiously as his opponent, trading vicious blows with the demon but making it almost impossible for Archibald to get a clear shot. The demon’s reddish skin contrast with the darkness somehow made it difficult to determine where the wall began and the creature ended. The stuffy air its mere presence created dried his eyes and impaired his vision ontop of everything else.

He gritted his teeth and backed away, arrow loose in his hand as he searched for the opening he needed.

-----

Fen could feel his body surge with the battle fury he hadn’t felt in such a long time. He felt like he had a purpose again, a calling and it was intoxicating.

Normally this infernal beast of hell would be no problem for a warrior of his caliber but at this moment he was no holy chosen of a higher being, he was merely a man and this hellspawn was not of this world.

The bard had not lied about his instrument. It bypassed the beast’s resistance to mortal weapons, bruising and batter more purplish splotches across its body as Fen laid into it.

Fen smashed the lute into its arm again, the crunch of bones heavenly to his ears. The demon snarled, swiping with its free hand but Fen brought his weapon up, the claws scraping harmlessly across the magical instruments surface. Fen countered driving the lute deep into the stomach of the demon. He winced as his wrist ached at the solid mass of muscles the lute ran into. He had forgotten this was not a sword but a mere bard’s instrument.

-----

The demon took advantage of this momentary lapse: It lashed out, trying to catch Fen’s throat. The paladin stumbled to the side. He flinched as the demonic claws raked against his aged armor, the sound of metal scraping against metal overwhelming him for a moment. He realized his mistake too late as he caught sight of the elongated arm snaked above him as it raced forward towards his head.

The demon reeled back in pain, its screams roaring like thunder across the house. The elongated arm retracted, its skin blackened and shriveled as the arrow embedded within blazed with holy light for a moment.

It shot a dirty look towards the archer whom was already prepping another sanctified payload. It growled angrily as it broke the shaft of the now normal arrow. Its skin bubbled and popped, dislodging the arrowhead from within as the demon focused on the archer.

The elongated arm swelled, the skin and muscle mass returning to normal as it launched towards the irritation with deadly intent. The archer had barely managed to dip the next arrow into the cursed water when he dove out of the way, the elongated arm barely missing the prey’s head as it dug deep into the walls.

The paladin yelled, throwing himself back into the fray with religious fever but it was not concerned. The seal weakened and each passing moment it regained more of its unholy strength. The blows from whatever the warrior was hitting it with hurt but sooner or later these human pests would be spent and all demons were well familiar with pain. It waited this long. A few moments more mattered not.

-----

Abigail could see the panic in Oliver’s eyes as he rushed back and forth, tearing the room apart in a desperate search for the seal.

Not that Abigail was much better: she was furiously throwing everything just as manically as Oliver.

They knew every second wasted was a second too long and there was still the task of actually figuring out how to strengthen the seal once more.

“THIS IS WHY I HATE CLERICS AND PALADIN!” Oliver shouted in frustration “WHY CAN’T THEY MAKE THIS EASY!? WHAT KIND OF GROUP FORGETS ABOUT A FUCKING DEMON ON A RANDOM SIDE PATH?! It’s kinda a big deal guys!”

Abigail said nothing, opting find the seal instead.

“We’re running out of time!” Abigail cried.

“No shit! Keep looking! It has to be something they could spot easily and get to!”

Abigail was about to angrily retort that she knew when she spotted something: A sunburst, same as the one on Fen’s armor, embedded in the wall near the front door.

“Oliver!” Abigail gestured hurriedly.

Luckily the bard was quick on the uptake. He made a mad dash for the symbol, eyes glowing with the soft golden light from before. Small fancy looking words surrounded the sunburst but Abigail couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

“It’s celestial.” He murmured more to himself than anything else “Of course it’s the language of the gods.”

“How are you doing that?” Abigail asked curiously as a way to distract herself “I know it’s a spell but…”

“Comprehend languages” Oliver answered honestly “Super basic spell. Normally I’d just cast it as a ritual to save energy but we don’t have ten minutes.”

“What’s it say?”

“The protection of heaven is granted by the sacrifice of pain.”

“That’s...oddly ominous. There’s nothing else?”

Oliver shook his head “And nothing’s scratched out. This is the seal they used but I’m not sure I’m getting what I’m supposed to do! This is oddly dark for the God of Redemption.”

Abigail paused for a moment, trying to remember the few sayings her family taught of the Solius. The protection of heaven is granted by the sacrifice of pain? That didn’t sound right.

“Wait” a thought came to her “Does the spell perfectly translate words? I don’t know about spells but if it’s super basic….”

“No!” Oliver cheered “It translates the most direct version of the words. So it’s not saying the protection of heaven is granted by the sacrifice of pain. It’s saying something similar.

“The path to redemption” Abigail quoted “is made by self sacrifice. That’s the closest quote I can think of in Common.”

“Give me your dagger.”

Abigail was unsure what Oliver had planned but did what the bard asked of.

Oliver took carefully and without a moment of hesitation, jabbed it directly into his palm.

“Oliver!”

But he didn’t responded. Instead he placed his bloody palm in the middle of the seal. The celestial words glowed with a soft gentle light as the blood slowly formed a circle of around the heavenly quote. The blood turned from a dark red to a pure white and the house hummed with a silent energy.

The sounds of battle, formerly unheard, now boomed from the next room. Grunts of effort and the thrashing of broken furniture echoing loudly down the hallway.

Oliver stood up “We need to go.”

“Oliver, your hand.”

“After” Oliver said with a hint of finality “When we’re all safe. Now let’s go get our solider boy. And the paladin I guess.”

The two broke into a sprint, resisting the syrupy urge to rest ebbed at their weary bodies.

“How did you know that would work? Why didn’t you tell me?” Abigail asked, trying to stay focus.

Oliver shrugged “Never ask someone else for something you won’t do. It needed to be done. If I asked you, I needed to convince you and it was going to be painful. Besides it’s about self sacrifice. It had to be willing. No hesitation knowing the freaking religion.”

Abigail said nothing.

With victory and safety filling their resolve, the two made their way into the dining room, Archibald letting loose an arrow towards some unseen threat.

Abigail sighed in relief as Oliver moved to call to the mercenary.

Their faces fell to horror as the demons elongated arm dug deeply into Archibald’s stomach, lifting him off his feet in some sickening display of victory.

“ARCHIE!”

#my work #welcome to the underground #my story #Original Work

[slasherholic]

warnings for this chapter: gore and death, mentions of abuse

Read chapter one here!

End of the Line | Michael Myers x Reader | Chapter Two

You make it thirty steps before the blackness bites you.

Your foot catches on some stiff piece of metal and your brain can’t catch up with the rest of your body to realize why you’re suddenly laying face-down in the dust on your stomach, why your legs aren’t still pumping, your arms not still pistoning—and then, all at once, it hits you.

You’ve tripped.

If you weren’t such a small and frightened animal you would start to cry again. But that’s not what frightened animals do, screams your lizard-brain, frightened animals run. So get up. Get up and keep running.

You do. You barrel back into the unknown. If Michael’s footsteps are still behind you you can’t hear them over the blood rushing to your ears, sweeping through your skull, dizzying your vision in a sickening way. A sticky hot wetness drips down your back from where he cut you but you don’t care about that right now. Run. Run.

You run for a long time. Until reason tells you that you’ve left Michael far behind—but reason currently has no place in your oxygen-starved thoughts. The sound of his breathing still rings in your ears and your mind is plagued with a terrible prophecy that your next stumble will be headlong into his chest. That he will lunge out from the blackness and seize you and it will all be over.

Hugging the wall, you dash around another corner—

—and there, at the end of the corridor, you can’t believe it. You think your mind is playing some cruel trick, so you keep looking down the hall, keep stumbling towards it, but no, there is no trick, it’s really there—

—a light.

Making the hallway before you not black but rather a shade of grey, like an old-fashioned photograph. And somewhere around the next corner must be its source.

You are a moth drawn to a flame. Nothing matters but that light.

Tearing through the dusty hallway, you see now what’s been tripping you—toppled desks, scattered all up and down the corridor, their metal legs jutting dangerously out.

Oh, comes your realization. It’s a school.

The corridor is a cluttered wreck of disrepair. Every classroom door you blitz past is boarded up with nails and planks. The paper on the walls peels like a bad sunburn. Wires hang down from broken panels in the ceiling.

And now, you understand what that suffocating must-smell hanging like a stiff blanket overhead is—the reek of abandonment. Michael has brought you to an abandoned building. There does not exist a more perfect hunting ground. Scream as loudly as you want because nobody will hear you, run in any direction you please because you are a rat in a maze, a fish in a barrel—escape was never a possibility in the first place. 

But you don’t think about that right now, only about the light. Reach the light. Reach it before it fades. You tear around the corner—

—the light is blinding.

Wincing, your forearm shoots up to shield your eyes from the horrible strain.

“Stay the fuck back.” Barks a voice. “I’ve got a knife.”

And you nearly topple over in shock. Raising one hand to cover the beam, you blink past it, heart racing in your chest.

Three wide-eyed faces gawk back at you from behind three flashlights, all of them trained on you like rifles. The guy in the middle—the only guy—wasn’t lying about the knife. He holds it out across his flashlight in the sort of way that a police officer might hold a gun, but he doesn’t have the look to complete the image. With his dirty-blonde hair collecting around his shoulders and studded black leather jacket, the knife-guy looks more likely to get arrested himself than to be the one doing any arresting.

He leers at you like you’re a convicted felon anyway.

“You see this?” He continues, swishing the knife a bit. “I don’t wanna use it—don’t make me use it. You just take it easy and stay right the fuck there.”

You hardly hear knife-guy’s words. What your brain clings to instead is the fact that there are People. You are not alone in the darkness. There are people in this building. 

The realization makes your pounding heart soar and for a second your head is in the clouds and all you can think is maybe I won’t die tonight after all.

To knife-guy’s left is a short and trim Mexican woman with thoughtful eyes like black pools, the biggest you’ve ever seen. She clutches tightly at his bicep with one bony hand and stares across the hall at you like you’ve sprouted a second head. The tall girl on the right must be some sort of athlete, with strong legs and golden-tan skin and a high brunette ponytail. She gawks like she’s just seen a ghost—or like she might be giving up her own ghost at any second.

Nobody moves for a moment, and in the end you just stand there, looking each other up and down.

And then some cold and bitter voice in your head reminds you, these people are lined up for a slaughterhouse. 

The hopeful thoughts in your head crash like a fiery trainwreck. Your eyes go round and horrified.

Graphic images assault your brain, of cuts so deep that you can see yellow fat and sinewy muscle and bleach-white bone, of dumbly gaping mouths, of dead, unfocused, cloudy eyes, sightless—the look of a corpse. You see in your mind’s eye that look on the faces staring back at you and your racing heart does a flip-flop into your stomach; you clench your jaw shut tight and think about not throwing up. Please don’t throw up. Please don’t throw up.

“Listen lady,” Knife-guy says, breaking the silence, sweeping his hair out of his face with his elbow. “We don’t want any trouble, alright?”

Too late for that, you think.

“If you’re trying to screw with us it just ain’t gonna work, yeah? So I’ll cut you a deal; you turn around, we turn around, we go our separate ways, and then we pretend we never even saw each other. That sound fair?”

Panic flares in your belly and all the moisture is sucked from your mouth.

“No!” The plea leaves you before you can even think. The tall girl on the right utters a little gasp at your outburst, jumping like she’s been burnt.

“No, no you don’t understand.” Your words are desperate; you hold your hands up in front of you like you actually are a convicted felon, just because it seems like the right thing to do; knife-guy seems to think it even more now.

“I’m not gonna hurt anyone. I promise, alright? But please, please, you have to listen to me—”

“Jesus!” Knife guy clutches his knife tighter. “I’m trying really hard not to be an asshole right now, okay? I don’t wanna be that macho douchebag that yells at girls, but honestly lady, you sound like some sort of nut! And believe me, we don’t want any of—”

“Oh Travis, honestly, quit it!” The short girl, silent as the grave until now, hisses sharply, elbowing Knife-guy in the ribs. Knife-guy shoots her a little look of what the hell dude, which she ignores.

“There’s something wrong, dammit—I mean, look at her!”

You assume she’s talking about the look of horror sprawled across your face, or about the cold sweat clinging to your reddened cheeks, or the fact that you must look like something that just came crawling out of the woods.

But then, you feel it again. You feel it trickling down your lower back, down your side, making your shirt cling to your skin, wetting the hem of your pants. And oh, that’s right. You’re a bloody mess.

Now, the pain registers. Your salty sweat stings the wound in an agonizing way. Paling, you reach gingerly beneath your armpit, toward your back, dreading the inspection, but doing it anyway. You need to know.

Your palm meets the cotton. You whimper, because your shirt is soaked-through.

Pulling your hand back, trying not to tremble too hard, you glance down at your fingers. They’re coated all the way to your palm in dark, shining red.

Michael cut you deep.

“Holy shit.” Travis breathes, his jaw tightening. You blink up at him again, fighting tears now.

“I’m—I’m not gonna hurt you, okay?” You stammer. “But please, you need to listen to what I’m telling you.”

You pause to lick your lips and swallow and the silence in your stead is horrible, as if every breath is being held.

“This isn’t a prank, it isn’t a joke—you guys need to get out of here right now, and I mean now.”

The silence stretches on; the short girl, the tall girl, the knife-guy—Travis, the short-girl called him—they all gawk at you as if you’ve spoken in tongues.

Then, chaos.

“Fuck that.” Sobs the tall-girl, her voice breaking. “Fuck that, I’m so not staying here. I can’t believe I let you guys talk me into this, we could have gone to see a movie! Let’s find Ashley and Josh and go.”

“Wendy, come on! She’s just trying to freak us out!”

“Well it’s fucking working, dude!”

“Both of you cut it out!” The short girl hisses, her volume a near-whisper. “Keep it down! Travis, for god’s sake, she’s telling the truth—you seriously think she did that to herself?” She eyes you anxiously, her gaze lingering on the blood eating through your shirt.

“...how did it happen?”

Her words twist something in your gut and you grimace. No, you can’t answer that—you can’t even think about that. You’re going to be sick.

But the short girl stares at you like you’re about to divulge the cure to cancer, and she isn’t going to leave it alone. So with a shuddering breath, in a voice so frail you can hardly hear yourself, you choke out the barest-bones answer you can muster.

“There’s someone else in the building.”

Your dread is a virus and the virus is contagious. The tall girl—Wendy—wilts visibly, terror overtaking her features. You think she might faint. Travis goes deathly silent, his expression hardening. The short girl chews her lip like a wad of bubblegum.

Good, you think. Great. They believe you. Now let’s get moving, please and thank you, because you simply can’t stay here any longer. Michael will not have given up the chase so easily. Any moment, the ghost-white of that awful mask is going to breach the dark. You know it. You can’t stay here. You need to get moving again.

But the short girl still isn’t satisfied.

“Who?” She asks, tears shimmering in her big brown eyes. Her words hang on her lips. “Who’s in the building?”

Your heart beats as fast and hard as if Michael’s hands are around your neck this very moment. 

Will they believe you? If you look these people in the eye and tell them the honest-to-god truth about who is lurking and stalking and hunting his way through these unlit corridors, will it tip the scales swinging in their heads hopelessly back into disbelief? Will they tell you to get lost, and to take your sick, twisted, poor-taste-of-a-joke with you, and what kind of a person pokes fun at something like that, anyway?

“It’s—he’s—”

You never get to finish. A sudden scream rips like shrapnel through the air.

The faces behind those blinding flashlights go paler than sheets. The blood in your veins runs cold. 

It is a bloody, piercing sound. It seems to rattle the walls around you. It goes on and on and on. When it cuts off it is abrupt and final and all the sound in the building is sucked away with it.

A cold, sneering voice in your head whispers, Well they’ll have to believe you now, won’t they?

Michael’s found someone.

~

He knows the hallways well. Even in the dark.

He stands at the intersection with the broken water fountain on the ground and does not move except to fill his lungs with air, listening. The girl had been loud; her footsteps carried far. He followed the echo and hunted her easily.

Now the echo has gone silent.

Looking down, staring at the floor beneath his boots, he sees them; shoe prints. Sitting freshly in the dust. Hers.

He does not need the girl’s sounds. Only her prints.

Studying them, he knows that she did not turn off here. Knows she kept on going down the hall. Toward the locker rooms.

He lifts his head and looks into the dimness after her, breathing the stale air deep into his lungs.

The hunt will be over quickly; the girl is running in a circuit.

Taking the left, stepping over the broken water fountain, he walks silently down the hall. The heat at his hips throbs, impatient. His thumb rubs back and forth across the handle of his knife. 

The girl will not see him coming. Not until it is too late.

He will grab her by her hot neck. Will let her twist in his hands. Will make her—

...

—he stops. Listening.

Hears footsteps.

Turning in a slow circle, looking over each shoulder, he searches the hall. Sees a set of double-doors. Listens more. Grips the knife harder, watching and waiting, breathing the stale air...

The doors swing open.

...and it is not the girl.

There are two of them. Two with flashlights. They keep on walking down the hall and do not look in his direction. Do not notice him standing across the way.

He watches them go. The heart in his ribs pulses steadily and rhythmically. The urge comes—follow the prey.

He follows.

He will have the girl later.

He will have her for a different urge.

~

You have never seen so much blood. Not even on Michael.

It shimmers starkly against the faded-blue lockers, streaking down in heavy wet lines toward the floor, pooling between the divots in the tile like tiny rivers, which trickle outward, extending their reach down the hall.

To your right, Wendy slaps her slender-fingered hand over her mouth. She sucks in big gasps of air and her shoulders shudder violently.

The short girl—Diane, you heard Travis calling her—stands next to Travis, her arms wound so tightly around his waist that if she squeezes any harder you suspect she might bisect him.

Travis just stands there. Shining his light at the gore. Entranced.

Your mind is blank as you yourself drink in the mess—blank and numb, thoughtless.

But when the smell of it hits you the tide of nausea comes racing back towards the shore.

You are no stranger to the tang of blood but this differs from the stench that clings to Michael when he comes home from a hunt. That smell is mixed among the salt of his sweat—muted by the scent of him—and the result is more primal and heart-pounding and less knock-you-on-your-ass dizzying.

But this smell is raw and undiluted. Straight from the source. It drains all the color from your face. It threatens to bring you right down to the floor.

You place a hand on a clammy locker door to keep from staggering.

“Look.” Diane whispers.

She untangles one arm from around Travis’s waist, raising her flashlight, shining it at the floor behind the puddle. You see what she’s pointing at. Bootprints.

The pattern on the sole is unmistakable. They are Michael’s.

They lead ten paces down the hall where they stop in front of a closed door. Squinting, you can just barely read the painted black letters on the door, letters which may have once read “Boy’s Changing Room.”

“Those aren’t Josh’s.” Travis breathes, squeezing the leather grip of his hunting knife tighter.

To your right, Wendy’s gasps become sobs. She collapses suddenly back against the row of lockers, their doors rattling harshly. You wince; Michael’s going to hear her.

Travis and Diane are on her in less than a second.

“She’s dead.” Wendy gasps. “She’s dead. We have to get out of here—”

“Christ, Wendy, stop it.” Travis hisses. Shoving his flashlight into Diane’s hand, he kneels at Wendy’s side, quick to clamp his hand over her mouth.

“You cut that out right now or you’re gonna get us killed.”

“Breathe,” Diane adds, sinking down to stroke Wendy’s hair.

Wendy tries to breathe, but it’s more of a blubbering in the end.

“You don’t know that, anyway.” Travis continues. “She could be alive right through that door, bleeding out. No way are we leaving until we find her.”

“She’s not.” You state.

Travis whips around. His scowl says it all.

Getting to his feet, he plucks his flashlight out of Diane’s hands and stands up rigidly straight. He shines the beam right in your face and you wince, wrinkling your nose at the brightness.

“Yeah lady? Alright, prove it; I don’t see a body.”

The tough-guy act is only skin deep. Blinking past the blinding beam at Travis’ face, you can see he’s tenser than a wire. He knows you’re right. He knows his friend is dead. He just doesn’t want to admit it.

You eye him sternly and hold your ground.

“I’m just being realistic; that’s a lot of blood.”

Travis’ nostrils flare, and all of a sudden he is walking across the hall with lurching strides.

The man approaching you is not small by any means—Wendy is taller than him, but only by an inch. His jacket is thick and puffs out around his arms, making him wider at the shoulders than he probably is, but his stature is sturdy, and his figure is close enough to Michael’s to plunge you into panic-mode.

Your limbs lock up habitually. You brace against the locker for hurt.

Travis stops at an uncomfortable distance from you, the leather of his jacket nearly grazing your chest. His breaths come heavily through his nose and you can feel them beating down on your face, hot and shallow. 

“You had better tell me right goddamed now,” He whispers through grit teeth, “What the fuck is in this building with us.”

The tightness in his voice is enough to unlock your limbs, enough to bring you out of your submissive trance, enough to make your lizard-brain realize that the man standing over you with a knife in his fist is not Michael, not even close—he’s just some college kid. Just as scared for his life as you are.

You don’t try to mask the hopelessness in your eyes as you finally spill.

“Do you know who killed all those people in Haddonfield last year?”

It’s a rhetorical question. Everybody with a working television or radio knows. Everyone who bothers to pick up their newspaper from their driveway in the morning knows. Everybody in the entire god-damned state knows. Hell, the entire god-damned country knows about those murders. It was all over the national news stations for a week into November, delivered each morning by a solemn news anchor:

And now, an update on the grisly string of murders which took place just last week in Haddonfield, Illinois—unofficially dubbed “The Babysitter Murders.”

The Haddonfield police department released an official statement this evening identifying the primary suspect in this ongoing case: Michael Audrey Myers, psychiatric patient and former Haddonfield resident, who escaped from government-mandated care on the night of the 30th.

Travis seems to hold his breath. When it comes out again it makes his upper body shudder. He knows, alright.

“Wait—” Wendy stutters, her frail voice cracking hard. “Wait, but I thought, didn’t they catch that guy?”

“They didn’t.” Diane pronounces quietly, shaking her head slowly. Her eyes are glued to the blood on the floor but they look unfocused and distant, like her mind is elsewhere.

“I’m following the Myers case for my thesis, and no, they never caught him.”

Travis’s invasion of your personal space finally relents. He steps back and begins pacing between you and Diane, his brow scrunching up in thought. He reaches up with his arm to wipe his hair out of his face.

“Okay, so you think it’s Myers,” He begins. “But come on, how do you know? How do you know it isn’t just some other freak? I’m sure there are plenty of real sick fucks out there, all I’m saying is that there’s no way you can know for sure it’s—”

“Guys?” 

Every head whips toward the changing room, and every flashlight follows.

There, peering tentatively out from behind the door where Michael’s boot prints lead is another tear-streaked face, a college-aged kid, no older than nineteen. The grey hood of his too-big hoodie is drawn up over his head.

“Josh!” Diane whispers.

Josh studies you sheepishly, his glossy eyes round and anxious. Then, he sees the blood. His eyes squeeze shut tight in an instant and his forehead lolls toward the door frame, knocking against it with a dull thud. His entire body begins to heave with silent sobs.

Diane shoots up from Wendy’s side like a rocket, tip-toeing around the gore. Reaching Josh, she embraces him in a tight hug, and Josh buries his face eagerly into the nook of her neck and only shakes harder. Diane caresses the frizzy ringlets around his ear and shushes him.

“If you saw anything,” She whispers, “You have to tell us. We need to know what happened.” 

“Is she dead?” Wendy sobs up from the floor, her slender fingers still clamped over her mouth.

“I-I don’t really know, man.” Josh chokes out. “It happened so fast. We were just coming to find you guys, a-a-and she saw the court, she tried to go check it out, b-but when she opened the door she got—she got—”

He gives a strangled little whimper and shakes his head weakly, burying it back into Diane’s shoulder, done.

She got grabbed, you finish in your head. It’s not a guess—it’s a fact. You don’t need Josh’s commentary to piece together what happened here.

Looking back at the smeared blood on the lockers, you see now where Michael did it, where he smashed this Ashley girl’s face into the aluminum doors, leaving divots and dents behind in the metal. At some point, Ashley had started screaming.

You drop your gaze to the heavy splatter of dark red on the tile again. 

She screamed, until Michael slit her throat.

“He followed me in there.” Josh sniffs, jerking his thumb at the locker-room door. “I ducked in a locker and he walked right past—but then he stopped and just stood there, like he was—I don’t know, waiting for something. Or—or listening for something.”

Josh wipes his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie.

“I was so scared, man. I thought I was dead.”

You listen to Josh speak and the unease in your stomach twists.

“Where did he go?” You ask. Josh eyes you warily.

“Um. I dunno, he just kinda… left.” 

All the hair on your neck stands on-end at that. You know how Michael’s mind works—at least to some extent—and you know how he hunts. And you would bet your life on the wager that he hasn’t gone far at all.

Your eyes dart up and down the hall and you squint past the reach of the flashlights, into the edge of the looming blackness. Josh’s words play like a tape recorder in your mind: She saw the court. She went to check it out. You squint at the closed doors leading to the basketball court. Your breaths shallow.

Oh; that’s where Ashley is.

“No offence or whatever, but who the hell are you?”

“She’s just some lady we found.” Travis answers for you. “Look, did you see him kill her, man?” Travis grabs Josh suddenly by the shoulders, shaking him like it’ll knock the sense back into him. “Come on, you gotta remember so we can get outta here. Where is she?”

You point an accusing finger at the basketball court.

“I think she’s in there.”

Everyone with a flashlight trains it at the doors. Another strangled sob leaves Wendy. Thick red handprints glisten wetly on the beige wood, just above the door handle.

Travis eyes the gore for a moment. Then, knife at the ready, he approaches the double doors.

It is for a wickedly selfish reason that you do not utter some warning of he’s still in there, moron, and your friend is dead, and you’ll be next. It is for a reason more potent than the fear of stumbling blindly through the darkness again; a reason more powerful than the fear of being alone in this desolate place. A reason that you are ashamed of for even thinking, but one that your lizard-brain—the part of you that cares only about your own continued survival, and to hell with everyone else—gurgles gleefully: If Michael kills them, maybe I’ll get to live.

And if not, then at the very least you can make a break for the exit while he’s busy sheathing his knife in their guts.

You look silently on as Travis carefully, carefully, nudges the door open with his shoe.

The room inside is just as abysmally dark as the rest of the school. Travis, hovering on the edge of the door frame, not daring to step foot beyond the hall, shines his flashlight around to inspect. It’s a basketball court alright, and surprisingly uncluttered. Sets of stadium bleachers line the walls on either side and loom like metal giants. Travis shines the light all around its periphery, illuminating every dark corner. There is no Ashley to be found—or Michael.

But there is more blood. A trail of it, leading out across the court, wrapping around the bleachers, disappearing from sight.

“Travis, no.” Wendy whimpers. “You can’t—oh god, please Travis, don’t go in there—please don’t. Please don’t.”

“Yeah,” Diane quickly agrees. “I think the best thing we can do for her now is to call the cops. Travis, he could still be in there.”

Travis looks anxiously back over his shoulder at her. He swallows like there’s a lump in his throat.

“Look. There’s no fucking way in the world I’m gonna leave her here with that psycho. Not until we know. This place is empty, alright? So as long as you guys stay close behind me... that fucker isn’t gonna get anyone else. I promise.”

Guilt flares in your gut. Your eyes fall to the floor. You can’t look at him. You know that not a single person standing in this hall will live to see the sun come up.

For simple fear of being left in the darkness again, when everyone shuffles into the court, you do too. Beams from all four flashlights rove the walls like spotlights. Every head is on a swivel. Travis is at least right about one thing: the room is huge and empty. There’s no way that anything could sneak up on you in here, not a housecat, not a tiger. Not even Michael.

The thin trail of blood disappears behind the bleachers—your heart pounds in your throat as the group draws nearer. The silence weighs like a heavy blanket.

Reaching the corner of the bleachers, everybody peers around the bend. You squint into the dimness.

There, suspended five feet off the ground, swaying sedately back and forth—a figure.

Travis shines his light up at it.

It is the limp body of a woman. She hangs from her neck by a length of climbing rope dangling down from the ceiling.

Somewhere in the background, Wendy starts to wail. “Oh god. Oh god. Oh my fucking god.”

The body turns, slowly. When it turns all the way around you can just make out the messy red ruins of her throat beneath the rope, slit quite literally from ear to ear.

Reality stares you in the eye, gape-mouthed and grotesque, and it will not let you look away. You drink it in and all your thoughts, even the lizard-brain thoughts, are silenced.

You study the blood seeping from the gaping gash in Ashley’s neck. You watch the way it drips down her sternum, how it eats in splotches through her white tube top, the garment pulled half-way down her chest, exposing her breasts on one side. You look all the way down to the puddle of glistening blood beneath the body and watch the droplets trailing off the slender ankles, dripping to the floor and making tiny ripples in the deep, dark red puddle beneath.

When your thoughts finally return you realize all at once that you have never witnessed Michael commit a murder. You have never had to see him plunge his knife into a screaming, crying, terrified body, but oh, you can picture it so vividly, can hear the pleading and the begging, can imagine Michael twisting the knife deeper, can see him tearing a life away with the ease of one kicking sand over a fire to snuff it out.

You know that will change tonight.

You know other things too, things that make nausea bubble up your throat, and you know before it happens that you are going to vomit, but not because of the body.

You know that Michael is a monster; you know it like you know that grass is green. You know what you are to him and you know that you should despise him for it. You know that you should want to see him burn—and a part of you does. A part of you wants nothing more in the world. A part of you wants to be the one who lights the match.

But there exists another part of you which sits like a gaping black hole right in the middle of your chest, and when the hole is open—which is most of the time—you feel cold and hollow and empty on the inside, and when it is closed you feel complete again, if only for a short while.

You know that the hole is need. And the need wants only one thing.

Standing here, staring up at the reality of what Michael is, of what he does, of what he will do to you tonight, even now, the hole in your chest still needs him like lungs need air.

He will kill you and it will not make you need him any less. Will not make you want him any less.

And as terrible, twisted, perverted, fucked-up as it is, it won’t make you love him any less, either.

It was Michael who held you down and cut open the hole in your chest; and now Michael is the only one who can fill it.

The bile rises up your throat and you are sick.

#Michael Myers #michael myers x reader #halloween #slashers #slasher x reader #horror #writing #fanfiction #reader insert #end of the line #tw: emetophobia

[theradioghost]

I don't know if you're still doing podcast recs, but if you are, I really like dramas, horror, sci-fi, honestly anything that gives you the feels (especially if it has lgbtq+ rep). I am not much of a comedy person though unfortunately. The only podcast I finished was tma and I really loved it.

The recommendations are always on tap here, whenever my askbox is open! You might wanna check out:

Archive 81, for a found-footage horror about mysterious archives of tapes full of encounters with otherworldly horror, dark rituals, cults, and a long-suffering archivist with the same name as the show creator who plays him, which despite all that could not possibly be more different from TMA and yet easily matches it as one of the best horror stories I have ever enjoyed. The sound design on this show is basically unparalleled – where TMA has fairly minimalist sound design, A81 goes all out. Quite a few lgbtqa+ folk also.

I Am In Eskew, for a surreal, Lynchian horror about the city of Eskew, where it’s always raining and the streets are never the same twice, as narrated by a man who is trapped there and the woman hired to find him. Take the most viscerally disturbing episodes of TMA as a baseline for how intense this show is, then imagine the Spiral built a city and invited all the other fears over for a party. Also right up there as one of my favorite horror things ever, and recently ended, so you can listen to the whole thing right now.

Within The Wires, for a found-footage scifi dystopia, telling stories from an alternate-history world. Three of the four seasons focus on lgbtqa+ leads, and the first season, a set of instructional meditation tapes provided to a prisoner in a shadowy government institution, is still some of my absolute favorite creative use of medium and framing device ever.

Kane and Feels, for a surreal noir-flavored urban fantasy/horror hybrid, about a magically-inclined academic (and sarcastic little bastard man) named Lucifer Kane and his demon-punching partner with a heart of gold, Brutus Feels. They share a flat in London, they bicker like an old married couple, and they fight supernatural evil. This show WILL confuse the hell out of you and you will enjoy every second of it.

Alice Isn’t Dead, for a weird Americana horror story about a long-distance truck driver, criss-crossing the US in search of her missing wife. Along the way she discovers that both of them have been drawn into a dangerous secret war that seethes in the empty and abandoned expanses of America, and that inhuman hunters have begun to follow her. Also finished! And as the title kind of gives away, the lesbians do not die!

Janus Descending, for a sci-fi horror miniseries about two scientists sent to survey the remains of a dead alien civilization on a distant planet, only to learn all too well why the original inhabitants have disappeared. You hear one character’s story in chronological order and the other in reverse, with their perspectives alternating, which is done in an incredibly clever way so that even technically knowing what will happen it still holds you in suspense right to the end. Also, it made me cry, a lot.

SAYER, for a sci-fi horror with a touch of dark comedy, and probably the single best use of the “evil AI” trope I have ever seen. Tells the story of employees of tech corporation Aerolith Dynamics living on Earth’s artificial second moon, Typhon, in the form of messages from their AI overseer SAYER. The first season is great, the second season is okay, and the third and fourth seasons are fucking amazing.

Tides, for a really interesting sci-fi about a lone biologist trapped on an alien world shaped by deadly tidal forces. It’s different from just about any other sci-fi I know, focusing more on the main character’s interactions with and observations of this strange new world, where she’s very aware that she is the alien invader. (Also I don’t think any of the characters are straight.)

Station to Station, for a thrilling sci-fi mystery where a group of scientists and spies on a research ship (the ocean kind) discover that the time-warping anomaly they’re studying might be causing people to vanish from existence. Corporate espionage and high-stakes heartbreak abound. (And once again I’m not sure anyone is straight.)

The Strange Case of Starship Iris, for Being Gay And Doing Crime IN SPACE! Or, decades after a war with an alien species leaves humanity decimated and under the control of totalitarian leaders, the lone survivor of a research mission joins up with a ragtag crew of rebels and smugglers to figure out why the very government she worked for tried to kill her, and to stop them from inciting a second war. 100% lgbtqa+ found family in space heist action and it’s glorious in every way.

Unwell, for the horror-ish Midwestern gothic story of a young woman who returns to her hometown to help her estranged mother after an injury, and discovers that there is something just a little bit wrong, not just with her mother, but with her mother’s house, and with the whole town. Subtle and creepy. The protagonist is a biracial lesbian, one of the other major characters is nonbinary, the cast in general is super diverse.

The Blood Crow Stories, for an lgbtqa+ focused horror anthology! The four seasons so far have been the stories of an ancient evil stalking the passengers of a WWI-era utopian cruise ship, a dark Western mystery about a group of allies trying to stop the mysterious killer known only as the Savior, a 911 operator in a cyberpunk dystopia who starts getting terrifying phone calls from demons, and strange and deadly goings-on at a film studio in the golden age of Hollywood. Everyone is Very Gay and anyone can die, especially in season 1.

The Tower, for a melancholy experimental miniseries about a young woman who decides she’s going to climb the mysterious Tower, from which no one has ever returned. Quite short and very, very good.

Palimpsest, for a creepy, heartbreakingly sad and yet incredibly beautiful anthology series. Season one is the story of a woman who suspects her new home is haunted, season two is a turn-of-the-century urban fantasy about a girl who falls in love with the imprisoned fae princess she’s been hired to care for, and season three is about a WWII codebreaker who begins seeing ghosts on the streets of London during the Blitz.

Mabel, for a part-horror, part-love story, the kind of faerie tale where you feel obliged to spell it with an E because these are the kind of faeries that are utterly inhuman, and beautiful, and dangerous. Anna, the new caretaker for an elderly woman, leaves messages for her client’s mysteriously absent granddaughter Mabel. An old house in Ireland has a life and desires of its own, few of them friendly. Two women fall in love and set out for vengeance against the King Under The Hill. Creepy, strange, and gorgeously poetic.

Ars Paradoxica, for a sci-fi time travel Cold War espionage thriller. Physicist Dr. Sally Grissom accidentally invents time travel, landing herself – and her invention – in the middle of a classified government experiment during WWII. As the course of history utterly changes around them, she and what friends she can find in this new time must struggle with the ethics of what they’ve done, and the choices they’ll have to make. An aroace protagonist, Black secret agents, time-traveling Latina assassins, Jewish lesbian mathematicians, two men of color whose love changes the course of time itself, this show says a big fuck you to the idea that there’s anything hard about having a diverse cast in a period piece and it will break your heart, multiple times. Also finished!

The Far Meridian, for a genre-bending, poetic, at-times-heartwarming-at-times-heartbreaking story about an agoraphobic woman named Peri who decides to begin a search for her long-missing brother Ace after the lighthouse in which she lives begins mysteriously transporting to different places every day. I can never forget an early review that described this show as “the audio equivalent of a Van Gogh painting.” Suffice to say it is beautiful, and fantastically written and put together.

What’s the Frequency?, for a Surrealist noir horror mystery set in mid-20th-century LA. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I can really explain what goes on in this show, but it features a detective named Walter “Troubles” Mix and his partner Whitney searching for a missing writer. Meanwhile, the only thing that seems to be playing on the radio is that writer’s show Love, Honor, and Decay, which also seems to be driving people to murder. Fantastically weird, deliciously creepy.

Directive, for a short sci-fi miniseries about a man hired to spend a very, very long trip through space alone, which doesn’t seem all that sad until suddenly it hits you with Every Feel You’ve Ever Had, seriously I don’t want to spoil it so I won’t say anything more but listen to this and then never feel the same way about Tuesdays again.

Wolf 359, for honestly one of the best podcasts out there, containing all of the drama and feels, seriously this show ended over two years ago and I still cry literal tears thinking about it sometimes. It has definite comedic leanings, especially in the first season which reads a bit more like a wacky office comedy set in space, but it takes a sharp turn towards high stakes, action, and feelings and that roller coaster never stops. Take four clashing personalities alone on a constantly-malfunctioning space station eight light years from earth, add some mysterious transmissions from the depths of space, toss in some seriously Jonah-Magnus-level manipulative evil bosses, and get ready to cry.

or, may I suggest Midnight Radio? It’s a lesbian-romance-slash-ghost-story completed miniseries about a late-night 1950s radio host in a small town who begins receiving mysterious letters from one of her listeners, and I have been assured by many people and occasionally their all-caps tweets that it provides ample Feelings! (also I wrote it.)

#holy fuck when did this answer get that long? #anyway I uh. hope at least one of these sounds good to you! #podcast recs #bobbie recommends things #Anonymous #asks #my posts

[borrovvedyoongi]

dream state of mind

Summary: bulleted scenario, in which you drunkenly end up kissing hyunjin at a party, and everything makes you feel like you're on a high

A/N: non idol!hyunjin, non idol!au, and underage drinking (plz listen to “tkm” by boy pablo when u get to the kissing part!!! it makes the reading experience really lovely uwu)

warnings: oral (female receiving)

ur both invited to this party by a mutual friend, jaemin

at frst u were all like “u gotta give me some sort of incentive to leave my bed, i’m not just going bc ur telling me to”

“there’s free alcohol”

“but i don’t even drink.”

“hyunjin is coming”

“..........go on”

“that’s the incentive pal, so go gussy up and look hot for your mans”

“ok first of all if i rolled up sporting salsa stained sweatpants all of these hoes would fall for me, so i don’t need to gussy up...but fine...i’ll do it for him”

“sick” 

you already take a long time getting ready but this time it takes a little while longer

you want to look flawless as humanly possible, but not so much so that intimidates him and makes him run off. your rbf already does that for you.

you arrive and hear the heavy bass and see the swarm of warm bodies up against each other, half of the ppl have drinks in their hands already. it’s not quite 10 yet, only 9:32 pm.

might as well grab a drink to loosen the nerves, you think

you go to the source of the drinks, and enter the semi crowded kitchen. right away, you see hyunjin.

you must’ve been eyeing him too long bc his eyes seem to shift to your figure. it’s probably the atmosphere of the place that gives you a little bit of some extroverted power, bc you wave at him.

..........he waves back, and smiles that grin u swear u fall for all over again each time you see it

r u smitten? mayhaps.

r u down to talk to him tonight and at least score his number? ye

but first, refreshments.

you’re not the best bartender in the whole world, but you try to eyeball the whole drink mixing to create your own understated cocktail.

a whooole lotta pepsi (or coke...or dr pepper... whatevr it’s brown and it’s good) and an ounce of what you assume, vodka, gets poured in your red cup

the whole thing burns the living shit outta ur throat but it’s definitely making you blitzed in the best way possible.

you casually look over your shoulder to hopefully meet hyunjin’s eyes once again, but is bombarded by a smiley jaemin

“jaem! hi :)”

“:D Y/N! welcome to the jamboree! did you uhhhhh talk to him yet?”

“not quite. but i waved and he waved back so i totally got it in the bag”

“what bag?”

“it’s a metaphor, jaem”

“oh”

“r u drunk”

“hehe mabes.”

“anyway, i need to casually sneak over and strike up a conversation with him but he looks busy and i have no idea what to say to him.”

“leave it to me chum”

“yeah don’t ever call me chum ever again or i’m hitting you”

“well ok party pooper” jaemin then grabs your hand and strides to hyunjin’s direction.

panic finally begins to set in the pit of your stomach and you stop in your tracks.

“wait! jaem, idk if i can do this.”

“:o”

“:/ i want to make a good first impression, but i don’t have a clue as to what to say. i wanna look cool..and hot..but also be an amazing conversationalist.”

“ur actually in good hands. i spoke to him earlier and he asked if you were coming.”

“:o”

“yeah i know! let’s go”

he finally lets go of your hand, and you stroke the fabric of your midnight blue crushed velvet mini dress, the one where chenle blushes at the sight when you wear it

aaaaand here is chenle blushing and stopping mid-sentence and looking at you, jaw practically dropped.

hyunjin turns around to see as to what he’s looking at and he understands completely why.

you look ravishing, to say the least

lowkey gulps a little bc erm ur hot bb

and you feel really hot

“hyunjin, hi” your voice sounds a little sultry, not that you were trying

“hey” he says really cooly. you shiver at the sound of his voice, so melodic even through the loudness of the party

“HEY chenle can you help me move the ping pong table in the basement?”

“but me and jisung already-”

“welp we gotta move it again” and then chenle picks up as to whats going on a lil and is all like aight imma head out

hyunjin takes a sip of his drink and almost chokes a lttle bit when you suggest going somewhere more secluded to hang out

“like where?” he asks

“i’m not quite sure actually”

“how about a spare bedroom upstairs.” your eyes widen at his words and you short circuit a teensy bit.

he realizes this then stammers out a response “u-unless you don’t want to then-”

“that’s actually perfect”

internally sweet bb boy hyunjin is just “:o” bc he doesn’t know what will happen

he has heard some stories about you where you’re incredibly wild but at the other hand he has also heard that you’re just as much as a homebody as you are a party goer

“ok cool”

you lead the way and have to pull down your dress to prevent it from riding up so damn high and hyunjin can’t help but stare at your thighs

like, yeah it would be dope to be in between them but do you know what’s even cooler? resting his head in your lap

he’s a pure boy for the most part

both of you enter the spare bedroom and he shuts the door while you plop down on the bed. both of you are still holding cups, both pretty full

you’ve only spoken to him a few times, but enough to get a general idea of him

he’s soft spoken, a bit dramatic, is a lovely dancer and you noticed he has nice ass hands that could choke I MEAN hold your more petite hand

you blush at the idea

he finally sits on the bed beside you and opts to put his drink near the bedside table, you would rather hold yours, gives you something to do with your hands

“hi” he starts off

“hi” you say back

at first it’s a normal conversation

he asks how ur doing, you ask him the same

he says parties are kinda obnoxious

you partly agree and say “depends on if you’re with the right people or not really”

he hums in agreement

it’s back and forth conversation for a few minutes

and then you guys start drinking more in between responses

you don’t know when it happened but now the two of you are right beside each other, thighs touching, both tipsy from your drink

at some point you ditched your drink and got curious as to what his drink tasted like, and he offered you to sip. it’s fruity, and quite sweet

“fair warning tho, chenle suggested adding a lot of other alcohol in it so you might feel a buzz” he says

you’re slightly too far gone because you’re a giggly mess,

it’s ok, he’s giggling too

both of you are lightweight drinkers and get blitzed off of one cup sdjfhsdf you really should get better friends to supervise the two of you at all times

at some point you put your hand on his thigh

at some point he puts his hand atop of yours

you have always seen that cute freckle underneath his eye but up close and personal, it seems more cute

 “ur staring” he says

“i know”

it’s okay, he’s staring at your mouth

you finally notice his staring and out loud say “your lips look really kissable”

he smiles, and caresses your hand with his thumb

“i get that a lot. you have really pretty eyes.”

you smile softly, eyes somehow seem prettier in the dim light of the bedside table lamp.

both of you lean in at a slow pace, not wanting to rush

with all of the liquid courage you can muster you finally close the space in between you two

the kiss is so delightfully soft, so delicate

he cups your cheek with his hand as he kisses you

you don’t break apart just yet

you savor the feeling of the sensation of his lips molded into yours

he can taste the mango lip balm as he gently swipes his tongue against your bottom lip

you shamelessly moan and part your lips slightly

he smiles at the sound

he brushes his nose against yours, and then tugs at your bottom lip carefully with his teeth

your heart is beating rapidly, yet time seems to stop around you

hyunjin has been wanting to know what your lips would taste like for a while, and tonight he finally got the chance to know. it’s sweet, it’s soft, it’s dreamy

it all seems like a dream

you suddenly had the urge to bite at his bottom lip, and when you did, he released a guttural moan, and you take the chance to pass your tongue against his

he tastes like a daydream, and you feel tingly all over

you’re snapped out of your trance when he asks if you could straddle him

you nod your head yes, not trusting the sound of your voice

he lays back down on the bed, and you put each leg on either side of his body. you lean down, and once again, press your lips against his

he stops and asks “can i touch you?”

“yes, touch me anywhere you want”

he softly cups your breast in his hand, and begins to kiss you

your dress is definitely riding up, and you can feel wetness pool in the middle of your legs

hyunjin uses his other hand to softly stroke his fingers against your clothed clit

you hum into the kiss in appreciation, and he takes that as a sign to apply a bit more pressure

this time, the feeling takes over you and you hide your face in the crook of his neck, panting

the hand that was on your breast is now resting on your thigh, and gripping it rather harshly

“is it okay if i eat you out?”

“please”

he then grabs at your waist to set you on the bed

he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed and places your legs on each side of his shoulders

you pull up your dress while he pulls down your black lacy underwear

“you look so cute like this baby”

you giggle, and search for his hair to grasp on while he pulls his administrations on you

he kisses the inner part of your thighs, then places the flat of his tongue against your heat

he probes the tip of his tongue in your tight hole while using his thumb to rub agonizingly slow at your clit

moans fill the room, the sound echoing back to his ears, making him more determined for you to cum

he rapidly licks at your clit while inserting two fingers in you

he knows exactly what he’s doing, and because of that, you cum in only minutes

he puts your underwear back on and pulls down the skirt of your dress

he lays back down beside you and licks his fingers clean, looking right at you

your cheeks are flushed and ur a panting mess

“wonderful weather we’re having, hm?” you grab a throw pillow and hit him with it, to which he laughs

he places a hand on your hip and says “I don’t have your number”

you scour around the room to find your purse, which has fallen onto the ground

both of you exchange numbers, cuddle

a few hours pass by and both of you sober up, going your separate ways, but not before leaving a lingering kiss on each other’s lips

everything feels a bit hazy, like it’s a dream. but no, it happened.

he’s your biggest dream to come true

#hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin scenario #hyunjin imagine #hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin scenarios #hwang hyunjin scenario #hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin imagine #stray kids smut #stray kids scenarios #stray kids scenario #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #non idol!au #non idol!hyunjin #stray kids #skz hyunjin #skz hwang hyunjin #skz #stray kids hwang hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin

[theoriginalladya]

“ why do you walk around as if you’re somehow less valuable than the rest of the world? ” for Alexandre

from this list

On AO3 here

Oh, thank you for asking about Alexandre!!!!!  *cracks knuckles*  Time to dig deep for all that French I learned in school! lol  ;)

Huge thanks to @nightmarestudio606 for looking this over for me!  <3

~~~~

2178, Alenko orchard, BC Interior

 It astounds Alexandre that he and Kaidan were able to get shore leave at the same time yet again.  After the last time, he thought it might be impossible.  Sure, the Skyllian Blitz was far from their fault, but the Alliance is not known for their sense of humor, dry or not.  Then again, just how ‘wild’ could the interior of Canada be in the middle of winter?  Certainly not on the same level as the Blitz.  Right?

It has been a long time since Alexandre last visited the Alenko orchard, and so much has happened since then.  And though it was only a short stay last time – just under a year – he did fall in love with the place.  The scenic views.  Kaidan’s welcoming family.  The instant acceptance of him and his biotics without question; such a different experience with family than his mother and brother, one that left him with a far greater appreciation for family.  

Since his enlistment, however, finding opportunity to return has not been easy.  Add to that, he is used to being on ships, traveling the galaxy, no ties to any one place. So, the idea of returning to BC to visit is difficult to process for him, more so because, unless Kaidan is with him it doesn’t feel right.  Then again, the only time they have been able to get leave together before now they were both deployed.  Elysium was closer, relatively inexpensive, and someplace new worth exploring and experiencing.  Had he known how it would turn out, he might have made more of an effort to head back to Earth instead.

This time around, however, they head home. Kaidan arrives first, a day ahead of Alexandre, so when Shepard lands at the transport station in Kamloops the next day, he is met by all three Alenkos.  As before, he is welcomed with open arms, quite literally, and all of this despite his current disreputable-looking condition.  Logan and Nathalie cannot hide a startled expression at first, but he reassures them all is well, he is fine and very grateful to have leave among friends.  Kaidan hides his reaction better, though Alexandre still notes a tightness at the corner of his eyes.  He does not make a big deal of it, quietly asking as they climb into the back of the skycar, “Migraine?”

Kaidan shakes his head, raising a finger to trace the new N7 insignia on Alexandre’s collar tab.  The same finger slips beneath the material, brushing against an inch-long medigel-covered wound.  “I want to ask how things went, but I know you can’t talk about them.”

Alexandre chuckles softly, tiredly, but grasps his hand, pulling it away and squeezing gently.  “All that matters is the outcome, is it not?”

Kaidan’s lips press into a thin line.  “You look half-starved!”

“I am fine, mon étoile,** I promise!”  

Alexandre does, however, lie his head on Kaidan’s shoulder as Logan Alenko guides them in the direction of the orchard.  Though he expects Kaidan to continue the discussion, he does not, and Alexandre is able to fall into a light doze until they pull up in front of the house.  Stretching and yawning as he exits the vehicle, he grabs his duffle and heads inside the house and up to his old room, one that, Nathalie assures him, is just as he left it.

For the rest of that afternoon and over the next couple of days, Alexandre settles back into civilian life.  It takes a bit of time to get used to, especially after the trials of completing his N7 training, but there is no pressure, no tension, nothing like what he would have faced with his mother and brother.  More importantly, he has time to simply be with Kaidan.  Whether assisting around the orchard or the house or relaxing together, just being in proximity to his partner brings with it a comfort he has sorely missed.

But this comfort, he notices early on, may only be one sided.  While they do spend time together, and outwardly appearances seem normal, Alexandre senses something troubling Kaidan.  At first, he says nothing; after being apart for so long, it takes time to become familiar with one another again, he understands this.  And yet, when their fourth day, nearly half of their leave, passes and he it feels as if a wall is growing between them, Alexandre decides it is time to talk.

That evening, he finds Kaidan sitting on the porch swing watching as a summer storm blows through the area.  Rain and wind, occasional flickers of lightning, but nothing so severe to warrant an immediate retreat indoors, Alexandre joins him.

The swing drifts lazily, barely moving as Kaidan’s arm rests along the back edge, his head upon the arm.  Alexandre settles in the space behind him.  “I have brough tea, mon étoile,” he murmurs quietly, gently nudging the mug against his arm.  

Kaidan half-turns to take it from him, but says nothing.  Not even offering thanks.  This is when Alexandre knows something serious is wrong.  He sips at his own mug and listens to the rain fall and the occasional crack of thunder.  Having grown up on ships most of his life, it fascinates him and finds he misses it when he is not around it.  It soothes him in ways he cannot explain.  

After a few minutes, after attempting to slide his hand around Kaidan’s shoulder as he leans closer only to have the other man pull stiffly away, Alexandre remains silent no longer.  “What is it, Kaidan?”

Kaidan says nothing, staring out across the yard to the rows of trees beyond.

It tests the limits of Alexandre’s patience, yet if anyone can get away with it, it is Kaidan.  “Mon étoile?  Talk to me, s’il te plait.”**

A sigh, heavy with regret and reluctance, escapes the man’s lips.  “What do you want me to say?”

“I wish for you to tell me what troubles you,” Alexandre replies quietly, honestly.  Again, he attempts to slide his arm around Kaidan to join their hands. This time, Kaidan accepts it, lacing their fingers together.  Alexandre slides closer behind him, resting his elbow on the back of the swing and holding his tea off to the side so as not to spill it on him.  “Why is it you walk around as if you think you are somehow less valuable than the rest of the world?”

Kaidan stiffens, the hold on Alexandre’s hand tightening briefly, almost painfully, as if guilt or shame guides him now. Alexandre presses a light kiss at the edge of the neck of Kaidan’s t-shirt, just where the neck and shoulder join. Kaidan sips quietly at his tea, stares out across the yard, eventually inhaling deeply and releasing the tension within as he exhales.  “You always could see right through me.”

Alexandre smiles against his skin.  “As you can me,” he points out.  “If our positions were reversed, would you not call me out?”

“I don’t deserve you.”

Alexandre does not even acknowledge that comment, instead repeating, “Qu’est-ce qui se passe?”**

A bright flash of lightning, nearly blinding in intensity, arcs across the sky.  Within a second or two, a violent wave of thunder shakes the earth beneath and the air around them.  In that one moment, Alexandre feels a tremor skitter across his partner’s shoulders. “Kaidan?”

“Akuze,” he whispers tightly.  “It’s still Akuze.”

Carefully, Alexandre sets both mugs aside so they do not spill.  When this is done, he wraps both arms around Kaidan, resting his chin on one shoulder, hugging him close.  “What about it?”

Another shudder.  This time when he speaks, Kaidan’s voice cracks.  “I … can’t.  Alex, it isn’t fair to you!”  He turns, facing him at long last but averting his eyes.  

One dark eyebrow arches in surprise.  “Pourquoi?”**  Reaching out, Alexandre gently nudges Kaidan beneath his chin, urging him to look up at him. “Have we not agreed to share everything with the other?”

Sniffling softly, Kaidan nods.  “But we aren’t –.”

Dipping his head lower, he presses a light kiss to Kaidan’s cheek.  “It has not stopped you before,” he insists, “nor has it stopped me in past.”  Kaidan lifts his head, slowly lifting his eyes so they meet.  Alexandre smiles and frames his face with his hands.  “I am here for you, mon étoile, however, whenever you may need me.”

Kaidan traces his finger over the now mostly-healed wound on Alexandre’s neck.  “But you are still recovering from your last mission!”

“All the more reason to know I can handle whatever you have to tell me,” Alexandre insists.  “Trust me.”

“I do!”  

Thunder rumbles around them again, the wind gaining strength as rain picks up tempo, heedless of what is in the way.  Neither of them pay it any attention.  Instead, Kaidan’s arms slide around Alexandre’s chest, pulling him as close as he can, holding on like one desperately holding onto life.  It is not unfamiliar, having been the same reaction he displayed after being rescued off Akuze the year before.  Patient as always, Alexandre moves willingly, allowing the other man to guide him as he needs.  It is some time before Kaidan relents, quietly whispering.  Once he starts, however, he keeps going until he releases it all, including the tension that acts as a wall between them.  By that time, the storm is well past, the sun is set and above them, the skies shine brightly.  Wrapped around the other, they stare up at the night sky in silence, savoring the closeness.  

“That one,” Alexandre murmurs near Kaidan’s ear, lifting their joint hands and pointing towards one star.  “One day, you and I will go to that system together. On a mission.”

Kaidan chuckles softly.  “For what purpose.”

Alexandre smiles against his ear, replying, “Why, to save the galaxy, of course.”

Kaidan’s hand tightens.  “I think I would prefer shore leave …”

~~~~ 

**mon étoile = literally, “my star,” a term of endearment

**s’il te plait = if you please

** Qu’est-ce qui se passe = what happened

**Pourquoi = why

#writing prompts #ladya writes #Alexandre Shepard #mshenko #Kaidan Alenko #OTP: Copains de Combat #assumes Kaidan Alenko was on Akuze #mass effect #French Shepard #maxrev

[dialux]

Oh man I just finished your Booker fic and it’s making me feel so many things, its so good!!! Also Booker having nightmares post-Quynh around the others after not having any for like a century? Oof

!!! That’s the good shit there, nonny! Top tier angst!! Sleep deprivation!!! All the things that make for the best stories!!!!

He startles awake, heart racing.

The details of the dream is already fading, but the after-effects are a fucking bitch and a half to manage: Booker’s wide awake, and jumpy enough to probably break the neck of the idiot that’s sneaking up behind him-

“It’s just me.”

“No just about it,” grumbles Booker, but his voice is thankfully low enough that the other three don’t wake. “Why’re you awake?”

“I don’t sleep well,” says Andy carelessly.

Booker swipes a hand over his eyes and gets up. Stumbles to the kitchen. He feels like such shit, and it’s almost beyond him not to dial into the shipping company and just… re-direct some of the downers to the shores of sunny Lima. Blitz out his locus coeruleus with enough norepinephrine that even his swift healing takes about four hours to fix it. Add another two hours of passing in and out of non-REM and Booker can claim to a proper six hours of sleep: it’s enough to survive. With the alcohol numbing him further, he can stretch that sleep out to eight hours on the really, really bad nights.

Absent the drugs, though, he needs other things to focus on. Their bodies can function on less sleep- the same way they can survive on less food- and Booker’s been experimenting with that for the past couple weeks.

It is not, as Joe’s told him multiple times, going well.

“Doesn’t mean you have to be the same.”

Booker pours out the coffee, mixes it with concentrate of yaupon holly, and then adds a shit-ton of sugar to the brew. Andy watches him with dark eyes, but he doesn’t offer it to her; the last thing they all need is a jumped-up six thousand year old warrior high on the strongest caffeine that Booker can, legally, get his hands on.

“What was the dream about?”

“Fuck if I know,” says Booker, and hisses out through his teeth as he drains half the cup. Christ but it tastes terrible, too bitter and too sweet in equal measure. Still, the trembling ache in his shoulders, tight about his ears, softens. “You know how it is. It’s not like I’ve got a paucity of nightmares. None of us do.”

“You’re the one waking up in the middle of the night.”

“And you’re the one not sleeping.”

“I’m used to it, though,” says Andy. 

Booker rolls his eyes. ��Dream diaries don’t work. Talking about them doesn’t help. I have tried to literally rewire my brain and it isn’t happening. Turns out that being depressed and missing your family when you die makes it impossible for you to feel anything else.”

Andy rolls her eyes. “Just because you automatically accept the most depressing possible theory doesn’t mean that it’s the correct one, Book.”

“If I could go back in time,” Booker tells her, “I would seduce Nile’s mother and ensure that she remained heartbroken over the handsome French baker who disappeared into the clouds and therefore could not marry Nile’s father.”

“I assume there’s a point to that,” says Andy dryly.

“I liked you a hell of a lot better when you weren’t this fucking optimistic is the point,” says Booker. “And I know that it’s all Nile’s fucking influence. So.”

“So,” says Nile, grinning at him from the bedroom she’s just walked out of, “if I don’t exist, you’d be happier?”

“Your mother doesn’t know what she missed out on,” says Booker, and drains the rest of the brew.

…

A bridge of gold and laughter. A bridge as silver as his wife’s grey hair. A bridge, shining as a gun in broad daylight-

Booker wakes, gasping.

Coffee. Holly. Bitterness down his gullet. 

It’s not really new any longer, is it?

…

He takes a knife to the gut, and then sees another soldier sneaking up behind Andy. There’s no time; he’s still barely standing, much less able to voice a proper warning. Instead, Booker lets the intestines he’s clutching inside spill out in a dark, bloody slither. Stumbles. The soldier slips on the sudden viscera: Booker’s yanking his guts back into his own body, mouth open in a silent scream because it really, really hurts.

He wakes up, gasping.

…

He drowns, and drowns, and drowns.

He wakes up, gasping.

...

“Right,” says Nile. “You need help, Booker.”

“Fuck off,” says Booker. 

He’s on mile twenty-one of a marathon-esque circuit, and his body’s pretty much hitting the wall; he does not want to talk about his issues right now. Joe and Nicky have gotten tired enough of his grumpiness to escape to the city for the day, and Andy’s off on one of her personal missions that nobody knows any details about.

Booker hasn’t slept in about forty-one hours, and it’s not getting better.

It’s why he left the house and went on this run! It’s why he’s trying to drive his body into- well, not an early grave, but a grave nevertheless!

Booker regrets many things in life. Introducing Copley to Nile ranks high among them, especially after the little shit went and learned how to hack phones from a fucking CIA agent.

“I’m telling you this because you aren’t going to listen to anyone else,” says Nile. “And this seemed like a good time to make sure you listened. Look, Booker, there are things out there- therapists- courses, if you aren’t going to talk to anyone. You really, really-”

Booker rips out his headphones, takes the little molten sun that feels rather like something has ruptured in his chest, and pushes the energy into his legs. 

He sprints the rest of the way home. 

He’s pretty sure he’s ripped one of the muscles in his thighs with it, and the agony of that is enough for him to focus on something else apart from Nile. Who does not look impressed.

“You need help,” she says quietly, when he finally stops clutching at his own thigh and drops back into the mud and mulch of the garden.

Booker laughs. He laughs, and keeps on laughing, and only manages to stop by rolling over and suffocating himself in the roots of a fucking- plant. 

Probably a Cycus aculeata, which means that either Booker’s in the wrong hemisphere or Andy’s been introducing invasive species again because she misses her fucking girlfriend too much.

“Yeah,” he says, and sits up, already planning the lecture and the following plant-removal that he’ll have to do. Then he sees Nile’s face, and Booker pauses, reviewing what he’s just agreed to. “No,” he says. “I mean. Yes, I need help. That’s, like, the fucking- understatement of the century. Past two centuries. But. I’m not getting help from anyone else.”

Nile folds her arms over her chest. With the sun streaming right behind her, she looks like a goddess come to life: haloed, beautiful, the slightest bit unreal.

“That’s fine,” she says. “I’ll just ask Joe to become a therapist.”

“Sure,” snorts Booker. “And I’ll ask Andy to become a pacifist.”

Nile points a finger at him. “Don’t be mean.”

“Ask Nicky,” Booker advises her. “I mean, I don’t think you’ll get anywhere, but. You’re less likely to be laughed out of the room.” At her questioning look, he elaborates: “Idiot was a priest, back in the day. And, you know, all those people- well, priests were as close as you’d get to therapists before all of this psychology stuff came about.”

“Right,” says Nile warily. “So why do you think I’ll be laughed at? Nicky sounds like he’s good for the job.”

Booker stares at her. “What did the man do, the second he had a chance to leave?”

“Er. Leave?”

“He went on a fucking Crusade,” says Booker. “He killed people. He- well, you know, did the whole invader thing. Liked it, too. He only really stopped because he decided he liked Joe more, and Joe was, like, I’m not going to let you kill my people for fun anymore, and they worked out their excess energy by fucking in sand, because both of them are absolute idiots.”

Nile blinks at him. “So. Not a therapist.”

Booker grins at her, and knows it’s more of a baring of his teeth than anything comforting. “I guess your best bet is Andy, then.”

“I cannot believe I’m going to have to get a degree in fucking therapy because of you,” hisses Nile.

“I thank you for your sacrifice,” says Booker, and pats her on the shoulder gingerly.

He gets an armful of a furiously emotional Nile a moment later, hugging him so tight around the neck it feels like a throttling. Then she backs away, and goes into the house, leaving Booker in leaves and mulch and a burgeoning headache.

Fucking invasive species, he thinks, and wishes he’d never studied botany. Really. If he was just like Nicky and purposely uneducated in all the ecological implications, he could ignore it. But Booker had to go and study plants and try to synthesize his own compounds and get tangled up in ecology legislation in the 1980s, and so he knows, goddammit, and he’ll have to face Andy’s hangdog expression tonight when he serves up roasted cycad beside whatever Joe’s preparing for dinner.

Fuck my life, he thinks, but it isn’t half so sour as it might have been just a month earlier. Fuck my life, he thinks, and heads back into the house, whistling the whole goddamn way.

#i have so many feelings about this idiot and his idiocy #esp his belief that everyone else is the idiot in his family oml #the old guard #dialux answers questions #my writing #Anonymous

[jovialecho]

Comeuppance

Rahzel decides to hit Troy up, telling him to head to the bar tonight rather than Sunday. He asks why it even matters what day, bringing up how eager and impatient Rahzel is to collect a soul.

“You might not even win the games.”

So sure of himself. It makes Rahzel’s blood boil and his eyes roll involuntarily. He urges the other to meet him at the corner of it anyway, and with enough fussing, Troy teleports over.

“Tonight,” The demon starts, walking over to Troy, grabbing his shoulder. “because tomorrow, they ain’t stay open as late. Drinks ain’t up and handed out as late either.”

Troy peels Rahzel’s hand off him, shaking his head. “We came to play, not get drunk. Stupid shit happens when you drink-”

“When I drink???” Rahzel guffaws and puts his hand on Troy’s shoulder again, leading him to the building, “Don’t be acting all innocent. You just as dumb when you blitzed.”

The other doesn’t bother with taking the hand off, walking past the double doors, immediately greeted with laughter and music. The pair head off to the new gaming side.

“Ah sick.” Rahzel latches onto an air hockey table, grinning wide. He looks up at Troy when he follows close by him.

“Been a hot fuckin’ minute since i done played this-” Troy finishes his sentence for him. “-Since the one in your room quit worker? Yeah. Funny how that one doesn’t work anymore. I don’t think we should play this one. I don’t think I’m for seeing the rage you’re always talking about.”

Rahzel watches Troy slip towards the nearest billiards table, instead.

“So we immediately going in, no drinks? No funny shit? No games for the fuck of it?” He watches Troy as he pays for the balls and places them into the rack. It doesn’t take long at all for him to get bored, “Aight, well. I’m gonna go get us some sodas or something, dude, just get the game set up.”

As Rahzel heads to the bar, he listens to passing conversations from the other few people in the booths. He heads for the barkeep, listening out the snacks and drinks he wants, taking a seat so he can wait for them.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, so he pulls it out to have a quick look, turning his head to see if Troy was texting from the pool table. Nope. Once in his device, he opens the texts, seeing it’s from...Rudy. Great. His favorite guy! What overrated nonsense is he going to spill? Deep breath, Rahzel. Alright, he’s ready for the headache.

With another roll of his eyes, Rahzel pockets his phone and collects the food he paid for, making his way back towards Troy, though now he finds himself looking around for anyone paying him any attention. Luckily, nobody has the guts to look his way, so he carries on, ready to try to win a soul, MAYBE fair and square.

~~~~~

From one game to 4, Rahzel found himself on the losing end far too many times to accept. He’s never been one to swallow his pride in anything, let alone gambling, or games in general. 

Yet, as he leans against the bar, scowling, he can’t help but find a hint of amusement in the fact Troy bested him more times than not at a game Rahzel had to help him be better at. Maybe the kid his destined for something great-- Yes, Rahzel picks that up just from playing pool, because that’s definitely a useful life skill.

A hand on his shoulder pulls him out of his grouchy headspace and he turns his attention back to Troy. He’s surprised to see he isn’t smiling.

“What’s up? You won? Ain’t that enough?”

Troy pats him on the back, “As long as you aren’t going to hole up in your room for a week because of it, sure. It’s enough. I’m sure you’ll find someone better to make your first deal with. ...Maybe I’ll even change my mind down the road. Who knows, man. Just figure out what you’re best at offering first before making a mess with your words.”

Rahzel downs the last of his rum and coke before slipping off the barstool.

“Let’s go get some ice cream or something.” He walks right for the doors, ignoring whatever logic Troy decides to spew his way.

“Rahzel there’s no place open!” The brunette follows the lanky troll out of the bar, doing his best to keep up with the pace, “Dude. No place! There is noooo place!”

Rahzel stretches, groaning, “There’s ALWAYS a place, dude. Don’t worry. We going on a motherfuckin journey, dogg.”

Before he gets much further, a voice stops him. He looks ahead of himself to see a familiar face. Oh, it’s that biker again. Time for eye roll number 4 tonight...or was it 5. Rahzel puts his arms down and sighs, hearing Troy stop behind him.

He notices there are three others behind the familiar biker and he scoffs. Is this really happening?

“’ey. What’s good, man? You still pissed about that shit I TRIED to fix?”

The only response he gets at first is a scowl before the bearded biker takes a step forward, the others following in a synchronized fashion. Ew. It’s a posse.

“Yeah, I am. But this is strictly business, mostly.”

Rahzel puts a hand on his hip, raising an eyebrow to emphasize how little he cared, but also prompted him to continue, “Aight?”

He’s quick to notice any movement the biker makes and sees him pull out a handgun. Two of his lackeys follow suit, three guns aimed directly at him.

The demon can’t help but let out a laugh, both of surprise and fresh amusement. The lost deal completely forgotten now.

“Holy shit you really ain’t smart at ALL.” Rahzel can’t tell if he’s goading them or not at this point, though he surely is annoyed but what he perceives as an inconvenience more than anything else at this point.

“You’re gonna shoot me? You do. All four of ya are dead. You don’t know what the fuck ya dealing with, dude.

The lackey in the back starts to look between everyone, seemingly uncertain about what’s transpiring in front of him.

“Even one of ya own ain’t solid on this shit. Grow the fuck up.” Rahzel takes a step forward to further show his lack of concern for his own safety. “You ain’t big. You ain’t tough. You full of shit if you think you can take me on with a gun. I’ll get the fuck back up and find ya ass and rip you a new asshole. Ugly ass bitches you think-”

The leader aims, getting heated faster than Rahzel anticipated.

“I bet you goddamn drunk as shit, too. Put your gun down motherfucker. You’ll regret this shit, for sure.” Casually he reaches for the gun, only to have it immediately discharge into his arm. The sound startles him more than the actual bullet in his arm. “Gh-!”

Troy pushes himself in front of Rahzel, arms up.

“Stop! Stop! We don’t have to do this. Whoa-”

Rahzel reaches for Troy’s shoulder, hissing. “Troy st-”

The next gunshot makes Rahzel’s ears ring worse than before,  but his focus is on how Troy’s head jerks back, and it’s immediately obvious where the shot landed as blood, not his own color, lands on his shirt. As if time itself slowed down, Rahzel watches as Troy drops to the ground like a ragdoll, partially falling against him.

He doesn’t breathe in that moment, the reality not quite setting in. It all happened too fast. What the Hell is even actually happening. Shot. Troy. Troy’s been shot. Rahzel glances down some, seeing the bullet hole in Troy’s forehead.

Dead? Killed.

A hue of purple colors his vision as he looks upward at the group, the lackey on the right looking the most guilty. Yet, his attention falls on the leader as his gun raises again, no remorse on his face.

Rahzel’s mouth opens and all that comes out is screaming. From being frozen in place to suddenly lunging forward, nobody suspected the guy to just fling himself right at the biker. He knocks him to his back, growling and screaming at him, another gunshot hitting him in the chest, then another. He doesn’t let that stop him as he spits out honks and drool at the same instance, face diving right into the biker’s throat. The tendons and cords don’t stand a chance against his teeth and he sinks in, ripping out flesh, muscle. A mess of red cascades down his face and chin.

It’s immediately spat back out, and another shot, though ignored again, is sent into Rahzel’s back.  He stops himself from going back in for another bite, letting the shell of a man bleed out slowly, or suffocate on blood. A quick turn sends him in the direction of the next two. He gives zero fucks with how scared they look, he’s off his shit. All he can think about is Troy. How dead he is.

The demon’s running leaves the two to back away, still taking aim and firing, missing only a few times, though it doesn’t seem to slow Rahzel down at all.

“HOOOONK!”

With a quick burst of flashstepping, he ends up right in front of the two, still running. His hands grab at both of their faces,throwing them down into the asphalt at the same time.

A few more bullets are sent into him, his neck catches one for dinner later. All the pain is set aside as he kneels down with the lackeys’ heads in his hands. Simultaneously, he lifts and bashes the back of their heads into the pavement, listening to their muffled pleas and threats. He keeps going, unable to parse the difference of the bashing with the heartbeat in his ears.

Dead. Dead. He wants them all just as dead as--

He drops the two when there is no more sign of life left in them. Rahzel stands up slowly, bringing the two guns from the corpses with him as he searches for the last one. Down the street, he can see him running away, and Rahzel also notices a crowd gathering around to observe this spectacle.

He doesn’t give a fuck. He takes off running, using his flashstepping until he’s close enough to stop and aim, using a gun for the first time in either lives he recalls. He closes one eye and starts shooting, missing once with one gun and finally hitting the guy in the back with the second gun. He tosses the useless hunks of metal away, making his way over to the squirming lackey.

His hearing is coming back and he listens to the pleading and crying through the faded ringing in his ears.

“I didn’t want a- FFuuck I DIdn’T WANT ANY PART OF THIS! Please don’t. I don’t wanna die. Not like this. Not this young.”

Rahzel kneels and turns the man on his back, reveling in his scream of pain. With his claws he swipes his hand across his throat, successfully slitting it, but not enough blood comes out, so he does it once more, before standing up and hobbling over towards the pile that is Troy.

He has to be careful- He could still be- He sees Troy’s eyes open and his chest tightens.

Fuck.

He kneels, the pain starting to make its way past the numbing rage. He gently closes Troy’s eyes, noticing how bad his own hand is shaking. No, no. no. He scoops him up slowly, taking him in his arms bridal style.

No.

No, no.

He can’t decide which pain is worse, the ones in his body or the one in his heart.

Heart. He decides it’s his heart as his eyes well up with tears. The dead weight in his arms only amplifies the pain.

Distant sounds of sirens pulls his eyes off Troy for a moment. The crowd outside has grown larger, shocked faces staring at him. At what he's done. What about what they did?

Rahzel stumbles away towards an alleyway, but he doesn't fall. He can't. There's no way he can drop Troy. He has to take him home.

Troy.

He never got his soul. It's gone.

Rahzel drops to his knees, sobbing in both anger and despair, lungs fighting against this action thanks to the new holes in them.

"FF-Hhhghk!"

He gurgles on the blood coming up from his lungs, looking down at Troy again. "Mh.."

His captchalogue modus opens and he looks up at it. Troy would fit perfectly in the free slot. He looks from the slot down to Troy’s face, past the blood. He has to go in there.

Just for a while, okay?

He’s captchalogued in an instant, leaving Rahzel freedom to pull out the portable transportalizer, his vision darkening at the corners of his eyes. His focus fades in and out as he slaps the button to the last location on the device. He’s sent into another world, another universe and spat out right in front of his cave’s entrance.

Dropping to his knees in the sand, Rahzel looks around at the familiar territory, then up towards the house, Simon’s house. He crawls that way, every movement causing him to wheeze and ache. Sand sticks to his pants thanks to the collection of blood on his clothes. His lungs, filled with blood instead of air, makes it hard to really breathe, doesn’t it?

“Ghk..kkh.”

As his vision continues to darken, Rahzel becomes more frantic to get to the house. He can’t pass out, not now- No, this isn’t passing out. He knows the difference and this is most certainly dying. No way can he die on this fucking sandy hill. Pathetic. Though, seeing how he’s crying and bleeding everywhere on his way up, it’s hard not to be seen as pathetic.

C’mon Rahzel, you’re only thirty feet from the door. Twenty. Ten.

He uses the doorknob to push himself to his feet, wheezing again from the sheer effort. With his fading strength, he slaps his palm against the door repeatedly, moving to lean on the frame instead of the doorknob. Wouldn’t want to just fall right into someone, right?

Rahzel’s legs feel like rubber as he keeps himself standing for as long as he can. His ears twitch as he hears the doorknob turn. When he sees Simon, he notices the face journey she has as she looks him over. He heaves out another cry, shuddering weakly as he brings himself to stand up straighter.

His voice, hoarse and scratching from the bullet that tore into his throat as well as from the blood making its way up it, comes out barely above a whisper, and he can only push out one word, his consciousness fading in and out.

“M.. mom..?”

Everything goes black for him as he falls forward almost right on top of Simon.

Good job dropping dead in front of your mom, asshole.

#action #Action Post #death #gore #cutemoniic #(for mention) #((ART BY CICIDRAWS!! COMMISSION HIM MAYBE?))