#not that i was trying to keep up the appearance of normalcy lol but i think things start to surface after a while when one gets comfortable

[thebirdandhersong]

My hat and sunglasses disguise has slipped completely in less than a week. People know now that I eat my cereal warm, curl my hair with socks, microwave pie until the crust gets soggy, and have a serious weakness for northern accents. There is nothing I can do to undo this so I shall sit back with my sunglasses on my head and grin sheepishly

#this is the only place i can be genuinely unhinged without fear and one of the few places (aside from church and with friends) #that i'm perfectly happy and comfortable to be myself :) #not that i was trying to keep up the appearance of normalcy lol but i think things start to surface after a while when one gets comfortable #happy to report that it's turtles all the way down but in an optimistic sort of way!

[satyricplotter]

pairing: dick grayson x reader

word count: 3.2k (i think?)

warnings: rape mention (as per dick's canon)

notes: i keep thinking of applying one of my favourite manga/manhwa tropes with dick specifically, because it works so well, but i don't particularly care to put in the work of setting up that it'd take for it to land as well as it could. maybe later. as it is, i'll give you the quick rundown because i spent two days writing it lol

something ugly about you has made you undeserving of romance. you have spent your entire life puzzling out what it is and how to fix it. nothing much is special about you: the matter’s far from isolation, or becoming any particular sort of pariah. perhaps that'd be easier to explain. no. people leave you alone, your friends cherish you, your family loves you. it is not that you have not known affection, but that you have and so when you crash against the wall that horrible first time, it hurts all the more.

nothing changes after that. there is always a limit to where your interest can reach, unnamed but palpable. a line you cannot cross. it seems to you as if the entire world has reached a silent consensus during a meeting to which your attendance was not required and your input unnecessary. why would it be? this is not about you. after all, your ability to love has not become impaired. you like people. you’ve fallen in love. but who has ever loved you back?

this one facet of life has been closed off to you entirely, and you’ve been chased away from all attempts to form a romantic bond with unspoken threats of shame and implications of disgust. (a bit much of a display just for the offense of being little old you. you come to regard the matter so as you grow older and start curating some self-respect. it still stings as badly as scrubbing your skin raw under hot water, but not all the loathing is directed inward nowadays.)

regardless, you’ve learnt that you are undesirable, and nothing you can say or do will change that. you must be content with the other shapes that love can take. nothing that you want matters whatsoever.

you meet dick grayson one summer evening under exceedingly normal circumstances. you do not know about heroes or rogues, no batmans or nightwings. the person that crosses the threshold is none other than dick grayson, the handsome young man. suspicion does not cross anybody’s mind, and if it does, it comes only a good couple of thoughts after his darling smile and shapely thighs.

obviously you like him immediately. what’s not to like? he’s gorgeous.

you react to him with the tense wariness of someone hardened by years of useless crushes. trying to avoid him. trying to be normal when you invariably cannot. it’s fine. it’ll be fine.

you still crush on him.

it’s inevitable, at this point. he’s too pretty, too smart, too kind not to draw you in. every interaction comes a rush of exhilarating fear. at times, you manage to subdue yourself into normalcy, hang out with him with as much naturalness as you can muster. but then he does something particularly attractive and you’re back in square one, shoulders drawn together and so short with him he probably gets emotional whiplash. it’s as exhausting for you as it must be for him, and he still reacts to it with grace. it doesn’t help.

through your concerted efforts to be normal, or at least appear as much, you and dick become friends. not great friends, mind you, but good enough that you start hanging out on your own without any of your mutual friends present. and you only spend about three hours total pondering the meaning behind the phrasing of his texts. that’s gotta be some form of progress, right?

he sits at a little table away from the window, and beams when you arrive. coffee’s on him and conversation’s on you. you’ve got more in common than you first thought, but you go back and forth between imagining it must be fate and squashing down delusion, telling yourself you’re blowing it out of proportion.

at one point in time, a beautiful, sultry-looking woman approaches the table.

this sucks, you think, glancing away from dick’s bland mask of politeness. all of it is hopeless and it still sucks.

you and dick tense immediately, like you both know what’s coming. sure as ever, the woman smiles and asks for his number. you look away politely, sip at your drink. the proximity makes it useless to pretend you’re not eavesdropping (though it can hardly be called that when she came to your table), but you take care not to make any faces that’d give away the little storm brewing in your stomach.

you think about running off to the bathroom, get as far as shifting on your seat when dick shoots you a troubled look. the woman’s been at it for a little more than is appropriate. a minute or so more of insistence and she’ll be stretching the boundaries of her own dignity too far. you look away with pressed lips and move your hands under the table.

your alarm beeps.

“oh, shit, dude,” you gasp, hoping to land somewhere in the ballpark of realism. “It’s almost seven. we’ve got to go, or else we’re gonna miss the movie.”

dick gives the woman his apologies and swiftly runs out of the café with you hot on his heels. on the way to the movie theatre, you wanna ask the million questions running through your head—why’d he reject her? didn’t he like her? did he not think she was pretty? who is pretty for him? what’s his taste in partners? is he seeing someone?—but you know it’s a futile endeavor. what will you even get out of that? it’s clear dick didn’t enjoy the interaction either. you make small talk about something else, trying to draw his attention away from whatever conflicted feelings he’s moored in right now. just because you like him doesn’t mean you can’t be a good friend to him.

it’s a short walk. soon enough, he’s all smiles again. in the line for the popcorn stand, another two girls come up to him, this time much younger than you two. he’s nicer with them than he was before, but he rejects them all unequivocally.

“doesn’t it annoy you?” you can’t help but ask. when dick raises an elegant eyebrow, you panic and backpedal so hard you might as well have driven a truck through a storefront.

“a bit,” dick says, ignoring your rambling. you shut your mouth firmly closed when he gives you a sidelong glance, and continues, so very casually, “it’s worse when it comes from a friend rather than a stranger. so many people just try to befriend me because they’re looking for a relationship, or they want access to my body. it’s… tiring. i’m sure you can relate.”

“ah,” you say. your tongue feels numb, but you’re burning up under the weight of his gaze. “no. I don’t really get harassed like that or, um, asked out.”

“huh.” dick blinks. “really?”

“yeah,” you force out. blessedly, the attendant calls your attention. you jostle dick forward. “look, it’s our turn.”

dick orders popcorn. you get a large slushy that you’re not gonna finish. you make him pay. he complies with no question. inside the theatre, you spend all two hours and sixteen minutes of the showing in absolute silence. it is not so strange to be fixated on the movie, but you’re usually a little more chatty. under normal circumstances, you’d eagerly take the opportunity to lean closer to him, whisper something about the main character’s penchant for gummies and its relation to the degradation of the American working class. he’d glance at you and thoughtfully smile, and you’d catch a whiff of his cologne when you straightened.  for the rest of the movie, the twinkle of his eye as he forwent the film for your conversation would be all you’d think about.

such is not the case now.

you can tell when you’ve been summarily dismissed. in fact, you appreciate when people are subtle about their rejections. it’s always all the more humiliating when they feel the need to bring it out into the open, like your affections have been so blatant they must be commented on, debated.

the rest of the evening is spent convincing yourself that this is good, that this means it’ll be better for yourself going forward. you’ll be less distracted, if anything. dick’s attempts to discuss the movie with you afterwards fall flat, as the only thing you really want is to get home and stare at your ceiling.

when you’ve reached your apartment door, and are turning to enter after a hurried goodbye, dick calls your name.

“look,” he says, running a hand through his hair unsurely. “I don’t usually do this.”

oh, no. dread fills you up. he’s breaking up with you and you’re not even dating.

you swallow. “dick—”

“I like you a lot,” he interrupts. your teeth clang the way you shut up so fast. in fact, you feel a little dizzy. he continues before you can even process that first sentence. “I think you and I could be really good friends, and I’d love if we could continue seeing each other to, you know, hang out and talk. I do truly appreciate your insight. is that okay?”

you blink fast some three or four times. it must be comical, the face you’re making, because the corner of dick’s lips pulls upward despite him trying to keep a serious air.

“I thought we were already friends…?” you say, at a loss for anything else to say.

“yes!” he beams. “we are.”

“okay,” you respond, perplexed. this is so far out of left field. “um. text me when you’re home?”

“yeah.” he grins. gorgeous grin, to be sure, but why? “for sure.”

“cool.” you give him an awkward thumbs up and scurry inside.               

it is… baffling. you spend all of that night wide awake and pondering. dick must’ve misconstrued something, or either you missed a crucial step in your relationship. otherwise the end to that evening makes absolutely no sense. the only thing you can conjure up is that dick must reject a lot of people who, like he said, try to befriend him only to get with him or worse, only to fuck, and it’s not very likely most of those people stay in his life once it is clear he won’t budge on the matter. the fact that you didn’t immediately turn your back on him must’ve come to him as a pleasant surprise.

it’s sad. like, really fucking sad, actually.

that very sadness—and the memory of his handsome, bright grin—turns your outlook inside out. why do you like dick? clearly he’s got the looks and the personality, but do you really know him? what do you know of him? you make a list of things you’ve learned about him in the short time of knowing him. it’s not long.

you come to the conclusion, mortifyingly so, that you don’t, in fact, like dick grayson. that, if anything, the only thing you like is the idea of the boyfriend he could be, which is not the boyfriend that he is (you know nothing about that). it’s the social acumen inherent in bagging such a hottie, and the sparkling sexual attraction bound around it, that really prompt your crushing. it’s not dick as a person. frankly, you think, a little hysterically, could be anyone, really. didn’t even have to be dick. he was just there, the handsomest person in the room. an apt target for the voracious hunger of your heart. you’d mooned and mooned over him for ages and it turns out it wasn’t even about him.

god, you’re such an asshole.

in penance, you endeavor to actually get to know dick without the embarrassment of a crush between you. and it does, in fact, help. dick’s eager to get to know you too, now that you’ve both formally acknowledged you’re friends (such a weird practice, fresh out of kindergarten behavior, but, as you soon find out, dick is weird about plenty and not entirely well-adjusted as an adult). you go on outings together, attend one another’s events, text sporadically throughout the day. you learn which video games dick likes, you tell him which movies are your favorites. it’s fun and light and uncomplicated now that you’ve freed yourself from the constraints of romantic expectation.

not everything’s good. dick’s got bad habits, which grate on you. is it so difficult to put the stupid toilet seat down? can he not learn to chop vegetables in chunks smaller than an elephant’s baby teeth? can he, for the love of god, stop yelling at the tv during horror films?  he’s got some serious character flaws, too. you find about those a lot more slowly, but they don’t cause too much trouble.

you fight one or two times due to dick suddenly abandoning you in the middle of an outing with no regard for your safety, and his tendency to get pissy instead of saying whatever’s upsetting him upfront when he knows, you’ve warned him that you’re stupidly thoughtless about your actions at times. all those are things you wouldn’t have come to experience if you hadn’t given the man a chance to actually be a friend. it’s kind of heartening, actually, to have come so far.

sometimes your crush rears up its head in the middle of nowhere. it’s kind of hopeless by now, but you can’t help the fact that dick’s attractive. neither can he, anyway. you just watch him sometimes, the way the sun hits his eyes, lashes sweeping over his cheeks. it makes you go tongue-tied and silly, but the moment always passes. it has to pass. you struggle against it, recall every time dick has upset you or insulted you in one way or the other. some days it’s easy as buttering toast, others you can barely think around the searing heat of your desire. those are bad days for all involved.

one evening, when you’ve grown close enough you’ve begun to think about dick grayson as maybe, possibly, only-if-he-says-so-too your closest friend, he tells you about catalina.

he does it over the phone line, during your almost-nightly calls. over the months, you’ve taken up the practice of teasing him about handsome people he clearly finds attractive in a desperate bid to divert attention and train yourself for when you have to do it for real. this is not one of such cases, and as soon as you realize this, you sober up immediately.

he says it so simply. talks about it like it’s just a hazard of life. there’s a tight hardness at the edge of his voice, but other than that, he speaks like it’s normal Tuesday for him.

not so much for you.

“is it okay if I come over?” you request over the line.

for a moment, the only thing you hear is dick breathe. “yeah,” he croaks, and you’re bolting out the room immediately.

you don’t know how to react to this other than with a shaky sort of desperation. it’s been years since it happened. there’s nothing you can do about it now. there’s something big he’s leaving out, which you notice but don’t point out. a big lump forms on your throat as he speaks. dick tells you when you arrive that the woman is behind bars for an unrelated crime and the only way you stop yourself from wishing ill on her out loud is the fact he looks so politely disjointed, you know your fury will only startle him.

and you feel it so frightfully, the fury.

you love dick, you realize. beyond the fancies and the underlying attraction, you love dick as a person, as a friend. he’s one of yours now.

the evening morphs into a casual sleepover. you don’t interrogate him, and he seems torn between wanting to say more and grateful you’re not prying. you keep yourself open to the possibility, but also try to comfort him as best you can. you make dinner. you put on a movie. you talk and joke and quietly watch. he invites you on the bed with him because his couch is a nightmare to sleep in and his guest room is “unavailable”, whatever that means. you don’t even think about it, just follow.

lying together under the sheets with the lights off, the rest of your feelings bubble up to the surface.

you ask before you clasp his hands between yours and look into his shiny eyes in the darkness. you try to tell him, how this single evening and all those that came before turned over your loyalty to him. how he can come to you for anything he ever wants or needs—your ear, your care, your protection. how much you appreciate his trust and how much you wish you could make anything, everything better for him. how much he deserves it.

“I’ll never leave you now,” you vow with fierce conviction, searching his eyes for any signs of doubt. any other time you would’ve questioned this statement with the sheer weight of infinite possibilities, but not now. tonight, truth is absolute and in your hand. “they will never take me from you. I will always be on your side, by your side. i’m serious, grayson. you’re not getting rid of me.”

a glimpse of  a watery smile is the only thing you see before dick throws his arms around you and buries his face in your neck. “couldn’t dream of it,” he whispers into your hair.

you hug him back as tightly as he is, murmuring platitudes and running your fingers through his hair. he falls asleep like that, in the cradle of your arms. he feels secure enough to do so, and you feel both proud and nauseous about it considering the secret you keep.

that he’s told you this at all, that he’s trusted you with such a thing—you know how big it is. you know you can never betray him.

you consider your inherent monstrosity, that little unspeakable thing that bars your from that special kind of love. you understand, firmly, that any desire you feel will never be received eagerly and joyfully. not by him or anyone else.  in silent fury, you vow to die before you be like her, to bestow upon this man your grotesque wanting with no regard for his own desire, for the integrity of his being.

that night, you press a kiss to dick grayson’s hair and let him go forever.

.

the next morning, dick watches as you leave. you turn back one last time to wave at him from the parking lot, a bright smile and tussled hair you didn’t bother to brush. you wear out the clothes he lent you to sleep, so harried last night in your haste to come over that you’d simply forgotten to pack pajamas. he suspects you hadn’t planned to stay the night at all, but he’d been damned if he’d let you go yesterday.

you’re pretty. he’s always thought so, but this morning, you’re prettier than ever. it’s the radiance of your heart shining through.

I will always be by your side, you’d said last night. you’d meant it completely, then. dick had been dazed, overcome. he couldn’t take the brightness of your eyes, the surety of your affection. he’d buried his head in your neck and fallen asleep breathing in the smell of your shampoo. in the morning, he’d woken up with your fingers carding through his hair and the gentle warmth of your body against his.

that was nice. he wonders what he has to do to make it happen again.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dc imagine #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #not that the night life features as anything other than a mention #anyway for those in the know.... this is the chundan 'i like you because you don't have expectations of me'/'im never gonna like ycy' scene #except set up a little differently given there's no isekai happening here #satplotdb

[haljathefangirlcat]

Some more character backstory speculation in the Volsung-Nibelung-Dietrich cycle. Sigurd/Siegfried spends his childhood in the woods under the watch of Mime/Regin the dwarven smith in all versions of his story except for the Nibelungenlied itself, which goes out of its way to make Siegfried RESPECTABLE. Even in the Scandinavian material, which presents him having two living parent figures and a grandparent (Hjordis, Alf, and Hjalprek), he still gets fostered and tutored by Mime. Though he does keep in contact with his family, as he says he's used to getting anything he asks for from them. His childhood with Regin makes sense in the versions where he's a foundling, but it seems a little weird for his family to hand him off to Regin of all people for his upbringing. Svend Grundtvig discusses the theory that Regin related to Hjordis through his sister Lofnheid, which would provide some reasoning for choosing Regin, but Reginsmal darts between the origin of the hoard to Sigurd meeting with Odin on his quest for vengeance, so it's hard to figure out what's going on. What do you think is the in-universe rationale for Regin being chosen as Sigurd's foster-father?

"[...] except for the Nibelungenlied itself, which goes out of its way to make Siegfried RESPECTABLE."

I kinda love how you phrased that because it immediately made me think back to Lang's movies, which generally stick close to the Nibelungenlied but still have Siegfried be fostered by and learn to forge metal from Mime -- so much for all efforts at respectability! XD

As for me, I like Regin being related to Hjordis. I think it makes sense, especially as Hjordis' side of the family seems to already have some pretty strange male figures on it (hello, Gripir!), I like how it neatly ties up the Volsungs' supernatural weirdness with the (back)story of the cursed gold, and I feel there's some good potential drama fuel in it. (Not to sound like a broken record -- tho I probably do, lol -- but Stephan Grundy uses the Regin - Lofnheid - Hjordis connection in his books, and I really enjoy both his take on Hreidmar's family and its ramifications through the later events of the story.)

However, it doesn't quite feel necessary to me. Part of it is that Volundr/Weland, too, gets a "taught by dwarves" story, and while the guy's admittedly the Master Smith and sometimes a giant/elf/other supernatural being himself, that sort of takes the edge off Sigurd's upbringing for me, making it, in my view, just a Weird Thing That Happens To Heroes Because They're Built Differently (And Sometimes Get A Little Too Close To The Borders Between Human & Non-Human) and something Hjordis and the rest of the family might have agreed to, even if with some reluctance/wariness, after noticing the kid wasn't exactly your average boy and needed something to balance off the otherwise all-human normalcy of his life.

Another part is that, a couple of years ago, I was trying to find out more about smiths in Norse and Germanic society. Unfortunately, nothing specific's coming to mind rn, only some vague recollections, but I remember reading about a seeming discrepancy between literary smiths appearing as isolated, mysterious, often not-quite-human figures and historical wealthy, well-respected smiths who were actually probably very socially active and connected to their communities. (Obviously, there was more to it, and I doubt the whole story was as straight-forward as I'm making it sound rn, with every literary smith fitting in a box and every historical smith fitting in the other, but again, this isn't all exactly so fresh in my memory.) So, I think it'd be kind of sweet for the adults in Sigurd's life to encourage him to pursue an interest that couldturn out to be very advantageous for him in the future in both a pratical, know-how sense and by giving him a possible new way to connect and work with other people with ease. Even if I do see Regin as a bit of a recluse himself, given his own history... XD But, hey, it's not like Regin's personality would necessarily rub off on Sigurd as he teaches him, right?

#ask #fate-magical-girls #norse mythology #sigurd #siegfried

[girlautism]

hi valen its hana can i still get a bandori card + essay or has the offer expired

HANAAAA this is so exciting for no reason LOL OKAY. i believe a little bandori propaganda wont hurt anyone. everyone should play bandori it has lesbianism and found family amd GAMBLING BY GACHA

whats there not to love....anyway im giving u....TWO kin assignments. And the first one...one of the highest honors i can bestow onto you. One of my top 5 fav bandori characters which is lisa imai. she really loves gyaru and fashion in general and she also really loves amigurumis but she denies it bcs she feels like it doesnt fit her whole cool charismatic persona LOL. shes really niceys. from the wikia: Lisa is a friendly and lively girl who appears mature and calm. Despite her appearance, Lisa acts as the mediator in tense situations, and takes care of everyone well. It's because of her that Roselia (the band shes in) is able to continue to stick together despite the contrasting members personalities and disagreements at times. She often chides the others if she feels necessary, bringing balance to the group.

Lisa is very caring in nature, and is able to notice when a friend is troubled, usually being the first to try and help. She does her best to do what she can, sometimes to a fault, where she'll put her all into something regardless of her own feelings. Adding to her caring nature, she sometimes calls herself an "onee-san", but the other characters have also compared her to a mother at times.

Despite her skills and proficiency as a bassist Lisa believes she is the least skilled member of Roselia, and can get quite sentimental at times as well. She easily cries when her friends, or especially Yukina, reaffirm just how much she is needed in the band or in general. However as time goes on, she becomes more confident and is able to call herself a proud member of Roselia.

some of my fave cards of hers (theres a lot more cards i love of her her cards just tend to be so so pwetty....)

And the second one is nanami hiromachi:3 shes SO silly shes in a horror research club at her highschool but all they do is watch horror movies rlly...shes so silly that she thinks shes TOO silly and is shy abt it. THE tism is strong in this one....And shes PINK how fitting is that. anyway from the wikia: It is due to her parents' odd nature that Nanami yearns to be a normal girl, as she believes that being normal is the only way to make and keep friends. However, because she inherited their intellect, talent, and artistic skills, people have had high expectations of her. As a result, others were jealous of her and she had no friends at all, especially when she won an art contest in middle school. This isolation resulted in her deciding to hide her talented and genius nature. She joined Morfonica because of the popularity of the girls' band trend, believing that way she'll be able to finally become normal. Nanami is a somewhat peculiar girl who longs to be normal, and constantly wonders whether the things she does or says are normal. She worries about standing out and hides her true self in order to blend in. Due to the fact that she hasn't had many friends, Nanami has no idea how to stop people when they argue and such, was even willing to search the internet for a guide for that.

Though she hides it, she gets excellent grades, has great artistic skill, and is a bit of a prodigy. She tends to brush her achievements off with phrases like "it was just a coincidence" or "this is nothing special". Adding to her genius nature, she is able to do things just with a bit of research on the internet, such as arranging songs or making accessories for the band's outfits. While pursuing the "normalcy" she yearns for, Nanami has sometimes ended up doing things that are hard to achieve normally or aren't regarded as normal, such as getting an average grade on all of her tests.

And my favorite cards of her of course...

I actually have the pond one i saved up for SO LONG to get her....And she came home....AHEEM...my silly genius he/she....

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Which songs from Midnights do you pair with which BoB characters?

Ooh this is such an interesting question!

I went a little overboard (apologies 🤭) so answers below the cut!!

❀ "Bigger Than The Whole Sky" - SKIP MUCK, MY BELOVED SUNSHINE BOY 😭🤌🏼

❀ "Anti-Hero" - LIEB. He definitely knows he can be abrasive, impulsive, + temperamental, & I feel like in a relationship, he'd always be secretly TERRIFIED of driving his partner away bc he feels like he's a problem & doesn't deserve her.

❀ "Sweet Nothing" - Lipton Lipton Lipton !! I totally see him being full of quiet admiration for his partner, a steady shoulder for her to lean on, a quiet place she can go when she needs peace from the chaos.

❀ "Mastermind" - SO Nixon-coded, I'm just saying lol. Like, this is a man whose whole job is Knowing Things & Making Things Happen. Dude totally makes it his business to know what's up, especially when it comes to someone he really wants to be with.

❀ "Midnight Rain" - Don Malarkey bc like,, all he wants is to try to feel okay again. He struggles to find this sense of normalcy but it keeps evading him. 🥺

❀ "You're On Your Own Kid" - makes me think of Babe Heffron & Henry Jones but for different reasons.

Babe because all the false bravado in the world can't shield him from losing people & he knows that deep down. He comes out of the war looking twice his age, having seen & done things nobody should have to.

And Henry Jones bc of the feeling of isolation, of being surrounded by people yet being painfully aware that you're different than them & nobody really wants you around.

❀ "The Great War" - LIEB. The image of bruised knuckles & punching walls but also, reaching for someone's hand to hold in your chaos ?? So Lieb & I stand by that.

❀ "Snow on the Beach" - so this one doesn't remind me of a specific person exactly but more a scenario. I can just see being out at a pub or a dancehall when a slow song comes on & one of the guys working up the courage to ask the girl he's been in staring at all night to dance 🥺

❀ "Karma" - Dick Winters. He tries to always do right by people even if they don't always do right by him.

❀ "Question...?" - Speirs. It's all about keeping up appearances despite your internal feelings!

❀ "Glitch" - Tab. I can definitely see him accidentally catching feelings for a friend he ended up hooking up with & he's like "Oh shit oh fuck 😅".

❀ "Paris" - George Luz!! No matter where he is with his partner, he has a way of making things fun for them!! I can totally see him laying on his back in his room with her (after constructing a truly impressive pillow fort), staring up at the ceiling & cracking jokes, painting whole scenarios & experiences for them just from his words/imagination.

❀ "Maroon" - NIX. I can just hear his voice in the lyrics, idk why lol. And the alcohol imagery laced with nostalgia for a time that's now passed 🤌🏼

❀ "Lavender Haze" - David Webster! The mention of melancholia (which in itself is a reference to Romantic period lit, in a way) & the poetic use of imagery in the lyrics really give me Web vibes, idk.

❀ "Bejeweled" - Buck Compton vibes tbh. I think it's just the notion of being the life of the party who everybody loves lol

Thanks for the question, lovely!! 💖

#AlyAnswers #AnonAsks #Midnights #Taylor Swift #BoB

[rotshop]

get prankt this isn't an angst fic lol ,,

ANYWAY ,, i realized earlier that i could've just been calling 'auditor reader' employer reader this whole time and then i had a funny silly goofy little idea and now we r here,,,lol,,, ill proof read this later but i did this in one go no breaks so . help.

I might continue this later so!! consider this a sort of 'introduction' if u will,,

note ; auditor uses he / she / they pronouns in this bc ive decided im just going to push my propaganda onto all of you <333 also Hank uses he / they / xe

tw ; dissociation, dereality, some light body horror

Bloody Management

"This is out of your jurisdiction. You've wasted enough time here," you seethed dryly, staring down at the shorter being. "You've made no progress and have only proved your operation to be a strain on our relations and resources."

"Out of MY jurisdiction? YOU'VE never even been there before! You think you can just storm in and suddenly kick me out of my own work?" Auditor shot back, hands slamming down on the mahogany desk in front of her.

"Yes, actually, I do," you snapped, eyes narrowing. "I think you're forgetting just who you're speaking to. You've let this drag on for far too long and your ego has grown in tandem with its pointlessness."

Sighing, you leaned back in your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose as you continued. "Look, I understand. You put effort and thought into this little pet project of yours, but the results have all proven zilch. You fucked up, that's fine, but you can't keep meddling with this reality in hopes something will suddenly work again! All you're doing is tearing and poking holes the rest of us will have to deal with later."

"If you just gave me a little more time I could-"

"We've been giving you time. We've given you more time than we've ever given any project like yours," you gave a desperate look, "It's over. You tried and we tried, there's nothing that can be done. If you just worked with us then we could help you."

There was a long silence as they faltered, hands falling into their lap as their gaze followed, landing on the floor.

"And what happens to my Nevada?"

"We'll try and clean it up again. Return it to..some sort of normalcy," you hummed, "Though, with some of those tears in the fabric it'll take a bit longer than anticipated. That..clown, is proving to be rather difficult."

You paused, grin finding it's way onto your face.

"It's been tricky, if you will."

"Not the time."

You gave a 'tsk' in response, shrugging lightly, "I don't regret it."

"You'll be going back to our depths, effective immediately. While this project was a failure, we're still curious to see if there's anything else that can be done in a different time and place."

"And what about you? Are you going to sit all pretty in this fake office for the rest of eternity?" She questioned sarcastically, eyes dragging up to meet yours.

"God, I wish. I mean, seriously, you have no idea how nice it is to have some peace and quiet after dealing with that fuckin' office."

With a dry snicker and -presumably- an eye roll, they finally stood accepting their defeat.

"I presume I'll be seeing you?"

"If your little posse doesn't cause me too much trouble, yes."

"Have fun with that, I do hope it's as grueling as possible," he hummed, turning and striding towards the door to nothing.

"Thanks, was nice seeing you too."

The door peering to the void shuts soundlessly.

.

.

.

"Was the pun really that bad?.."

---

"What do you mean they're just neutral suddenly? It's not like they all just suddenly unionized or sum' shit! There's gotta be something going on," Deimos groaned, irritation dragging onto him and clinging desperately.

"Well- What do you want me to say! I'm just as confused as you are," Sanford huffed back over comms, making a vague gesture with no audience.

Hank stood in the other room, staring down at the few agents that were on their knees with their hands held tight behind their heads. They'd made no attempt to attack Sanford and xem, simply staring in a bit of surprise when the two'd busted in. It'd completely thrown the raid off, leaving them both in a state of stunned confusion. The agent that they'd asked about the sudden change in demeanor just gave some shaky shrug, stammering out that they'd all received an order to not attack under any circumstances from some unknown contact. 'They really just listen to anyone then?..'

It was hard to believe, hard to find any reason or meaning in that lead to any conclusive endings. Which, had lead to a small dispute going nowhere and fast. Hank only picked up on little parts of it, the words being muffled and distorted through the wall. Xe didn't really have much interest in getting a clearer reading of it though, it didn't sound like it meant much.

"Look, I'm just going to try and look for any documents or actual recordings of this apparent 'ghost order,' alright?..." A pause. "Deimos? Are you there? Shit- Of course the line dies now of all times."

The line wasn't dead. It was somewhere else, some-when else.

---

The ground felt cold.

.

.

No, was it warm?

Wait- No no no, it wasn't warm..

.

.

.

Was it even the ground?

.

.

Did it even matter?

.

Deimos could fuzzily recall it. Arguing with Sanford over the line. The points he made exactly didn't seem to ring through the fog of confusion and numb in his mind. Something about the Auditor, the agents, blah bla..something.

He'd been making to say something else when he'd seen it, something off in the corner of his eye. It wasn't anything huge, if you asked him he wouldn't even be able to tell you what it was. There was something wrong, but there wasn't. The ground was cold, but it was warm.

Something was wrong.

Everything is fine.

He'd turned around, looking around for whatever in his vision wasn't right.

That's rude to say, you know.

He'd never found it, something reaching from the depths to grab him.

You're making me sound awfully cruel.

With a groan, he picked himself up off the ground to observe his surroundings. White and black stretched infinitely around him, the 'ground' underneath him was the deepest of not-color while the 'sky' was its blinding twin. A building stood in front of him, a mix of ivory and ink twisted to form its structure. The door faced him, standing tall and straight as a soldier in spite of how tilted and off the world felt.

Before he could even really register it, something was pulling him up off the floor. There were no hands or strings physically attached, nothing sticking from him to drag into the infinite beyond his comprehension, no no. It was something quiet, a ghost or a whisper in his mind that pulled him through the ocean and to shore. The door grew larger- closer. His mind grew blanker. His hand twisted the knob.

Color flooded into his vision finally, the room in front of him coated in it graciously. The floors were a velvet carpeting, a wine red that felt of lavish and glitzy. The walls were lined in bookshelves, each filled to the brim with titles somewhere between poetry and latin white noise where imagination fell. At the head of the room stood a desk, polished mahogany standing tall and still, frozen indefinitely in time. Behind it, you.

Me.

Once again, he was pulled forward. Each step fell in front of the other, unsure of weight behind them and noise that followed suite. He felt half there. Half of a man and half of a void. It was..something.

Not pleasant, not bad.

The ground wasn't cold, wasn't warm.

It just was.

He finds himself meeting your gaze as he plops down into one of the seats in front of you. He finds his neck straining and bowing under phantom limbs that aren't there. He finds his eyes training on yours which stare back pointedly, finds himself between hot and cold. He finds himself sitting down before you as he watches from the window.

There's no window in the room.

"You must be so confused."

Your voice is in front of him, right? That's where you are, so your voice should be coming from there. It isn't though. It's around him somewhere. Even as you tilt your head to the side the noise of your own voice doesn't seem to follow it.

"Don't think too much on this all, alright?"

You mutter something. 'These grunts really weren't made for this- to be here. I'm surprised he even woke up.'

Someone nods in agreement.

"Wh..who are you?"

Is that his voice? It is. It has to be, it fell from his own mouth. He barely even felt it move. Is it his mouth? It has to be.

You pause for a moment, seemingly caught off guard. He doesn't know if its because he spoke or because of what he asked. Nobody clarifies.

"Why don't you call me [name]? That'll be easiest for you. I do apologize for dragging you here rather than appearing there," you hum, leaning forward on your desk. "I just wanted to make sure we had the utmost privacy."

I wanted to make sure you wouldn't be able to forget.

"Now, Deimos," is that his name? "I need to tell you something, I have to work on restoring things for you, so I can't deliver this message to everyone myself in the most..effective of ways. You won't mind filling your friends in for me, right?"

He doesn't answer. He can't. His tongue is lead and his mouth is stuck shut, if he opens it will surely be left that way for the rest of infinity- for the rest of this place, this time. Someone says yes in his voice.

"Good. Now, try to listen carefully..."

---

He wakes up on sand. He's sitting up quickly, stilted as his mind finds his body. His tongue is lighter, teeth separated once more as his jaws are their own entities again. The cliff is still under him, wind passing by him peacefully. The horizon stretches infinite.

The ground is warm, there's no mistaking it.

"Deimos? Are you there?"

He pauses briefly.

"I need to tell you guys something."

#deimos x reader #SORTA??????? #I MEAN. U GASLIGHT GATEKEEP GIRLBOSS HIS ASS SO LIKE. TAKE THAT AS U WILL... #idk he's definitely in gay love w/ you but like in that 'aha hey bestie what if we kisses and you were a cosmic horror :flushed:' #madness combat imagines #madness combat x reader #madcom imagines #madcom x reader #auditor reader #employer reader #<- gonna be usin that tag too now ig??

[toosicktoocare]

Omg omg!! 9-1-1 prompts!! I’d really love a Buck x Eddie (either romantic or platonic) where Buck gets stuck in a building for a bit too long and gets super woozy from smoke inhalation and Eddie is having to help guide him to help after hauling him out of the building. Obviously only write it if you want to!! —withstarryeyes

Sorry for the delay on this, @withstarryeyes I’ve actually had this written for, like, 2 weeks now? Maybe 3? I just forgot, lol

When the last family member stumbles out of the building with Bobby, Eddie expects to see Buck trailing behind, but he’s not, and Eddie’s gut twists hard. Tension sets his jaw tightly. and he grips his radio to keep his hands from shaking. “Buck,” he calls into the device. “Status update?”

He’s met with static, and he doesn’t hear the others approach him from behind; he doesn’t hear anything aside from the roaring fire warming his face.

“Buckley,” Bobby tries, voice steady at Eddie’s side. “You want to maybe get out of the burning house now?”

“Uh, trying, Cap, but-”

There’s a crackling crash from the second floor, and it takes every physical ounce of will power to keep Eddie planted in place and not rushing head first into the fire.

“Buck?” Bobby tries again, and it’s the very subtle flick on concern that edges his words that has Eddie shoving his radio close to his mouth.

“Evan,” he growls, desperation thick in his tone, and then the radio’s crackling, and Buck’s breathing that comes through is harsh and heavy.

“I’m kind of stuck.”

It’s exactly what Eddie did not want to hear, and he can feel the blood drain from his face, leaving him terrified down to his very core. His eyes find a bedroom window on the second story, and then Buck appears before it, waving down sheepishly at them.

“Where’s his oxygen mask?” Eddie asks, more to himself, and Hen gestures toward one of the kid’s propped up in the back of an ambulance, an abandoned oxygen mask lying at her feet.

“Shit,” Eddie curses under his breath. “I’m going up.”

“You are not,” Bobby interrupts, falling in step beside Eddie as Eddie all but marches toward the ladder truck that’s already stationed with the aerial aimed to the roof. He’s slipping into full gear, but before he can start the climb to the top of the truck, Bobby’s in front of him, promptly blocking him.

“Bobby-”

“-You have a dislocated shoulder, Eddie. It’s not happening.”

“I’ve worked through worse,” Eddie fires back, eyes briefly flicking toward the roof to see Buck still at the window, looking, for the first time tonight, mutely scared.

“And that’s a poor reflection on me, so from now on, injuries stay on the ground.”

Eddie’s clenching his teeth, struggling around crumbling composure, but then there’s another roar of shifting fire from the building. It’s just enough to capture Bobby’s attention, and Eddie takes his chance to slip from his sling and yank himself up to the top of the ladder truck. He barks out a few orders to the others manning the aerial, and then he’s being helped into the remaining gear and starting across the ladder at a dangerous speed.

“Diaz, get back down here.”

“Eddie, what the hell?”

“I’m not popping that shoulder back into place again, Eddie. You’re on your own this time.”

Eddie ignores his radio, considers tossing it all together, but then he makes it to the window, and Buck, who’s swaying on his feet, coughing into his fist, is shooting Eddie a worried look. He motions for Buck to move back, and in a quick motion, he’s breaking the window and helping Buck onto the ladder.

“Your shoulder,” Buck wheezes, and he tries to pull away, to not cling to Eddie’s bad arm, but he’s staggering, light-headed, and Eddie snakes said bad arm around Buck’s waist, grounding him.

“Move,” he growls into Buck’s ear, and the two make their way back to the truck, Eddie supporting Buck’s weight, guiding him back to the truck then helping him off the truck, and it’s not until Buck’s feet are hitting cold, solid ground that Eddie can breathe fully.

“Diaz!”

Eddie will take Bobby’s scolding; he’ll take it at any hour or any day, but right now, Buck needs oxygen. Luckily, or not, depending on how one looks at it, Bobby’s anger dissipates to clear concern when he stops before them and eyes Buck, who, with every passing second, is seemingly struggling more and more to remain standing.

Buck’s head lolls to Eddie’s shoulder, and though the gaze Bobby shares with Eddie is sharp, indicating a silent more to come, he nods, and takes Buck’s other side, helping Eddie get him to Hen and Chimney.

The next few minutes are a blur. Buck’s fitted with an oxygen mask, and though he’s cleary drained, he’s still whipping out quick jokes and jabs with Hen and Chimney, and Eddie desperately wants to cling to that, to the normalcy, but as much as he tries, he can’t. He can only focus on the way Buck’s hand absently rubs at his chest, or the way his face briefly flicks to pinched pain with each inahle he drinks in. For a moment, all he sees is Buck standing at the window, and all he hears is the masked, crackling fear in his voice over the radio, how he tried to sound calm, but Eddie knows him better than that.

“Earth to Eddie. Did you hit your head, and I not see?”

Eddie blinks slowly. Buck’s in front of him, swaying faintly on his feet and frowning, and Eddie shakes his head, hand reaching out on instinct to feel Buck’s steady, thumping pulse against his neck. “Are you okay?”

“Are you?” Buck fires back quickly, Eddie’s abandonded sling in his hand. “Bobby’s three seconds from losing his shit, you know.”

Eddie looks over Buck’s shoulder to see Bobby frowning deeply at him, and he offers a sheepish half-wave before he turns back to Buck, trained eyes studying  Buck’s poor pallor, the soft wheeze that accompanies each rise and fall of his chest, the way he’s shaking his knees, most likely to hold his balance.

“Do you need to go to the hospital? You were in there for a while.”

“Hen said she wants to look me over tomorrow before our shift, but otherwise, she said I should be fine. I just need to keep an eye on my breathing throughout the night.” Buck lifts one hand, palm spreading softy over Eddie’s injured shoulder. “You should get Hen to look at-”

“-Stay the night tonight,” Eddie interrupts, and Buck’s jaw falls slack.

They’ve been exclusive for a few months now. It’s been clumsy, both working to find a new type of balance, but it’s been nice, and Eddie’s been wanting to ask Buck over for the night for a while now. While Buck’s stayed over before, on the couch after late shifts, this, Eddie thinks, is different, and he can’t think of a better time.

“What?”

“I can watch over you- make sure you’re okay so you can rest.”

“Eddie, that’s not-”

“-Please,” Eddie presses, and whether or not it’s the desperate weight behind his tone, Buck nods, his resolve giving in, and Eddie slips his arm around Buck’s waist, supporting him as he leads him back to the truck. Buck stumbles, and though Eddie’s shoulder is throbing, he tightens his hold.

“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital now?”

“Yeah, Hen said I’ll just be a little light-headed for a bit.”

Eddie’s not wildly satisfied with that answer, but he drops it as he helps Buck into the truck now that another station’s pulled up to work on dousing the remaining flames. He keeps quiet when they get back to the station, sticking wordlessly close to Buck’s side, keeping an ear to his breathing, a hand to is back, and he’s just about to hop into his truck after having changed and gotten Buck settled into the passenger seat when Bobby pops up in front of the truck.

“Eddie.”

Eddie meets Buck’s sympathetic gaze, shrugs, and turns toward Bobby. “Look, Cap-”

“-You disobeyed direct orders.”

“I know, Cap, but-”

“-You aren’t one to normally do that, Eddie. That’s Buck’s job, not yours.”

“Cap, I understand that, but-”

“-Did you even consider the risk, Eddie?”

“Of course I did!” Eddie shouts before he deflates against a sigh, dropping against the front of his truck and running the hand of his good arm down his face. “But, Buck... He outweighs any risk, Bobby. He always will.”

“If you keep this up, I’m going to have to put you two on seperate shifts, and I really don’t want to do that. You two work too well together, so make sure,” Bobby steps a little closer, clapping a gentle hand to Eddie’s good shoulder, “this doesn’t happen again.”

“I can’t promise that it won’t, Bobby.”

“Just, shut up and nod, Diaz. I’m too tired to think anymore about this tonight.”

Bobby’s tone is light, a soft smile coloring his lips, and Eddie nods, his own smile pulling through the stress.

“Take care of him, okay? Call if you need anything.”

“Yes, Cap.”

Eddie hops into the truck when Bobby walks back into the station, and he can physically feel Buck’s almost dopey smile piercing the side of his face. “Don’t say it,” he groans, turning a tired gaze toward Buck, but Buck’s already batting too long lashes at him.

“My hero.”

#911 fox #buddie #evan buckley #Eddie Diaz #bobby nash #whump #whumpfic #9-1-1 #fanfiction #i'm fully aware that i'm not a dr ad Buck probs should have gone to the hospital #i mean we've all see that this is us episode where Jack kicks it #but me and hospital scenes don't always vibe

[slasherhaven]

Hi there, I’ve spent all day reading your fics and I’m in love with them 💕 I was wondering if it’s not too much trouble could you please write for Jason, Thomas and Vincent, about the first time they remove their masks for their S/O? I’m in need for some fluff and insecure slashers lol thanks so much!

Thank you! I sure can, here you go!

Thomas, Jason and Vincent removing their masks for their S/O:

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas took to hiding his face not only because of his own insecurities but also because of the bullying he received because of it.

So, it made sense that he was so hesitant to show himself to you. He doesn’t even take his mask off around the family anymore, he only does so in private and then he won’t even look in the mirror.

You’ve had both Thomas and Luda May explain this to you in various ways and you were truly understanding.

You had told Thomas that you didn’t care what he looked like, you would still think he was handsome and love him with everything you had. No matter what.

He wanted to believe you, he really did. And he knew that you wouldn’t lie to him, that he could trust you. But there was another part of him that just couldn’t believe you. 

How could you ever find him attractive once you’ve seen the worst of him?

The thought of you seeing his face is enough to nearly send him into a panic attack. So he pushed the thought to the back of his mind.

When you bring it up again, just wanting to reassure him that you would accept him exactly as he was, it gave him a lot to think about.

Could he really expect you to stay with him if he couldn’t even show you his face? That didn’t seem right. If he wanted to marry you one day you had a right to know what he actually looked like...

Maybe you really meant it, maybe you really would love him and accept him for exactly who he was. You had already done so and maybe his appearance really wouldn’t be a deal breaker for you.

When he finally agrees to remove the mask, it’s a quiet night were you are both just sitting in his bedroom together.

“You know I wouldn’t make you do anything you didn’t want too, Tommy, because I know you wouldn’t make me do something like that either. It just breaks my heart that you think I’d ever stop loving you over something as vain as your appearance. I just want you to know that I love you, and I’ll keep loving whether you choose to show me your face or not...I just want to be able to see all of you”

Thomas had already been considering letting you see his face and your sweet little speech you just gave him while cuddling up to his chest was the push he needed.

He held you gently by the waist as guided you away from his chest, but not removing you from his lap.

The action made you look up at him, knowing that there was intention behind it.

He unwrapped his arms from you and reached up towards his mask, making your eyes widen slightly.

You knew he would get there eventually but you didn’t expect him to do it right now.

But you calmed yourself, not wanting to show too much of a reaction and let Thomas talk himself out of this.

He undid the fastens on the mask, holding it over his face but not pulling it away.

He just needed some more reassurance.

Gently, you placed your hands over his and just rested them there as he lowered the mask, slowly revealing his face to you.

The mask was placed down on the bed beside you both. 

You pulled your hands away from his and brought them up to cup his face, stroking your thumbs over his scarred cheeks.

Thomas was amazed. In awe.

You were looking at him just like you always did, with love in your eyes and a soft smile on your lips.

You touched the scarring on his face without hesitation, since he had told you in the past that it didn’t hurt, like it didn’t repulse you.

“You’re so handsome, Tommy. I really wish you would let me properly see you more often. Let me love you like I want too” 

Thomas nodded at your words, letting you guide him into a gentle kiss. It felt good to both of you, finally being able to do that without the mask in the way.

He could just cry from how loved he felt in that moment. 

Unconditional love...something he didn’t think he deserved but you gave him anyway. He loved you so much.

The mask wouldn’t come off for good. It was still on around the family and even around you. But of a night, he’ll occasionally slip it off.

The longer you are both together, the more love you give him, the more the mask will be off around you.

Jason Voorhees

One of the things that encourages Jason to remove his mask is that he thinks it’s only fair. You’ve already given up so much normalcy for him, you at least deserve to know what he actually looks like.

Of course, the main thing that encourages him to remove the mask if simply your love and support.

You never pressured him into taking off the mask but you had expressed your desire for him to do so, promising him that you would love him no matter what but also that he didn’t need to do anything that he didn’t feel comfortable with.

Your patience amazes him. Never once did you get frustrated with him.

You would just tell him that you loved him, that you would love him with or without the mask, and left it there. He really appreciated that.

And when he decides to show you his face, it’s by himself without any recent encouragement.

It’s been quiet lately, he’s had more time with you, and you’ve reminded him how accepting of him you truly are.

So he decides that today is the day.

He sits you down and explains that he wants to show you something, which excites you a little, surprise clear on your face when he gestures towards his mask.

But you’re encouraging.

He warns you first. Signing a few buzzwords. Ugly. Scary.

You frown and take his hands in yours, stopping him from signing those awful words.

“I could never think you are ugly or scary. Never. I promise” you sounded so sincere that Jason might just start crying right there and then.

Part of him is even more sure that he wants to do this. Another part of him is even more afraid that you’re going to be proven wrong.

But he slowly pulls his hands away from yours and you allow him to.

He removes the mask and places it down on the table beside you both.

And he looks at you, tears already brimming in his eyes.

Jason never failed to amaze you. He was so big and strong, he scared so many people, hurt so many people, but here he was...nearly crying at the thought of you finding him unattractive and leaving him. Which you could never do!

It reminded you of just how human he actually was. 

“There’s my handsome man” you smiled affectionately as you cradled his face in your hands.

Jason let out a sigh of relief when you didn’t run away or ridicule him for his appearance.

Now he was nearly crying about how you stayed and accepted him. He hadn’t felt this emotional in a long time.

Cover his face in kisses!

Show him just how much you love him, how much you love his face.

He’ll melt under your touch.

And finally, show him a real kiss. He could just burst when you gently pressed your lips to his, nothing forceful or even expectant, just a sweet gesture to show him how much you love him.

You really were a blessing to him, a blessing that he didn’t think he deserved. But the more you showed him love, the more he thought that maybe even he deserved this love from you.

The mask comes off a lot more! Whenever he’s home alone with you, the mask is off because he knows that you love him and he loves how you smile when he reveals his face to you.

Vincent Sinclair

It takes a long time and he genuinely feels bad about it. He wants to be open and honest with you. He wants the two of you to be able to share everything and trust each other.

And he does trust you, more than anyone, and he loves you. And he feels bad that he can’t even show you his face.

But you’re always so understanding and patient, giving him as much time and space as he needs.

Vincent honest hates his face, he always has. To him, it’s ugly and scary and nobody would be able to look past it.

And he really doesn’t want to scare you away, he doesn’t want to disgust you, he doesn’t want to lose you.

He actually tenses every time you reach up just to cup his face in your hands or to caress his cheek, thinking you were trying to remove the mask. It breaks your heart to see him panic at the thought, but you would never do that do him.

You understand that it is something that he has to do in his own time.

Patience really is key here.

Whenever he gets close to building the confidence to show you his face, he talks himself out of it.

Bo has even commented on it, something along the lines of “you expect them to stay with you when you can’t even show them your face, get a move on Vincent”...at least he wasn’t berating his appearance? Bo in an asshole and you all know it.

It should have pressured Vincent to remove the mask but he only pushed him further away from that goal.

He was just so sure that you would leave him, that you wouldn’t love him anymore. And the thought of losing you terrified him, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

It was actually Lester who gave him a better pep talk. Bo thought he was helping, but he wasn’t.

In the end, the only opinion he cares about is yours, and you had told him many times that you would love him no matter what. So that’s what he focused on, that’s what encouraged him and gave him the confidence to do what he was about to do.

He waited until late, when Lester had gone home and Bo wouldn’t be disturbing either of you.

He took your hand in his and guided you up to his room, making sure to lock the door just in case Bo barged in.

Of course his brothers had seen his face before but this wasn’t about that, this was a private moment for the two of you and that was important to him.

You were confused as he sat you down on the bed, shifting nervously before sitting down with you.

The two of you turning to face each other, sitting cross legged.

Of course you questioned him, asking if he was alright, but he just nodded before reaching up for the mask.

You couldn’t help the butterflies you felt in your stomach, whether it was nerves or excitement you weren’t sure.

He took his time, holding the mask in place and taking a breath before lowering it. But you waited, letting him take as much time as he needed. You knew this wasn’t easy for him.

But he eventually had the mask off and placed on the bed beside him.

The only thing was that he was still hiding his face. Hanging his head and letting his hair shield him from your sight.

“Vincent” you spoke softly as you brought your hand up, gently brushing his hair back and making him lift his head. “You’re okay” you promised him as he still turned his head away from him. 

You wouldn’t force him to look at you so your touch was still faint, but you felt your fingertips brush against the scarring on his cheek.

Finally, he looked at you properly, giving you a proper view of his face.

“There isn’t a single thing for me to not like. I love every single part of you, Vinny. I still do” you promised him, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the scarred side of his face. A sweet gesture that made his eye tear up.

Before you knew it, you were being pulled into a tight embrace as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

Just hold him for a while, stroking his hair, he’ll be okay.

The mask still doesn’t come off a lot, more from his own insecurities than fearing your reaction.

But he’s much more comfortable with taking it off when you go to bed before you go to sleep, normally he would wait until you were sleeping before removing it, then laying facing away from you. Now he can hold you properly, not needing to hide from you anymore.

#thomas hewitt x reader #jason voorhees x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #thomas hewitt #jason voorhees #vincent sinclair #slashers x reader #slashers #slasher #my writing

[worldwidebt7]

Hell[L]ing || 05

§ — Pairing: Chimera!Taehyung x Empath!Reader (with mentions of Reader x Other Members)

§ — Genre: SciFi AU, fluff, angst, smut, horror

§ — Wordcount: 2,974

§ — Rating: M § — Warnings: None. Just an awkward AF encounter.

§ — A/N: Gone for so long, but not forgotten! I love this story, and I don't plan on letting it die any time soon~ I need a manager-- I've got way too many projects! Anyone want the job? LOL

Summary: You moved out into the wilderness to live a calm, peaceful life. Your abilities made it impossible to live in crowded places, so even if you wanted to you couldn’t return. But when something happens outside the realm of even your normalcy, you start to think that maybe having everyone else’s emotions bearing down on you isn’t such a bad alternative to being trapped with your own.

You were definitely beginning to question your decision-making skills, or lack thereof. Any sane person would never let a man they met once into their isolated house on a rainy day— it was an exact recipe that stereotypical horror films follow. And you were to be the soon-hunted lead female. Whether or not you get killed milliseconds before the credits started rolling depended on how you treated the situation henceforth.

Standing in your bathroom, you contemplated your options as your fingers ran over the plush fabric of the grey towel you intended to hand to the soaking wet gentleman currently standing in your kitchen. First, you could continue on the path you were currently set on: heading back down the stairs to help the supposedly sick boy dry off and offer him a warm drink. This would most certainly end poorly if your expertise of the genre was anything to go by. Assist the helpless stranger, let his quirky personality charm you, then die. Not preferable.

You could, adversely, call the police or one of your friends to come save you and distract your company until they arrived. This would be the smarter move, though you have your doubts that the situation warrants such a reaction. Besides what your extrasensory abilities allowed you to perceive, your neighbor has done nothing to make you think he holds any ill-will against you. Having him forcibly removed from your home would only certainly sour his opinion of you.

Your last option, from what you could organize from your frayed thoughts, was to expedite option one, in which you dried him off, warmed him up, and sent him on his way before any amount of intimate time passed. You figured that this was the best option, even if it weren’t particularly the safest. You had no reason to suspect the boy of any violence or threat, but he made you inherently uncomfortable either way.

His emotions began to blip at a faster pace— nervousness, worry— were the rate of his emotional markers linked to his heart beat? That was something new. Well, everything dealing with this boy’s emotions was new to you. Taking a deep breath, you turn and leave the bathroom. You suppose your prolonged absence has made your guest begin to panic, and you really didn’t want to have his sporadic emotions to get more intense; you were already feeling the beginnings of a headache.

Scurrying down your wooden stairs, you felt his interest perk at the sound of your footsteps. Anticipation— but gentle anticipation. Warm, welcoming; you almost wanted to hurry to put yourself back in his line of vision, and as you stepped back into the kitchen, you felt the wave of relief that washed over him. His accelerated heartbeat kept the bursts of emotions abrupt, but they were soothed, a welcomed change from the abrasive concern.

His eyes were locked onto your form, taking in every miniscule movement you made. You made sure to avoid his gaze and cleared your throat as you stepped in front of him.

“Here,” You held out the towel for him to take. “You should probably dry yourself off…” He eyed the soft fabric for a moment, a shy gratefulness melding with slight apprehension. You sent him a warm smile when a few moments had passed and nudged the towel towards him a bit. With that, he tentatively reached forward and gently took the cloth from you. You retreated your hand swiftly and as he brought the towel to his chest you sidestepped towards the counter. “I’ll make something warm for you to drink, yeah?”

As you busied yourself, you didn’t see him lift the towel and softly burry his face in it, drying himself. You did, however feel the warm glow of comfort sprout in the air like quickly blooming flowers. With your back turned to him, you didn’t bother hiding the pleased look on your face. Finally— you thought— an emotion from him that didn’t barrage your senses.

With water heating up in your kettle and the packet of cocoa already retrieved from the pantry, you no longer had anything to distract yourself with. In an attempt to make this spontaneous visit less awkward and less unnerving, you turned to make light conversation. To begin, what on earth the sickly boy was doing wandering about in the rain.

“So…” you started, catching his attention immediately, his nerves returning. “Your name is Taehyung, right?” you received a delayed nod. “I’m Y/N. Ah, though you already knew that, right? From last time?” Another nod. Talkative, this one. You supposed you should get straight to your most burning question at the moment. “I gotta ask… I did extend the invitation, but… is there something I can do for you?” He visibly stiffened and the blips of his anxiety sped up with what, you were sure of now, was his increased heart rate. Oh, the headache. Perhaps you should rephrase. “W-what I mean is, since your health is poor, why’d you come over when it was raining of all days?” This seemed to calm him, as the frequency of his beats trickled off.

He didn’t answer you for a long while, opting to look down at the floor in contemplation. You did your best not to stare— you didn’t want to spike his unease once more— but you were finding it difficult to do so, seeing as the wet boy in your kitchen, now that he was up close and personal, was too beautiful to bear. Your previous appraisal of his other-worldly appearance was far too lenient; how could anyone like him possibly exist at all? And his dark hair— curled more from its damp state and hanging further over his obsidian eyes— only seemed to add more depth to the perfection of the features it framed. How utterly unfair it was for someone to be so beautiful.

“I—” you just about jumped at his voice, breaking the silence, but not cutting through it. The melodic depth of it filled the room. “…bad day…” he was pensive with his words— giving you all you needed to know and no more. There was no deception to him, but he was clearly safeguarding information, keeping it locked away.

You gave a thoughtful hum, but you couldn’t hide the shock and confusion you felt. He came to you because he was having a bad day? Someone he didn’t know and only met once before? You couldn’t help but feel this was… odd, for lack of a better term. And he seemed to realize this as well, as his eyes never once met yours. His apprehension was understandable now, and his fear of being turned away— he really had no reason to be here.

Still, your heart warmed at the thought that he had come to you for comfort, as unexpected as it was. And, slowly, the majority of your concerns over the situation began to melt away. Yes, he was a strange boy, yes, there were things about him that were odd and seemed unnatural, but… there was nothing aggressive, or dangerous about his intentions. He seemed more like a child than anything else with how small his large frame looked; like he was trying to curl in on himself.

A sharp whistle pierced the gentle atmosphere and both you and Taehyung jumped nearly out of your skin. You recognized the sound as your kettle quickly after having your nerves fried, but your guest was immediately on the defensive, his fear refusing to subside as he took a pathetic few steps back from the offending object.

“Sorry!” you called out to him and you turned on your heel to remove the kettle from the stove. His confusion was evident, and mixed with the other strong emotions bombarding you, you were almost inclined to say that he’s never heard the shriek of a kettle. The noise subsided as you lifted the item off the heat, turning the burner off in the process. “Phew— that scared me!” At your laughter, his confusion turned into curiosity, and his fear ebbed away.

You emptied the chocolate powder into one of your mugs and promptly drowned it in the hot water from your kettle, the smell of hot chocolate immediately permeating through the air. You se the kettle back down on the stove before stirring the drink, your neighbor’s curiosity only heightening. You turned back to him and beckoned him forward, placing the mug of hot chocolate on the island in front of him in hopes he would sit. When he did nothing, a breathy chuckle escaped you.

“You can sit down if you’d like,” you offered, hoping he would oblige. You realize that this directly opposes your original plan to make this visit as quick as possible, but his uncertainty had found it’s way into your heart. You weren’t sure if it was because he was often ill, but he seemed so unsure of how to interact with other people, like he hasn’t had much social interaction before. It was endearing in a way, and even though there were still some things that concerned you about the readings you got from him, you felt inclined to spend time trying to unravel him.

Or you could simply be suffering from your own solitude.

Either way, you smiled when he slowly made his way over to the counter and seated himself on the stool that the mug sat directly in front of. He still had the towel you had offered him clutched to his chest and seemingly hadn’t dried much more than his face with it. Cautiously, he eyed the mug of steaming liquid.

“Do you not like hot chocolate?” you asked, suddenly aware that it’s possible for people to have different tastes. Or worse, because of his illness he couldn’t drink it at all? “Oh, I’m sorry! Can you even drink hot chocolate? I should have asked before. If there’s something else—”

“No! I—” you blinked, surprised. It was the first time he had spoken so suddenly or with so much conviction. He seemed shocked by his own voice, and immediately receded into himself, almost as if berating himself for his outburst. He chewed on his lower lip, “…I’ve never had it… hot chocolate…” you blinked again.

“Really?” He nodded, and his hand slid forward, reaching for the mug. When you saw his fingers wrap around it, you realized how large his hands were— yet another ridiculously beautiful feature as you couldn’t help but think about how elegant the lines of hands were curved around the dwarfed mug. If he noticed you staring, nothing in his demeanor showed any discomfort at the attention, but you were quick to correct yourself when you became aware of it yourself. “Are you sure you can have it…?” you didn’t want to accidentally poison your neighbor if he was allergic to chocolate. A shake of his head did little to reassure you.

“I’ll drink it,” he said with confidence. He raised the mug, his other hand joining the action as the ceramic was completely eclipsed. It took you a moment to realize that he may not be are of the heat.

“Oh, wait, that’s hot—!” you were too late, and you watched him take a rather large sip from the cup. You blanched, expecting him to burn himself, but he only lowered the mug back to the counter, both hands still firmly encasing it, seemingly unaffected. Huh. Well then, wasn’t that odd?

After a moment of deliberation, excitement burst through the air and Taehyung’s eyes lit up. He quickly took another sip of the drink and from the rush of emotions you knew he was absolutely thrilledby the taste of hot chocolate. You stifled a good-natured laugh, not wanting him to think you were making fun of him, and settled for an endeared smile as you leaned forward to rest against the island counter. Why were you so scared of this boy again?

“I’m going to guess that you like it?” you couldn’t help but tease him a little, and, thankfully, he didn’t seem to take offense; he was far too enraptured by the sweet beverage before him. He nodded happily.

“Thank you,” he said, cheer popping in the air around him, making you want to squeal at his child-like wonder at something so simple. Still, you had to wonder— how is it that he never had hot chocolate before? And if he hadn’t had something so elementary, what else had he not been privy to and why? You suppose you could chalk it up to him being ill often, and if such is the case, he must have been sick for much of his life. You wondered who had been in charge of his health all these years and why they refused him such small pleasures such as hot chocolate, making you again second-guess giving him the cocoa treat. But the pure bliss he exhibited bade you believe that just one cup wouldn’t hurt and that it was surly worth it.

He had been so wrought with nerved when he appeared at your back door that any positive change in his emotions was a welcome one. Perhaps he would leave having a better day than when he came. You could only hope.

“I’m glad you like it,” you said simply before moving on, trying to keep whatever stilted conversation you had going. “I’m surprised you came here if you were having a bad day… did you and Seokjin fight?”

At the mention of his roommate’s name, he stiffened, some of his anxiety returning. You must have hit the nail on the head, because as his fingers fidgeted around the mug he looked off to the side towards the floor. You felt bad immediately, not wanting to sour his mood again.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry,” you straightened a bit at your mistake, readying to correct yourself if given the opportunity. “If you want to talk about it, um…” What could you offer him, honestly? Why would he divulge the details of his roommate quarrel with you? He barely knew you. Still, he did come to you— as a source of comfort, as a distraction, or as escape, you’ll never know. You did know that you may be his only choice out here in the remote wilderness and so, to an extent, you felt a certain obligation to offer him support. After all, should something happen to you, he and Seokjin were the only ones in miles that could aid you, and you could only hope that they would do so without hesitation.

However, he shook his head, signaling that he didn’t wish to divulge the issue. More mystery then, it seems. You nodded and gave no further attempts to interrogate despite the burning questions that nagged at you, knowing full well about the need to keeps certain things to yourself.

“I…” he began, suddenly standing. Startled, you too took a step back from the counter as well. “I should go…” he placed your towel on the island next to the half-empty mug after a long moment, seemingly disappointed to part with it. Taehyung hesitated, but eventually took a large step away from where he had been seated and began to make his way to the back door.

His sudden, hurried departure had you reeling. You had wanted a brief, eventless encounter, so letting him leave now would probably be for the best. Yet, despite all your concerns, you were still opening your mouth.

“W-wait!” you called after him, stepping out from behind your countertop. He immediately halted in his tracks, shifting slightly so he could see you out of his peripherals. His uncertainty thrummed in the air like drums, making your otherwise silent home ridiculously loud. “The… the rain…” For the first time in the last ten minutes, you peered outside your window, expecting to see the previous torrential downpour. However, to your surprise, it had calmed to a drizzle at some point during your neighbor’s momentary visit. When had that happened?

Sensing that you didn’t have anything else to say to him, Taehyung continued his journey to your glass doors slowly. You watched him with a rock settling into your stomach— this didn’t feel right to you, and as he opened the door, you called out to him again.

“Taehyung,” this time, at the sound of his name leaving your mouth, his head spun around completely, eyes wide and panic vibrating from him. No, not panic; something akin to panic, but not quite so negative. Something warmer… ugh, trying to decipher his emotions was like learning a new language. So, instead of feeding into your present headache, you continued, immediately embarrassed by what you say. “Come back again sometime… we can have lunch.” You felt the heat in your face from your blush and then, unexpectedly, it was as if the very space around you was placed under a heat lamp and Taehyung’s not-panic set your nerves on fire. What the hell was going on?

You didn’t have time to dwell, because as soon as the shocked, anxious boy recovered, he nodded quickly and slipped out the door, taking his blips of emotions and quickly disappearing into the tree line separating your properties.

With his departure, you could finally breathe, and you found that a tightness that you hadn’t been aware of begun to unravel in your chest. Your migraine, which you were hoping would leave with your neighbor, proceeded to hammer away in your skull. As much as you wanted to dissect your more than odd exchange with the onyx-eyed boy, you couldn’t imagine thinking about much of anything in your present condition.

“Bath…” you groaned, massaging your temples and groggily treaded your way upstairs to soak away the pain in scalding, fragrant water.

Tags:

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[hihellogoodbyebruh]

No Letting Go

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Black!Reader, Coco Cruz x Black!Reader (platonic)

Summary: Coco has been your best friend and rock since childhood. You’re having a problem learning to share him with the club, specifically a certain club member who happens to be your ex who you may or may not still be in love with.

Warning(s): 18+ only, smut (the sex!), foul language

Word count: 3,493

Author’s Note: This is for my fellow girls who’s love language is talking shit LOL. Also I’ve made this fic pre-season 1. EZ is in jail. This was two parts before I just decided to make it one fic. So it might be a little disjointed BUT just go with it okay? I’ve missed y’all and I hope you like this. Hopefully I’m not too rusty. Questions, comments, and concerns are always welcome. My inbox is open. Enjoy!

Your childhood wasn’t the most stable, drive by shootings and cracked out parents didn’t exactly leave room for normalcy, but there was always one constant for you and that was Coco. His mother was also an absolute train wreck. You guys kind of grew up taking care of each other. You remember Leticia being born while he was in jail and trying to talk some sense into Celia about giving the baby a better life. You remember when he got out of jail and joined the Marines. Just as you got him back, he was gone again. It was extremely hard not having him around, but it forced you to really take care of yourself. No more Coco to lean on. You only had yourself.

So after high school, you went to cosmetology school and got yourself a beauty license. You’d taken care of your hair for years and it’s important to you to teach others how to take care of theirs. Natural hair, wigs, weaves, braids, or whatever. You helped your clients with it all and showed them how to keep up with their hair. You got a job at a local shop and you were taking care of yourself. Things were good but you missed your best friend.

Then he was back. Coco was discharged from the military and you thought you’d have him all to yourself, but then he was telling you about joining the Mayans and you barely heard from him for months. Well, you weren’t just about to accept that shit.

You banged on the front door, “Coco open the fuck up! You know who it is! Open this damn door, Johnny!” You yelled, as you pounded your fist against the door.

The door whipped open and Coco stood there with an irritated look on his face. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! Don’t bang on my door like that. You know better.” The look on his face as well as the growl in his voice would have terrified anyone.

You just stared at him before breaking out into a smile. “I missed you.”

Some of the irritation left his face and he actually sighed at you. It was the closest to a pout he’d ever get. “Yeah, yeah. Get your ass inside.”

“I hear you grumbling, but this is what happens when you keep ignoring me. Imma stay on yo head boy!” You told him, walking into his living room before sucking your teeth when you saw who was there.

Angel. Reyes.

It was bad enough that Coco joined that damn club and was busy being their prospect. It’s been even worse since he’s basically become best friends with Angel, who happened to be your ex boyfriend. Well, maybe ex fuck buddy was better. He started to push for more and as someone who hated being cornered (and someone with serious reservations about his lifestyle) you broke things off with him. It was infuriating. You finally got Coco back, but he was taken away from you again and with the one person who you wanted to avoid. Feelings were still there, but you hid them by egging him on. Were you acting like a kindergartener pulling someone’s hair they had a crush on? Maybe. Using sass to hide your emotions? You’re a pro at that. Coco had no idea about y’alls past.

“Don’t you have your own place to live? Why the fuck you always over here?” You questioned, setting your purse down in one of the empty chairs.

“Hey! Don’t start Y/N.” Coco interjected, already knowing where this was going. It was equal parts exhausting and entertaining watching those two go back and forth.

“I do. I just like being over here. It’s more opportunities to run into you.” Angel replied from where he was sprawled out on the couch. He had a cap sitting backwards on his head, a gray sleeveless shirt on, jeans, and his legs spread wide.

“You giving off real scrub vibes right now.” You rolled your eyes at him before directing your attention back to Coco. “So where you been? See when you don’t return my calls you make me have to pop up on your ass. So wassup?”

“Nothing is up. You gotta chill. You know I’m prospecting with the club now. I got a job at the scrap yard and everything. I’m just busy living.”

“Mmmhmm...so you’re too busy for me now?” You asked, letting the spoiled brat come out of you a little before deciding it was safer to just change the subject. “ANYWAY, Leticia texted me.”

That caught Coco’s attention. “Why? What’s wrong? Is she okay? What the fuck did my mom do now?” He asked, worry clear in his tone.

You waved your hand to dismiss his concerns. “She’s fine. She has a school dance coming up and she wants me to do her hair. I think perhaps you should drop by and check on her, maybe have a small discussion about the birds and bees…” You implored, and he immediately began shaking his head.

“Nah. You should do it.”

“I’m not family.”

“Yes, you are. Plus you’re a woman. Y’all can talk about shit I don’t get.”

“It would still be good for her to have a male’s perspective. One to tell her how a respectable gentleman acts and better yet, shows her.” She has always pushed for Coco to spend more time with Letty. She knew it was hard from him, but she knew the girl truly loved her older brother.

“Who the fuck is Leticia?” Angel asked, clearly confused.

“His sister.” “My sister.” You and Coco answer at the same time. You both maintained eye contact as you basically glared him into submission. Your eyes conveyed the words you’d never let slip from your lips. ‘Spend some time with your fucking kid, Co’ was the thought written clearly on your face.

“Fine, I will stop by and check in.” He conceded and you smiled widely again. You loved it when you won.

“Y’all are so cute.” Angel teased, a small smirk on his face because he knew it would get under your skin.

The small smile on your face was quickly wiped away at his words. “Shut up. That’s my brother. Period.”

“I still have a chance then.” His smirk turned into a grin. He loved getting a rise out of you.

“Psh.” You scoffed, the retort leaving your lips quick and snappy. “A chance in hell.” 

“Then I’ll meet you there, sweetheart.” He always loved that fire in you. He missed not having it around as much. He felt bad about keeping the relationship from Coco, but he figured he’d bide his time for now. He still wanted you. He could remember the nights spent laid up in your bed as he watched you braid your hair or helped you lotion your body. His favorite thing to do was lather you up because it always led to him knocking your walls down.

You stood up from your chair and walked to where he was seated so you could stand over him. Your hands were on your hip and you just stared at him for a moment. He was so blasé about everything. You wanted to make him stumble just once. “Eat shit, Angel.”

“Only if it’s yours.”

You wanted to laugh so bad. He had such a quick wit and y’alls banter was something you have yet to experience with anyone else. Still, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction so you turned away from him to keep your smile in check. “You goofy as hell. I don’t have time for this shit. I have appointments. Just needed to make Coco promise me to my face.”

“All that whining about me not returning calls or having time for you and you can’t even stay and hang? You’re so fucking fake.” Coco chuckled and you laughed as well.

“Don’t hate. I do what I gotta do. Walk me out bestie.” You grinned, walking toward the exit and grabbing your purse on your way out.

“Bye mamí.” Angel yelled at you and you merely lifted your hand to give him the finger. His answering laughter warms you up and you can’t help throwing him a look over your shoulder.

Coco walked you out the front door and closed it behind him.

“If you think that ‘tough bitch’ act is putting him off you’re so wrong.”

You stare at Coco with your eyebrows raised giving him that ‘you should know better’ look before going, “Who is acting?”

“Alright, Y/N.” He just shook his head and decided to let y’all figure it out. No way was he gonna jump in the middle of that. He knew it would resolve itself eventually.

xxxxxxx

The next time you got to see Coco things were an absolute mess. You don’t know exactly what happened but the gang got into a shootout. Coco was injured and your heart was beating against your chest so hard as you raced toward the scrap yard. This was out of your comfortable zone completely, but you needed to see that he was okay. 

Even though on the inside you were freaking out, you tried your best to keep a calm outer appearance as you came face to face with the gang. You went through the basic introductions and then you found yourself crouching in front of a passed out Coco.

“He always said he didn’t really have family so we didn’t know who to contact until Angel told us about you.” The president explained, as you studied the bandages on Coco’s chest. 

You tore your attention from Coco to look at Angel and saw him already looking at you. It was like he was studying you. You gave him a small smile, trying to convey your gratefulness that he contacted you. He just nodded back at you.

“Thank you all for everything you do and did for him.” You looked back at the president, Bishop, and all the other guys.

“He’s our brother.”

“He’s my brother too.” Your gaze went back to Coco, a soft look on your face that made Angel want to just wrap you up in his arms.

Luckily the bullets just grazed Co and nothing vital was hit. You could only sit still for so long before your anxiety got the better of you and you stood up, striding out of the door. You inhaled deeply once you felt the fresh air. 

You would have been so heartbroken if Coco had died. Just the thought made your hands start shaking. You curled them into tight fists and closed your eyes as you focused on slowing your breathing. Your eyes only shot open when you felt someone touch your elbow.

“Hey, you okay?” Angel asked, his eyes soft as he gazed at you so you diverted your eyes.

“I’m fine.” You replied, the sigh you let out in the end betraying your words.

“You want a drink?” He offered and you perked up a little.

“So badly.” You admitted. 

“Come on.”

He led you to the little trailer that was parked on one side of the scrap yard. You wanted to say something smart, but you’d been to his home and knew he didn’t stay here. Plus your heart just wasn’t in it at the moment. He grabbed two beers out of the fridge and opened them before handing you one. You immediately took a big gulp of it.

Angel went to lean back against the fridge and you saw him wince. It dawned on you that he was also in the shootout with Coco. You were so focused on your brother because they said only he was shot, but Angel looked hurt too.

“What happened to you? Don’t tell me you got shot too.” You set the beer down and invaded his personal space. You lifted up his shirt and noticed some bruising there and your head lifted back up quickly to look at him.

“I didn’t get shot. Just got the shit kicked out of me.” Angel explained, staring at you as you fussed over him. 

You let out a loud sigh. “Well you need to be icing it and resting. I can’t have both of y’all fucked up at once.” You murmured, eyes dropping back to his bruises for a moment.

“Are you admitting to actually giving a shit about me now?” Angel inquired and you immediately dropped your grip on his shirt and took a step away from him.

“Don’t start this right now.” You pleaded. It was easy when you two were bantering back and forth, but his face was so serious. You knew the conversation was going to get heavy.

“Don’t start what? So you still want to pretend we don’t know each other? That we didn’t spend nights wrapped around each other for months?” He stepped closer and closer to you as he spoke. “That you didn’t become mi corazón before you took it all away? I’m tired of pretending.”

As he stood directly in front of you, you felt your heart racing. You couldn’t look him in the eyes. You knew if you looked him in the eyes you would fold. He knew as well so his hands caressed your cheeks before bringing your face back up so you would look at him.

“I know you love me and I love you. We should be together right now.” He was beyond frustrated. This game has gone on for too long. He wanted you back.

“Why? For what huh? So in five to ten years you can get yourself killed and leave me a widow? So I can have another person I love ripped away from me? So all I’m left with is bittersweet memories? Nah. Coco is laying on a couch with bullet wounds at this very moment. Fuck that.”

“I never would have taken you for a coward.”

“I’m a coward for wanting to live my life with as little pain as possible? Fuck you, Angel.” Your eyes blazed at his words.

“No you're a coward because you’re scared to face the fact that you love me and want to be with me. I can’t promise nothing bad will ever happen, shit something could happen to you and it would absolutely break me. But I’m willing to take that risk. I promise to make you more than just comfortable. You deserve to feel loved, cherished, appreciated, and fucking happy. I wanna spend the rest of my life making you happy. Don’t you want that?”

Tears filled your eyes and you closed them as some spilled over. 

You weren’t ready to have that conversation with him. Not right now. You wanted to feel good. Your eyes met Angel’s briefly before you were surging up and connecting your lips to his.

His arms slid down your back to attach themselves to your ass, pulling your body against him. You felt every part of him. He wasn’t too muscular, but he was solid. It felt good to be back in his arms. The kiss got more passionate as your tongues tangled with each other. He was a fantastic kisser.

He turned you around and propped you up on the one table in the trailer. Your hands worked his kutte off and you let your fingers run under his shirt and feel his chest again. His kisses ran down your neck and you moaned as he sucked on that spot on your neck. You began unbuckling his belt ready to feel him inside you.

“Eager huh?” He teased, his lips at your ear. You pulled back to look him in the face and stopped what you were doing.

“Oh I’m sorry. Would you like to sit down and talk about our feelings more or would you prefer to feel this pussy wrapped tightly around you?” You asked cockily, one eyebrow raised.

Angel looked at you and smirked. “Continue.” Shit, who was he to turn you down? He never really could. You got his jeans undone and your hand was in his underwear and stroking his dick while kissing his shoulder before he could say anything.

“Ah, shit.” He moaned, as you stroked his dick and felt it harden under your hand. You squeezed it a little just to see if his breath still caught in his throat and you smirked against his neck when you heard the sound.

“Don’t get cocky.” He whispered, rubbing your pussy through your jean shorts. Your hips jumped a little at the contact and you felt your panties getting more wet than they were before. He kept rubbing; the friction of your jeans and panties rubbing perfectly between your pussy lips had you squeezing your thighs closed. 

You leaned your head back to look at him. “You’re gonna ruin my jeans, stop it.”

It was his turn to smirk as he took a small step back, your hand falling off him. “Then let’s take them off.” He peeled your shorts and panties down, spreading your legs so far apart that your right foot slid out of your pants. Your shorts and panties dangled around your left ankle.

“Oh baby, that pussy is still as pretty as ever.” He popped two of his fingers in your mouth, slipping them a little down your throat so he could hear the always beautiful sound of you choking before he stuck those fingers inside of you.

“Fuck..” You groaned, your hand squeezing his arm. 

“And you still feel like Heaven. I gotta feel you around my dick again. That’s what you want right? You want me to fuck that attitude right out of you.” He asked, though it wasn’t really a question. He was just talking. “I know what you need, mami. Always have and always will.” He let his pants fall and in a quick and smooth move he removed his fingers and replaced them with his dick inside of you.

He had both hands squeezing your thighs as he kept your legs apart. He had you open wide for him. Your nails were digging into his arm and your other hand was bracing yourself on the table. There was so much in those thrusts. It was all his feelings in one. He was conveying how mad he was, how much he missed you, and how much he loved you. 

“Angel,” you moaned, head thrown back as you got lost in the feel of him. You couldn’t focus on anything, but him. He still knew exactly how to fuck you and drive you over the edge. Your stomach was in knots as you felt your orgasm building. He could feel it too and he slowed his strokes down to more shallow ones.

“Look at me.” He demanded, and you tilted your head down until you made eye contact with him. “Look at me fucking you. Look at me giving you what you need. I’ll always give you everything. All you have to do is ask. Tell me, mi dulce. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

“I-I wanna cum Angel please.” You begged, barely able to get the words out. You knew that he knew he had you right where he wanted you.

He kissed your lips and sped back up his thrusts as the pressure built back up in your stomach. He kept kissing you, his tongue tasting every inch of your mouth as he fucked you. With a shaky hand, you reached down and rubbed your clit to push yourself over the edge.

You moaned into his mouth as he fucked you through your orgasm. As you clenched around him, the tightening of your walls around him helped to trigger his own release. 

Angel tucked his head in your neck and placed kisses there and along your shoulder as you both came down from the high. “Will you let me take you to dinner, mi dulce? Por favor.” He pulled his face from your neck so he could look in your eyes.

You didn’t shy away from his eyes this time. You held his face in your hands as you gazed at each other. His words echoed over and over in your head.

“You deserve to feel loved, cherished, appreciated, and fucking happy. I wanna spend the rest of my life making you happy. Don’t you want that?”

Mind blowing sex and one beautiful love declaration does not fix everything. You still had your reservations about the relationship. You were still scared. You were still worried. You were still unsure. But when you looked into his eyes you saw nothing but his love for you and his certainty. He was so sure it was you for him. You could picture a wedding and children in your future. Maybe even growing old together. Suddenly, you knew you wanted to try.

Don’t you want that?

With all that in mind, the answer was simple:

“Yes.”

#angel reyes #angel reyes x black!reader #hhgbyebruh fics #no letting go #black!reader

[sl-walker]

All right, since I’m in the middle of a flare and have to work manual labor for the next four days despite it, I figured I would make myself -- and hopefully other people -- laugh by talking about one of my favorite OG Captain Marvel stories. Namely, from Whiz #50, with a cover date of January, 1944, meaning it was probably produced sometime in late 1943.

I want to share it because why not, this is some absurdly charming stuff.

I’ll get more into why it’s one of my favorites as we go, in the form of running commentary. So, full story (with said commentary) under the cut. If you wanna just read the story without my commentary, stick to the pictures. XD

First, let me say that the cover and splash page definitely live up to the story, though the cover’s a bit more sensationalized. But the premise is pretty damn simple: Our intrepid hero and his newsboy alter ego are on vacation. Cap decides to go swimming. It goes hilariously wrong and thus ensues a bit of a madcap adventure, no puns intended.

Second, the fact that Cap and Billy are depicted as essentially different entities makes what Billy does next the ultimate trolling:

Gee, airing out the stolen laundry on the radio? Really? I’ll leave it up to you, gentle reader, whether Billy actually was trolling his own alter-ego for ratings or whether he was just innocently sharing the story while his other-self winced quietly in whatever ether-space he exists in when not front-and-center.

Either way, I love it.

Continuing on...

I get a kick out of the fact that Billy’s monologue is that he’s no dare-devil. One, because that’s so obviously not true in any way -- (that kid is awesomely, sometimes recklessly brave on the regular even without Cap) -- but two, because the bridge is actually named Dare-Devil Bridge. We aren’t given any reason why this dangerous potential death-trap is there, hanging without so much as a gate or a warning sign or anything, because we don’t need one. It’s there specifically for what happens next.

Which, of course, is Billy calling in Captain Marvel, who does some light complaining about the situation Billy left him in. There’s no bite to it, which I find adorable -- Cap actually does get frustrated once or twice in other issues with Billy calling on him for mundane stuff, though he’s never mean about it -- but there is a bit of the sense of being put-upon there that’s just-- I dunno, cute. It’s something I miss a lot in the various post-crisis takes on the character: That duality, that difference in personality, and the way each of them responds to different situations. Often, they’re on the same page, but notably, sometimes, they aren’t.

Someday, I promise, I need to sit down and write how I think that works between those two without being a truly frightening mental illness manifested, what with them being the same person but not the same person. Because I have so many ideas, and I’ve only had since the early-2000s to percolate them. LOL! But until then, just enjoy this.

Here is another reason why I love the Golden Age Captain Marvel books and why I love this specific story: This is an absolutely normal, mundane thing to do. It’s the human thing to do. These aren’t the actions of some super-serious superdude. These are the actions of a pretty shockingly normal guy doing something mundane. And a whole story is built around that normalcy.

It’s cute. It’s funny. It’s the reader already knowing that he’s getting himself into a situation that he absolutely could have avoided, but also completely understanding how it happened anyway. It’s pretty brilliant writing: I say this as a pretty damned good writer myself.

So much of the reason why, I think, Cap was so endearing as a hero is that humanity. He’s got pretty much god-tier power in the Golden Age, once his powerset is established. He’s utterly invulnerable to all physical harm while powered up. But-- he’s human. He knows he’s human. He acts like it, and decides, “You know what? I’m going skinny-dipping.”

He and Billy are both characters it’s so easy to empathize with.

Also, a reminder that the art under Chief Artist C.C. Beck is really, really good. (He had a whole stable of artists to help produce this stuff!) Ignoring registration issues on the printing press, the actual line art is amazingly good; proportion and perspective and consistency.

But anyway--Cap does get to enjoy his swim. But, then, oh no.

I love the idea of a world where the prime hero -- and he definitely is in that world -- can take off his suit and go swimming, and where someone else is bold enough to steal the damn suit off of him. The first time I read this, I started laughing here. Not at him, but at the situation he’s found himself in. At the idea that some random passer-by saw Captain Marvel’s costume and went yoink!

Another thing I love about this particular story is how much Cap and Billy have to work together, just by necessity. Like-- it’s just really good. But anyway, thank everything Billy Batson is on the ball, coming to the rescue.

Sheer bad luck via the weather keeps this story rolling along in hilarious misdirections. Realistically, that uniform probably wouldn’t be all buttoned together (we see Cap take off pieces of it aside the pants in other issues, including socks!), but who cares? The point of the story is that giant bear rug on the floor’s gonna get put to use.

Man, when have you ever seen Superman creeping naked through some stranger’s house wearing nothing but a random polar bear because he went skinny dipping? No wonder these comics sold so well. This next panel is when I start wheezing, though, and pretty much keep wheezing.

“A lady, too! I’ve got to get away from here!”

I’m dying at this point. That’s such a characteristic response, and yet, I think that’s why it’s funny.

Anyway, because this is an excellent story (I mean this without an ounce of irony, too), our dynamic duo stumbles across a plot in play to rob the hotel they’re staying at.

Here’s a big part of why this is such a good tale: Everything fits. Even when it isn’t explained, like Dare-Devil Bridge, it still fits. Why is the tree down? Because there was just a thunder storm, the same one that blew Cap’s suit into the room with the gangsters.

I don’t know if this is Otto Binder’s story, but I wouldn’t be surprised in the least. It’s a complete story told in relatively few pages that accomplishes everything it’s meant to.

Anyway, using foliage as cover, Cap gets to be heroic----then Billy gets to get back to the business of trying to stop the robbery of the hotel and get his heroic alter-ego dressed again.  Which leads to a rather adorable and funny scene of Billy not only trying to describe what Captain Marvel wears, but what size it would need to be tailored in.

(Cap is supposedly a 44 for a suit coat, we find in some earlier appearance, which would refer to his chest size.  So, an XL for shirts and suit-coats.  He’s a big guy, but he’s actually not a hulking huge guy.  But more on that later.)

I love the fact Billy tries to like-- use himself as a model.  Maybe in another ten years, kiddo.  Billy’s actually pretty buff for like a 12-14 year old, he’s not a scrawny kid at this point, but yeah, no.  LOL!

Another thing I also really, really love about this style, though, is that they draw Captain Marvel as being strong, as having a powerful build-- but not as a dehydrated body-builder with deep cuts. He’s got human proportions, regardless of his strength; he’s got a human build, not a superhuman one.

C.C. Beck had a lot of things to say about superheroes who were just muscles on top of muscles, all clearly defined, and he didn’t like it.  As someone who first got into comics in the early 90s with Jim Lee’s X-Men--

I do get Beck’s point.  I not only get it, but I really highly approve of it.  He maintained to the end that he drew (and oversaw) the Marvel family to look like high school and college athletes, and I can see that.  I think the one person who’s gotten it right in the modern era is Evan “Doc” Shaner, who did Convergence: Shazam!  He not only nailed that strong-but-not-hulking build for Cap, but also how young he looked.  College-age, in fact.

But anyway, enough digression into art and why I like this better than most modern takes on the character.  Also, that’s just a cute set of panels.

I also like that there wasn’t an easy fix there.  Cap’s still in his not-birthday suit, and Billy’s still stuck running around trying to solve the issues at hand.  Next comes some other really good panels:

-snorts-  He’s locked in.  Yeah, that’ll hold him.

Anyway, what I really liked here was again that tandem working; Billy can’t punch through a wall, but Cap can.  Cap can’t crawl out while he’s au natural -- well, he could, but he’d probably rather die first -- but Billy’s got no such issue.  It’s just fun when you get to see them doing something like that.  You have to really think for a minute about the trust each of them must have in their alter-ego.

ANYWAY, we get the rare treat then--

--of Captain Marvel not only yoinking a dude into a dark room, but then stealing his clothes.  Except, not his underwear.  Because that’s nasty.  LOL!

I love that in this series, you do actually get to see him wear other stuff.  Go incognito.  Get his red suit messed up enough to take it to a dry cleaner’s, wherein he ends up dressed like a musketeer after.  Jerry Ordway’s series is, I think, the only other time we see Cap not wearing his famous suit, but it happened enough in the Golden Age that it wasn’t a shock.

Like, I hate to be the one to say this, but I do think DC drops the ball often on just how much you can do with Captain Marvel (or Shazam, depending on timeline, but that’s the wizard’s name to me so mostly I’ll stick with the original name) if you unbend enough to.  It’s not just the costume change, or the duality of him and Billy being the same but not, but also his inherent, essential humanity.

But I am digressing again, sorry. XD  I just feel strongly enough about these versions of these characters to spend hours writing this.

Anyway, only a single panel later:

And that’s that!  Billy Batson has just outed his own alter-ego’s most embarrassing moment to whomever’s listening to WHIZ radio -- thank everything podcasts and the internet weren’t available then, ha! -- and we get to see a recounting of a very fun story.

Like I said earlier, I love this one for its essential humanity.  The hero got himself into this mess, he and Billy got him out of this mess, and stopping the criminals was actually just kind of a lucky stroke thrown in there.  But even though Cap got himself into this, the story never treats him like he’s stupid.  It never treats him like he’s some kind of idiot.  You’re laughing, but-- not in a mean way.

I love how human it is.  How complete it is.  How genuinely funny it is.  It’s a thousand times more funny when you genuinely love and respect Captain Marvel and Billy Batson, too.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this dissertation on a skinny-dipping hero.  LOL!  I enjoyed sharing it with you.

#dc captain marvel #billy batson #shazam #whiz comics

[mcytbdamofficial]

the full bdam!schlatt design page!

hi friends :) got something really cool to show you today!!! gonna put it under the cut as there is quite a lot to go through here haha...

but! essentially what you’ll find here is design pages for bdam!schlatt i’ve been working on for about a week now! there are a total of 21 designs for various stages of the story, which I explained in detail. feel free to just skim through and look at the drawings, haha. and enjoy!

(all of the designs are put in chronological order of the story, rather than the order of which they are in the actual story. they are also ONLY designs for bdam, and don’t include anything related to bhav)

first what i drew up here are designs for schlatt in the first stages of the smplive chapters! on the left is his very first appearance, and on the right is how i imagine him to look around his teen years.

in the first design is how i imagine schlatt looking when he first meets wilbur. at this stage of the story he was of course living in the inner districts of the city with not a lot to his name, so you can see ragged and dirty clothes there. he would usually carry his four discs around in his backpack since he didn’t think it’d be smart to leave them unattended in his parents’ apartment.

after getting taken in by phil, there was an immidiate change in how he dressed and acted - mostly getting more clean and fitting clothes, as well as trusting his surroundings enough to leave the discs in the room he shared with wilbur, never really feeling they were in danger. you can see the design on the right is a lot neater, AND he’s got the blue sweater! 

the second set of designs is mostly right before and right after phil’s banishment - more simply right before and right after schlatt was kicked out of the house the family stayed in and was forced to go work at the live daily

the design on the left is what schlatt looked like when he tried to make money for the family right before the banishment - he was described to have been wearing an old shirt of techno’s, a tie made up of a cut piece of techno’s old cloak and black jeans. it wasn’t a suit, but it was made to look close enough to one to help him sell things in a more convincing manner. up close, however, the outfit looked very clearly cheap.

on the right is schlatt’s design for the live daily! together with the aparment he got and everything else techno managed to put together through his connections with pete, he also got some actual suit shirts and pants he could wear, together with a tie. he would often carry around pens and pencils as well as a notepad (at least before he was barred from writing stories for the paper following the ted nivison piece), and was granted a press pass as any other worker at the paper, but he would hardly use it as it was near useless with his low position and permissions anyway.

in the third set of designs we have both of his schlatt & co designs, from before and after the fire that lead him to finding out about the nether intolerance and everything else surrounding it.

at this point in the story, the company was set up and schlatt, connor and wilbur all had enough money left to get themselves nice suits they could use for work. not only that, they made business cards! they’d give them out to clients and new people alike to try and get exposure. you can also see a clear change in how he styled his hair - going from overly neat for his more stable job to more messy for a job he had more control over.

on the right is schlatt’s look after the fire - when the captain concluded what he had he started offering to test schlatt more to try and find some sort of work around for the intolerance, or at least to try and figure out how it worked. he would often be seen with bandages or small bandaids from skin samples being taken, injections, blood being drawn, etc. he wouldn’t wear his jacket a lot around this time since it would be uncomofrtable anyway, and he rarely did business up close around this time considering how he looked.

in this fourth set of designs, we have a design for schlatt during his time in the lunch club, and a design for schlatt during the floods. they are two widely different designs - but i decided to put them side by side for contrast.

in the lunch club design, you can see some minor changes. he’s back to having a full, clean suit, and clearly started presenting himself A LOT more professionally. and as every other member of the lunch club, his badge could always be visible - and hey, i finally designed the badge! it’s a sort of more serious spin of the normal lunch club logo. the other six members had badges from the previous six - but schlatt’s was newly made, so it lacked the wear and tear of the others. another thing about this stage of his life was that he would often be seen around the city on various posters - as all other lunch club members. this was a sort of pseudo-propaganda method to keep the city loyal to the seven leaders and to raise kids admiring them.

on the flood design you can see everything we learn from the narration - schlatt used the jacket of his suit for the most part to bandage up wilbur’s leg, and used whatever was left to make a make-shift sling for his broken arm. there’s not much to say about this other than it being a drawing of what i saw mentally as i wrote those sections!

in the fifth set of designs we have one minor design and one far more major one - between schlatt after smplive’s recovery from the flood, and schlatt after he was left behind by everyone.

on the left, after everything returned to normal, schlatt got back to work at his, wilbur’s and connor’s company. he got a proper cast and sling for his broken arm, and he once more went back to a cheaper, but more comfortable suit. there’s really not much to say about this design, i just wanted to draw the cast-suit combo since i haven't done that before lol

the design on the right is a very important one! this is a design for how i imagine schlatt to look during his time alone in smplive. he would probably hang onto a sense of normalcy with the suit and everything - but would also try to get more functional with what he wore. he would carry a backpack with supplies he would need at any time and that he would fill with things he found around the city while looking for supplies, and he’d have a lot of straps to hang weapons, potions, etc... for the most part, he just tried to get an outfit that could keep things normal and familiar for him but also keep him alive. he always carried the picture of him and wilbur, stal, and a bag of schlattcoins. and of course, the voice recording device. that’s the only thing of those four he left behind when he left the city for good.

finally, some horn designs! these are really fun! on the left we have schlatt right after his first journey through the nether, and on the right we have him after he was nursed back to health by niki! 

when walking through the nether, even despite minx’s magic, schlatt’s condition still left him hurt severely. he also, of course, got hurt quite a lot walking through a place that dangerous. through his walk he grew very small horns - but they were not as big as they would be later. his eyes also begun to shift colour from brown into yellow, but the colour did not show very clearly at first. a small split also showed in the pupil of the eye, but once more, it was barely visible at this time.

after recovering, there isn’t really much to point out. schlatt got fresh clothes, most of the wounds were cleaned and fixed up, and apart from the horns, it was quite hard to tell the difference between how he looked in the dsmp and right before the left smplive.

in the seventh design we have some more severe hybrid features! these got really fun to draw from this point on! on the left we have how schlatt looked during his ban, and on the right is how he looked after, once more, being nursed back to health by niki after coming back. 

on the left design, you can see the hybrid features have gotten more severe. the horns grew out and curled, more resembling that of a ram, and his eyes fully shifted colour to yellow as well as their pupils splitting completely and turning a more rectangular shape. you can see his clothes being a lot more torn and dirty, as well as his jacket being ripped up and used as bandages for most of his body. at this point, schlatt had left his bag in the dsmp and had practically nothing to work with in the nether, especially in the early days when minx was still angry with him and very unwilling to help out in any way. 

on the right we have his design after recovery. he has some bandages, some clean clothes, and once more, there isn’t a lot to say. you can still see some bruises around his face, as well. ah, and of course, at this point he has the chops(tm).

in the eighth design i put together 3 suit designs, since i didn’t need to get too detailed with these ones. let me quickly run through these!

in the first design here, we have schlatt during the election! he got a cheap suit from wilbur that he wore when he expected him to do a speech in support of pog2020, which we of course know didn’t actually happen. at this point he still had most of the damage the ban in the nether did to him underneath, whether it be bandages or bruises.

in the second design we have schlatt during his presidency! this was definitely at his peak, with a nice, custom suit (you can see the manberg flag sewn into it around the chest), which shows how in control of everything he was at the time. 

for the festival, schlatt chose a more extravagant outfit, as did everyone who showed up. you can see a more casual, “human” suit to try and fit in with his people and try and paint himself as a fair ruler. he also put rings and other decorations on his horns for this event!

in the ninth design we have schlatt after the festival and during his further presidency. these were fun to do - let me walk you through them!

as shown in the design on the left, following the festival, schlatt lost an eye, burned most of the right side of his body, and lost a part of his horn. no one really know where it went. it’s believed it was lost in all the panic, eventually, and probably perished in the explosion. his right eye turned completely grey and faded, and he couldn’t see with it. following everything, he had bandages on most of his body for quite some time.

as shown in the right design, schlatt’s further presidency was a facade. he still has his clean, custom suit, but it doesn’t seem to fit the same. you can also see his hair got far messier and he never seemed to bother to actually clean it up. 

and so we reach the final, tenth page of designs! we have schlatt during the dsmp finale, and then we have him during the bdam finale!

in the left design you can see i got HEAVILY inspired by sad-ist’s dawn of the 16th animatic! at this point, schlatt lost his eyepatch but didn’t care enough to replace it or fix it up, and you can see his dishevelled state with how he’s dressed and how his clothes look overall. you can clearly see the burns on the right side of his face, and how little he does to conceal them.

and finally, the finale design! schlatt and wilbur, when they were between life and death, sort of became a mix of their spirits and minds - on one hand was their normal selves, but on the other, was that more innocent side left long behind, symbolised by the blue sweater he USED to wear when he lived with phil, mixed with a nice shirt he’d wear normally. in this void, his state is also more clean and orderly, which is why his horn is back in place and there’s a lack of burns. it’s essentially the most stable representation of him that can manifest - without changing him completely.

and that’s that! hope you guys like these <3 i worked really hard on them, and i’m planing to do more in the future for different characters! i have a lot of time to work on these now that i’m taking a break, so i hope to get more done soon. for now, that’s all! thanks for taking a look at these! <3

#Character design #lore #between dreams and memories #mcyt bdam #jschlatt #schlatt #c!schlatt #c!jschlatt #fanart #art #dsmp fanart #dream smp fanart #mcyt fanart #mcyt #dsmp #dream smp

[babybluebex]

all for you ch.1 [loki odinson x reader]

➽ pairing: loki odinson x fem!reader(y/n) ➽ word count: 1.8k ➽ summary: loki and you strike a deal with odin to save them both, and you have a few words with your new brother.   ➽ warnings: arranged/forced marriage, general angst ➽ a/n: tbh thor is basically my brother irl so yall are kinda meeting my brother here lol

All thoughts of propriety had left me as I stormed into the throne room. Odin was Loki’s father, yes, and therefore my closest friend’s father, but he was still king and Allfather. He was my god and my enemy and, perhaps, my savior. “Odin,” I greeted him quickly. “Do you know what Loki has done?” 

“Y/N, my dear girl,” Odin began. He was obviously flustered by my anger, an emotion that I had never shown to him before. “What’s the matter?” 

“Your son--” I began. Loki entered the room, the doors banging with the force of him, and he interrupted me. 

“Father, I have explanations--” 

“For what?” I cried, turning to him. “You tricked me! What explanation could you possibly have?” 

“Peace, both of you,” Odin said, rising from his throne. “Loki, I was under the impression that you were going to propose. You tricked her? In what way?” 

“I’ll tell you,” I said. “He’ll never tell you the truth. God of tricks, god of lies… Loki found out that I was marrying a different man, and he disguised himself as my fiance! He took my Theoric’s place in the ceremony!” I turned to Loki to see practically no emotion in his eyes. It angered me, how calm he was. I hated him. I had gone from love and adoration to hate and fury in a matter of moments. 

Before I knew it, my hand had lashed out, and I had slapped Loki across his cheek. “You say you love me, and you trick me!” I cried. “What sort of love is born of deceit?” 

The guards at the helm of the throne room stepped forward at my attack on the prince, and Odin was between us in a flash. “Loki,” Odin began. The Allfather was imposing in his gold outfit and braided grey hair, but I could tell that Loki’s ego was overshadowing his father’s. “Did you do this?” 

Loki took a deep breath. “I did,” he admitted. “And I regret absolutely nothing. I told you, you wretch, I told you that you would regret this--”

“You are insane if you think that I’m at fault for this!” I exclaimed. “Loki, I-I trusted you! You were my brother--”

“And now I’m your husband,” Loki spat. “Congratulations.” 

“Allfather, I beg of you,” I said. “Please, tell me there’s a way to reverse this. There has to be, please.” 

Odin looked at me, his jaw tightening as he thought. “I’m sure there is, dear Y/N,” he said. “If there isn’t, I’ll make a way. The royal council meets in a weeks’ time. I’ll propose an annulment then; and a punishment.” 

“Father, a punishment is far too much,” Loki began. “Being married to her is enough--”

“Loki, do you not understand what you’ve done?” Odin growled, stepping to be chest-to-chest with his son. “You are married now. By the laws of Asgard, you are now officially in line for the throne. Not only did you trick Y/N, but you have done something that there might not be a way to reverse. The people will not care too kindly for a king who tricked his queen. You have made an enemy of your wife, your brother, your people, and me. I should banish you.” 

“Why won’t you?” Loki asked. 

Odin sighed. “If I banish you, then I must banish Y/N as well,” he said, and my breath caught in my throat. “She’s done nothing wrong and does not deserve such a punishment. We don’t want Asgard to fall into revolt at your actions, however, so we must keep the reality of this secret.”

“You surely are joking,” I interjected. “What of Theoric? My real fiance?” 

“You don’t need to worry about him,” Loki told me plainly. 

The warmth of anger filled my chest again. “Why?” I asked. “What have you done with him?” Loki shrugged, and the urge to slap him again bubbled up. “Answer me, you fuck!” 

“I did what I had to,” Loki told me. “I killed him.” 

A sob broke my chest. I didn’t quite love Theoric or care for him too deeply, but the thought that Loki had murdered him made my stomach broil. “I…” I began as my tears rolled down my cheeks. “I never want to see you again.” 

“That’s too bad, my darling,” Loki said, and he stepped toward me. I took a step back and tripped on my dress, and Loki reached out to steady me. “We’re married now. You have no choice but to see me, and to love me. Or to pretend to, at least.” 

I tried to steady my breathing and tear myself out of Loki’s grip, but a thousand years of comfort at his hand made me give in and press my head under his chin. “I hate you,” I sobbed, taking fistfuls of his clothes. 

“I know.” 

Keeping the secret from the people of Asgard was one thing. Keeping it from the family was something else. We had no worries of my mother or the priestess revealing our secret, so Odin made me and Loki swear to not tell Frigga, Thor, or Jane. I was in such deep disbelief of the entire situation that I agreed without so much as a second thought. The less people who knew, the easier it was to keep it contained. 

The palace library was often a place of comfort for me as I grew up, and I found myself sitting in my normal place at the window. The sky was pink and orange, the gold city glittering in the sunset, and I tried to imagine what I would be doing had Loki not tricked me. I would be making a home with Theoric, no doubt. I would not be a princess or prospective queen, and I definitely would not be as conflicted as I was. I was angry, so much more than I ever thought was possible, but there was a small part of me that was relieved that I was married to Loki. Marrying the prince had privileges that even I couldn’t deny. I would always have a place to live and a family behind me. That was more than a lot could ask for. 

“Ah, sister!” Came Thor’s booming voice, and I swore that I could have heard his thunder in the ceiling. “I figured that you would be here.” 

As much as Loki was my brother, Thor was as well. He had called me sister for as long as I could remember, and the normalcy comforted me. “Am I that predictable?” I asked with a chuckle. 

“You have always been one to study,” Thor said. He sat down next to me on the cushioned bench, knowing that I would allow it, and he tilted his head curiously. “But you are without a book. Is something wrong?” 

I swallowed thickly and shook my head. “No,” I said. “In fact, everything is quite right. You see… Loki and I were married earlier today.” 

Thor laughed. “I figured it was but a matter of time,” he said. “Congratulations. And where would your husband be, eh?” 

I tried not to let the title faze me. That was my life now. At least, until Odin was able to annul the marriage. And who was to say that the royal council would even agree to that? “With the Allfather,” I answered. “I asked for a moment alone.” 

“Is something the matter?” Thor asked. 

“No,” I said quickly. “I only wished to look at the sunset one last time.”

“One last time before…?” Thor asked. 

“My new life,” I said. “When I wake up in the morning, I’ll be renewed. A princess, someone that has worth.”

“You’ve always had worth, sister,” Thor told me. “To me, and to Loki, and to Father and Mother.”

“More worth, I meant,” I amended quickly. “Did you… When you and Jane were married, did you feel any different than before?” 

Thor frowned and shook his head. “Are you having regrets?”

I drew my knees to my chest. “Not regrets, exactly,” I began. “Anxiety, I think. Just… On the brink of a new life. I think it’s only normal for me to be a bit scared.” 

“Of course,” Thor nodded. “If it helps at all, I think you’ll be fantastic as a princess. And, perhaps, one day, as queen. Loki would not have married you if he didn’t believe in your abilities.” 

“Did he ever tell you that he loved me?” I asked. “I never knew until he proposed. Am I just blind?” 

“He told me once,” Thor said. “A long time ago. But I thought it was a fleeting thing. But now… I’m so very happy for you and my brother. And, please remember that Jane and I are here if you need support of any kind.” 

“Thank you, Thor,” I said softly. I chewed on my tongue, and I finally reached out and wound my arms around him. Thor was a great hugger, and he wasted no time in embracing me tightly. I rested my cheek on his shoulder and clenched my jaw, trying not to cry. I wanted to tell him. I wanted him to know what Loki had done to me and what I was being forced into. But, alas, I had made a promise to my husband’s father. 

“Brother!” Loki said from the doors to the library, and Thor detached himself from me. 

“Congratulations!” Thor exclaimed, standing up, and he strided across the room to hug Loki. “I’m excited for the both of you!” 

“Thank you,” Loki said. He resisted Thor’s hug, but that was normal. “Your support means the world.” Thor unwound himself from around his younger brother, and Loki came to me. I stood up, and Loki put his arms around my waist. Whether it was fake adoration or not, I couldn’t tell, but Loki looked at me with love in his eyes. A thought occurred to me; Loki loved me, but was that why he married me? Or was it purely to spite me for keeping the truth of my engagement from him? I wasn’t sure which option I preferred more. 

“Truly, brother,” I said to Thor. “We were concerned that the family wouldn’t approve.” 

“Why wouldn’t they?” Thor scoffed. “You two are a match made in the halls of Valhalla.” 

“As close as Lo and I are,” I started. “I am still a commoner. It’s unusual for royalty to marry common people.” 

“You were a commoner, my love,” Loki said softly, and he pushed a bit of my hair behind my ear. “That is all behind you now. I am here for you, for the rest of time.” 

I clenched my teeth together, but smiled to keep up appearances. “And I could ask for nothing else,” I said, and I pressed closer to Loki. After a moment, I rose to kiss his cheek, and I spotted the pink flush that infiltrated his face. I had nearly forgotten his confession, and I had to remind myself that there was a hint of real adoration there. But his ultimate motives for tricking me were still unknown. “Only for your love, my darling prince.” 

#loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson x y/n #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x y/n #loki x reader #loki odinson fanfiction #loki laufeyson fanfiction #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x y/n #tom hiddleston fanfiction #loki odinson angst #loki laufeyson angst #tom hiddleston angst #marvel fanfiction #angst

[arch-venus25]

The Head and the Heart, Part 3

Hello everyone,

I am submitting this for @just-the-hiddles‘s The Damnit Jim, I’m A Vampire, Not A Landlord Fic Frenzy. I chose prompt “1….You can pay your rent in money or in blood.” I was inspired by all the prompts and will probably use them throughout the series. Basically I use the prompts as guide-lines.

This is the first time I have written and shared a fic online– or ever really! It’s also the first time I’ve written anything modern so please let me know what you think! I hope I’m posting this correctly–I created the title art–LOL I’ve never done this before. I’m aiming to update the series each Tuesday. So here we go…

Series Masterlist: The Head and The Heart

Summary: The twins are taking a night off from their graduate studies– or at least Tessa is; her twin sister, Antha, is just trying to keep her out of trouble. What starts as a night of good old-fashioned fun and flirting quickly changes as they find themselves at the doorstep of the Hollow House Bed and Breakfast.

Characters: OFCs Antha and Tessa King, original characters/vampires

WARNINGS: 18+ for suggestive themes and violence, cursing, implied drug use, implied rape, stressful/scary situations, vampires, and characters with incredible hair– you’ve been warned. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: 4200

Part Three: Delmar Hospitality

        Antha slowly raised her hands in surrender. It was the best she could do in this unforeseeable situation. Beads of sweat rolled down her chest and back. The searing chill sobered her instantly. “We—we—” She found her mouth desert-dry and unable to form a coherent sentence.

        “Well, are you trespassing or are you lost?” The silken voice demanded.

        “We’re—we’re lost.” Antha panted. A light tumble sounded in the wooded brush as Tessa’s mouth fell open with a gasp, only her teeth could be seen. She fainted.

        “Oh.” The voice sighed. Before Antha understood what was happening long cool fingers wrapped around her wrist and brought her up to stand. “Here.” Those same fingers handed her the gun. She violently shook, her nails impulsively tapping against the metal of the barrel.

        The clouds shifted intermittently, splashing eerie washes of light across the blackness. Long, ethereal white arms appeared out of the dark as the stranger pushed up his sleeves. These bodiless limbs wrapped about Tessa. Am I watching Fantasia? Antha thought—it didn’t even occur to her that she was now armed and could defend them, though she was hardly capable in her muddled state. She stepped back to see him lift her unconscious sister.

        The moonlight poured over something akin to a roman statue come-to-life, with a long column neck and limbs. It frightened Antha to see this otherworldly man peer down from his full height—his great silver-colored eyes burning amidst the night. Despite logic, she had the distinct feeling that he could see more of her than she could of him. “I presume you’ve spoken to the police?” He asked calmly.

        She patted her legs instinctually and realized her sundress had no pockets. Somewhere far, far away her cellphone was nestled in her messenger bag, in the back of Tessa’s car. She shook her head ‘no’ as she was still at a loss for words. “Well, come along then,” replied the stranger. His accent was clean; obviously he wasn’t born of this slower-lower side of the world but seemingly mimicked their colloquialisms.

        Like a white knight he led Antha from darkness and into a comfortably lit yard in the middle of the woods. The well-kept grass stretched in front of them toward a darling little house. There were candle lights in every dormer window, a white-slatted porch with rocking chairs and a sign that said “No Vacancy” to greet them. The stranger turned, “Welcome to Hollow House,” he stated neutrally, not exactly instilling hospitality. Antha clutched the gun in her arms, scanning her surroundings when she could manage to tear her eyes from him.

        Tessa looked like a beloved ragdoll, her long braids swinging peacefully with every step. The stranger held her tenderly as if an appendage of himself, her head cradled to his chest. Why couldn’t I have fainted? Why am I always the one to sort everything out? Antha thought. He carried her with ease up the porch steps and hesitated. He hovered over Tessa’s face for a moment as if he was going to plant a magical kiss that would awaken her from slumber. Then he turned to Antha, brows knitting together for a brief moment.

        “You’re twins.” He chuckled to himself as if something about that was charming. “Would you please?” He motioned to the screen door. She stood frozen in place as if the simple instruction was too much to fathom. “Antha,” he crooned, “when I take you inside, I will lay your sister down, get you cleaned up, and then we will call the authorities. I will help you sort everything out in no time.”

        Thick waves of auburn hair tucked behind his ears and one errant curl falling in his eye line drew her in. His excellent hair aside, he seemed normal enough. Given the monsters she encountered thus far, the normalcy of the house and this stranger were beyond comforting. Additionally, the fact that he held Tessa to his chest made him simply irresistible to deny.

        She shook as she reached for the screen door and held it for him, then he swooped Tessa over the threshold into a lovely foyer. A lean spindle-legged table held brochures for Hollow House Bed and Breakfast. The simple cottage layout and plate of cookies at the door all confirmed for her that she was in fact standing in a bed and breakfast. She followed slowly and watched as he laid her sister down in the Hibiscus Room, right off the foyer and overlooking the back patio. The peach tapestries, brick fireplace, and mahogany wooden furniture framed Tessa, making her nothing short of a sleeping beauty with her mane cascading across the crisp pillows.

        Antha paced backward as he turned to her, leaving the guest room door cracked open. “I assure you she is fine. How about we set this down?” He carefully approached her to take the gun but she clenched it as if she suddenly couldn’t imagine parting with it.

        She didn’t like how he filled up the foyer, frame blocking the dim ceiling light the way an oak tree does the sun. “I’m very sorry about how I approached you before. I heard you two stomping through my woods—and you alarmed me.” He said coolly, not an ounce of excitement in his eyes or face, not even a flush in his cheeks. “Tell me what happened.” When he asked she strangely felt beholden to him. She couldn’t help feeling that he was reading her mind—she knew that was a stupid thought—but something about the way those big eyes held her in place.

        “There was a fight, and, and Tessa ran and so I chased after her—we fell and you found us.” She spilled all of the highlights as if she were reading a teleprompter. The prying feeling lessened when he broke eye contact.

        “I see. Well, please come sit down, allow me to help.” His voice dripping like honey down the back of a spoon. He went to the small dining room off the foyer, pulled out a chair and politely beckoned her to sit. She wagered the risk for a moment but ultimately leaned the gun against the table—within reach—when she accepted the offered seat.

        Feeling naked without the weapon, she held herself as he explained he would bring water. He did everything he said he would and within seconds she found herself staring bewildered into a glass of tap water. Antha felt more at ease when he finally removed the gun from the table and promised to put it away. The kitchen was right off the dining room and she listened as he retreated to the phone, setting the gun down. “…two young women—yes, here at Hollow House. Yes, this is Mr. Smith… Mmm-hmm… No one is harmed. Yes, of course, I understand. Thank you.”

        Antha heard the click of the landline phone being holstered and thought about how long it had been since she had heard such a noise. Since her grandmother’s house she supposed. Her eyes continued their investigation as she waited. Trying to remind herself that she was just on-guard from the hellish night Tessa had put her through.

        The cottage was fine, everything in place. A fruit bowl on display, frills on every corner, the carpet vacuumed. He did everything he said he would, she reminded herself again as she sat on her shaking hands. She was fine. They would wait for the police. They would be fine, she convinced herself.

        He returned to the table with a plate and towel in hand. The plate was placed in front of her and then he bent with a damp cloth and pressed it to her forehead. For a moment Antha found herself quite overwhelmed, quaking in her seat, the adrenaline threatening to keep her on the run until her heart gave out.

        “I believe your story checks out Miss Antha,” he said humorously, “the police said that there was an awful scuffle at the bar out by the road. Once they’re done cleaning that up, they will come to get you two.”

        “Mr. Smith, how did you know my name?” She asked, just over-hearing his from the phone call.

“I could hear you calling to each other.” He explained. “You two created quite the ruckus out there.” He was leaning closer than Antha would have preferred. She never recalled Tessa calling out for her. She also didn’t think she told him about the bar either—stop being stupid Antha, the police told him about the bar, obviously, she chastised herself, her paranoia getting the better of her.

        After pulling the twigs from her braids, wiping the dirt from her forehead and neck he bent to one knee to clean her hands. She sipped her water and stared down at him. His hair was a bit longer than how most men would wear it now, wing-tipped behind his ears and lending to the romance of an Edwardian fashion. The long bridge of his nose and well-placed lips made him truly worth staring at, like the classical paintings in her textbooks.  When he wrapped the cloth over one of her palms his nostrils flared. “That’s a nasty scrape.”

        Antha didn’t realize she was bleeding from when she caught herself on the pavement of the parking lot. Before he sat, she observed his dark button-down shirt partially tucked into slacks; his musculature was not consistent with his occupation. This guy works out for serving cookies and delivering extra pillows, she thought and continued sipping her water. Those great nocturnal eyes never left her, even as he reached toward a bowl on the table, his eyes stayed with her.

        “Here, you must be starved,” he showed his hand to reveal a whole pomegranate. Before she could deny the fruit he tore it open between his large hands. The leathery skin shredded apart as the sanguine juice dotted his pale fingers, the table, and the plate in front of her. Antha could hear herself swallow as the little massacre happened right before her eyes. “Eat, Persephone, and never be released from my palace.” He laughed.

        “I know that myth,” she forced a scoff despite how anxious she felt. She was compelled to be still, attempting to plan her next moves. She wasn’t sure if she was still out of fear or if he was willing her to sit. There was this scratching at the back of her mind again, like a dog at the backdoor, relentlessly trying to get into her subconscious.

        “I had a feeling you would.” He replied knowingly. He leant into his palm on the table, as if fearing she would be too far from him. His offering seemed forced as if he had just read a beginner’s manual of cordiality. Nothing felt organic or friendly. Everything is fine, was what she thought, but something in her gut told her, but not safe. As if an ocean could not quench her thirst Antha finished the water and jolted upward from her seat.

        “I need more water,” she stated blatantly and made her way to the kitchen before he could offer. She felt she could breathe for a moment without those curious gray orbs on her. The kitchen was outdated, but appeared older due to the orange cast of the overhead fan light ticking away, struggling to cool the space. She clutched the sink as if it was her last anchor to the earth. Her eyes kept shooting upward to the dark window in front of her. All she could see was her reflection and the open doorway to the dining room behind her; she was trying to watch her back, making sure nothing suddenly moved.

        While the tap poured foggy water into her glass her eye caught a picture on the counter with a little old white-haired man and woman, their wrinkles holding their sunglasses in place, with Rehoboth Beach in the backdrop. “When are the cops coming?” She called weakly, trying to appear conversational and unsuspecting.

        “Realistically tomorrow morning, not long from now.” His voice carried. He was still at the dining table. Good, stay there, she thought.

        “Oh, we couldn’t trouble you for that long!” Her voice broke against her will, unsure why panic was suddenly rendering her immobile, holding white-knuckled to the sink. Why was there an empty room for Tessa? The sign said ‘no vacancy’.

        Staring at the picture, she saw it said The Smiths 2016. The water was streaming over her hand, overflowing from the already full cup. Her eyes found the reflection of the gun leant up against the ancient landline phone on the wall in the window; it wasn’t the phone itself that made the blood drain from her face, it was the severed phone line dangling from the receiver like a noose. Her heart plunged into her stomach as she pieced together the clues—they were in very real danger.

        “I insist you stay,” the rich-timbered-inflection was too close, and cold breath trickled down the back of Antha’s neck. There was no reflection of the man behind her in the window, all she could see was the terror on her face.

        Glass shards and water exploded against the sink as her hand lost her cup. Her feet left the ground as she found herself turned, and lifted to the counter, her back against the cabinetry. “There’s no possible way we can stay—you see—I, I have misplaced my wallet!” She stammered, attempting to rationalize the situation.

“I’m positive we can agree on an alternate arrangement.” He wedged himself between her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the counter, his nails growing and sinking into her lower back like meat hooks. She had never seen someone so malevolent and beautiful in equal measure as he loomed over her mouth.

        “—Please, I must take my sister home—” she begged, not knowing what was to come. “I can’t leave her—we have to go home!” Tears welled in her eyes as she tried to pull away from the stranger, but found herself latched to him with nowhere to run. His hands held strong as his lips reached the shell of her ear.

        “I wouldn’t dream of separating a pair—she will follow you shortly.” He promised. “Stay.” He told her as if commanding her soul. She found herself unable to fight, her muscles waning as if under a spell. The cold of his cheek dragged across hers as he pulled back to look over her face, his feral irises dilating, impersonal and hungry. His grin displayed a mouth-full of pearly teeth as he sunk to the floor and splayed open Antha’s legs. He hummed gluttonously when he kissed the inside of her knee. His canine teeth grew outward, revealing pristine fangs the closer he drew to her apex. This isn’t real—what is he doing? Her mind raced, her fingers searching blindly on the counter for aid. He threw one of her legs over his shoulder and Antha mustered the last of her will to kick him in the face before she could find out.

        She launched herself from the counter clumsily as the stranger recoiled, her muscles waking up from their enchantment. After snapping his broken nose back into place, he caught a second wind and lunged for her neck. Instinctively, her wrapped hand shoved the stray piece of glass from her broken water cup into the corner of his mouth. He leant against the counter, retracted his fangs and smiled through it, as if he had been pleasantly surprised.

        She snatched the gun as she darted to a nearby door in the kitchen. Her hands frantically locking the door and then searching for a light. Rickety wooden stairs bowed under her feet as she followed carefully forward, her gun-hand sliding down a railing and the other on its mission for a light switch. She could hear him groan as he pulled forth the glass and the blood spilled to the linoleum floor. “Antha, darling,” that same penetrating voice hummed above her as he gathered his bearings, “stay and fight me off—I do so enjoy this.” She could hear him gagging and spitting—she could only hope the glass shard spliced his gums.

        Finally, as if her prayers had been answered, her hand found what it had been seeking. She flipped the light switch on to find one lone dangling bulb above her. For the third time of evening, Antha’s feet left the earth and she toppled over a pile of laundry at the base of the stairs. She saw nothing to defend her, no place to hide. When she scooted back from the heap, she saw fuzzy white tufts. To her horror she recognized old Mr. Smith crumpled atop other bodies, their throats and wrists torn out, blood pooling across the floor.

        Antha covered her mouth to stop from screaming. Her tear ducts working hysterically as she distanced herself from the carnage. How did I end up here? This can’t be happening! The cautious twin thought to herself, why me? The rattle of the door knob broke through her shock as the perpetrator tried to gain access to the basement. The foundation shook as he began ramming himself into the basement door—BAM—BAM—BAM—the door and frame failing under his inhuman force, the wood splintering and the drywall crackling.

        Searching again for anything to save her, as if she was swarmed in answers that her brain could not comprehend in its panic—Antha finally noticed a cellar door. Rushing to it, she undid the inside latch and pushed upward to get out. She could hear the basement door explode, the skittle-like bounce of nails and screws as it finally gave way under his might. Throwing the door back down she jammed the handle with a nearby shim.

        Scrambling through the backyard she hid behind a tree, knowing that it was only a temporary delay for him. The stranger was much too keen for her to outrun she guessed, she definitely couldn’t fight him—perhaps hiding would give her a moment to develop an escape path back to Tessa, an element of surprise—or anything—against him. Antha’s pulse hammering, the vein in her neck thick like an anaconda as the adrenaline coursed through her. She cocked the gun blindly, praying she did it right—worst case scenario she was going to go out swinging the damn thing. How will I get to Tessa?

        Antha pressed her back into the large tree, her gun readied. Trickles of blood ran hot down her legs from his vicious claw marks. She tried to control her breath, but his fury found the cellar doors faster than she wanted. The slamming began again until one of the cellar door’s peaked upward, his elbow bending it as if mere tinfoil. Seconds later the door flew into the yard, mangled.

        “I imagined Tessa to be the runner!” He laughed as he emerged from the ground, taking his time. “Antha, come back to me.” His voice fell into a low growl as he scanned the yard. Her hands shook with resentful readiness.

        Then there was silence, abrupt and oppressive. Her ears strained but could not hear his panther like steps. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, hoping it would aid her hearing—but she was met with complete nothingness. She couldn’t hold her breath any longer, and the faint hiss of her exhale trumpeted amongst the stifling stillness. It must have given her away as the lean, wiry fingers found her throat and ripped her up from the ground like a dandelion.

        She shoved the gun tip to his chest, ready to take out his heart. But to her unfathomable dread, the gun failed her. The dead click of an ammo less shotgun became nothing more than a toy prop in her dire moment. She did what she could to wield it like a bat, but was unsuccessful as he caught it and crushed it in his other hand. Suffocating in his grip she tried to break free.

        “You’re insufferable,” he sneered, his mouth growing its tissue back and reconstructing the damage he endured moments prior. “Did you think I would leave it loaded?” His bright steely eyes scouring over her struggling frame. “As enjoyable as this was, our time is unfortunately over. I will make you a promise.” He pulled in closer, “I will take my time with Tessa.”

        Without cue a wet, meaty sound cut through the woods. The stranger gasped, full of horror and rage as he reached to his chest. A fire iron pierced through from his back. His eyes, nose, ears, and mouth began to bleed. Antha pushed out of his grasp when he lurched forward to the ground. She was on the brink of unconsciousness as she wheezed for breath. She found Tessa was the great impaler. “I’m—not done with—you foolish girls…” He hissed like a deflating tire, his immortal sinews collapsing like a bowl of spaghetti dumped onto the lawn.

        Tessa skirted the rapid decay and pulled Antha into her arms. Stock-still they watched. They bared witness as he writhed, his porcelain skin dripped with taffy-like stretch and slid off his bones. He melted into a puddle, with nothing recognizable left except lumps of clothing and two silver eyes. Tessa reached toward the eyes, but her sister stopped her.

        All that could be heard was their panting and the fizzle of a creature dissolved. They looked to each other, wordless and beyond repair. After a moment or two they drug themselves around the side of the house and toward the driveway. Hearts still punching against their ribcages, the girls numbly followed the long-wooded drive.

        When they finally made it to the main road they found the next street lamp was another mile off. All that could be heard was the rustle of the surrounding crops. They followed the road back toward the light of civilization. Antha couldn’t shake the horror of the Smith’s being slaughtered by that thing. She shivered again, feeling the stranger’s eyes on her. She tried to push the thought down. It’s dead, she thought.

After sometime Tessa began to speak, “I woke up and saw a little old lady on the side of the bed. Her neck was covered in strawberry jam,” she paused strangely, “but I knew it wasn’t jam Ant.” She whined.

        “I know, I know.” Antha stopped to soothe her. Tessa buried her head into her sister’s neck and they held strong for barely a moment before weeping. Antha had never been so relieved to have her sister. She couldn’t believe Tessa was the one to save them. From now on she would abandon her role as the babysitter. All of her safe-keeping and methodical avoidance of danger had failed them both. It was Tessa’s wild heart that saved them.

        “I couldn’t believe you kicked him in the face.”

        “You saw that?”

        “I almost lost my shit—hey, what was he doing down there?” Tessa finally asked.

        “The femoral artery is—well and when you factor in gravity—” Antha’s analytical side kicked in but then quickly dissipated from the stress. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” She finally sighed, unable to comprehend the fact that she was almost drained by her crotch. Both of them smirked but within a breath were crying again.

        “I’m so tired.” Tessa grumbled and then called for Zoey three times, wishing she would appear to take them home.

“Doug… Doug… Doug…” Antha whispered to herself.

        Just as they thought the night would never end and their blood-stained clothes would never dry, they heard the familiar wheeze of Doug’s old Buick.

        After a deluge of crying, embracing, and the erratic retelling of the whole evening, the twins found themselves buckled in the backseat on their way to the emergency room. Tessa finally sighed when Doug stopped looking at them in his rear-view mirror. He must have mumbled to himself “…vampires?” at least a dozen times as he drove. She sidled into Antha, holding her hand with an iron-clad grip and closed her eyes. Antha couldn’t relax. Her nerves were beyond frayed and she grew uncomfortable under the weight of her sister’s weary head. Something blunt was stabbing into her backside and she shifted in her seat.

        The bright lights of the emergency room entrance burned the teary-eyed passengers. Doug pulled up and jumped out of his car, opening the door for them. “What the hell is in this car—you got rocks back here?” Antha sassed him about cleaning his Buick as she dug out the troublesome object in her seat. Tessa did the same, unbuckling herself and wriggled in discomfort.

        “I just vacuumed, like last year,” he defended, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. In the commotion of the two digging around and shuffling old coke-a-cola bottles and vintage DVDs, they suddenly ceased. A strange silence fell between them. “What is going on back here?” He stared anxiously at them.

Each twin opened a hand to find one silvery, gleaming eye.

Twinning Taglist: If you want to be added or removed just let me know; please share with anyone that might be interested. I would love any and all feedback so I can learn and become a better writer. Thank you!  I tagged some people that I thought would be interested in this. @myoxisbroken @just-the-hiddles @vodka-and-some-sass @nildespirandum @yespolkadotkitty @latent-thoughts @emeraldrosequartz @villainousshakespeare @hopelessromanticspoonie @caffiend-queen @poetic-fiasco @lokimostly @dianamolloy @marvelgirlonamarvelworld @brightsunanddarkmidnight2-0 @cateyes315 @mooncat163 @nuggsmum @myraiswack @wolfpawn @plastic-heart​ @confusednerd09​

#landlord vampire fic frenzy #twinning vs vamps #arch-venus25 writes

[purplesurveys]

1266

Retaking this survey I took nearly exactly a year ago, which would be around the time of one of the lowest points in my life. A lot has changed and I’m *so much* happier these days, but it doesn’t hurt to revisit and acknowledge the emotions I went through then.

Are you afraid of lifts? 2020: I only feel afraid if I’m the only person riding the elevator. If I ever got locked inside I’d always feel a lot better if there’s at least one other person stuck with me. Otherwise I try not to be too bothered by lifts. 2021: Yeah, as much as possible I would still only get in if someone else was also planning to get in; elevators that are also visibly old and unmaintained tend to scare me away, too. But generally, riding the elevator isn’t a phobia of mine.

Who did you last talk to in person? Is that person attractive? 2020: That would be my mom and yes, I think she’s very attractive. Not in that way of course, but you know what I mean. She looks very young for her age and we always get mistaken as sisters. 2021: My dad. Sure, I think he looks okay.

Have you ever had a deep, personal conversation with a stranger? 2020: As much as possible I don’t like having deep conversations with someone I barely know, but sometimes I can’t escape the situation and I end up being a part of those talks. The nicest conversation I had was with a client during my first internship – he has his own company now, but over breakfast he told me about his struggles, his old unfulfilling 9-5 job, and gave me so much valuable life advice. He was so genuine and so nice and at that time I stopped minding the fact that he was a stranger and I’d most likely never encounter him again. 2021: Ooh I remember that. Yeah, he was lovely to talk to and I definitely have not encountered anyone with stories like his ever since. Anyway, I’ve grown to be a lot more extroverted over the past year so I certainly wouldn’t mind a conversation with a stranger, as long as they haven’t established themselves as a creep or pervert.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your own appearance? Why? 2020: Probably an 8. I don’t have a problem with my physical features for the most part, but I don’t like my front teeth and that my body hair is thicker and grows more quickly than average. Those are the two things that mess with my self-esteem the most, and the two factors that took out the missing two points. 2021: 9. I still have the same points for self-esteem issues; but I’ve embraced them slightly more over the last year.

Who was the last person to send you a message on Facebook? When was the last time you saw that person? 2020: Rita. I probably saw her sometime in early March. Maybe during a board meeting for our org before the lockdown was implemented. 2021: Angela. Sometime mid-July, I think? when we went to the BTS pop-up store together with Reena and Hans. I might see her again next week for her birthday. I have to see her reaction when she opens up the present I plan to get her.

If you decided, at this moment in time, that you were going to make a sandwich, what would you put on it? 2020: Assuming my hypothetical pantry is full, I would go for a southern-style chicken sandwich with chicken breast and spicy mayo. My stomach just rumbled, what have you doneeeeee 2021: Holy shit that sounds so fucking good right now. Can I just steal my own answer? Spicy crunchy chicken sandwiches are the shit.

Are you good at controlling your emotions, or do you tend to let them get the better of you? 2020: It’s 50/50 at best. Sometimes I let self-control win since it’s usually the most responsible choice and it’s also to avoid drama, but there are days where I recognize that self-care is just as important and so I allow myself a healthy release whether the release is one of sadness or resentment or anything else. Repressing my emotions and letting them bubble up over time isn’t healthy, either. 2021: I’m a lot better at it now. I think I have done a lot of growing and maturing and processing over the last year, and I don’t get into dramatic outbursts nor repress my feelings too much anymore. Whenever I feel deeply I let the emotions stay, but I also know when I need to reach out and seek help.

At this moment in time, what do you want the most? 2020: Normalcy. 2021: At this moment in time, I wish I could go back to when I took this survey and reassure the me then that everything was going to turn out absolutely fine. But right now I wish I also had sushi.

How many times have you cried over the person you love/like? 2020: Too many. 2021: I don’t love anyone in that sense.

How exactly are you feeling right now? Why do you feel the way you do? 2020: I haven’t been feeling anything in particular these days. To be honest, I’ve just been doing a lot of…floating around, existing, trying to make it to the end of the day unscathed. I believe I’m feeling this way because there’ve been a lot of major life changes happening and I simply wasn’t prepared to deal with all of them simultaneously. 2021: Jesus Christ that was brutal to read. How the fuck did I...manage? Anyway, right nooooow I feel quite content because a new episode of Run BTS came out and I really enjoyed it!! I also feel cozy because it’s actually quite cold tonight, so it’s making me feel sleepy faster than I would like lol. What’s the relationship status of the last person that put their arms around you? 2020: She’s been married for the last 23 years to my dad. 2021: He’s been married for the last 24 years to my mom.

Has the last person you held hands with, ever told you that they love you? 2020: Yeah. 2021: ^ Gross. But yeah to answer this question in 2021 – yes she has, in a platonic, sisterly way. We say it all the time.

Is there someone you used to hang out with all the time, and now you don’t anymore? If so, do you ever miss that person? Why do you think your relationship changed?   2020: Sure, Sofie’s the first person I thought of because we used to be the best of friends. We simply grew apart when college started, since she studied in Manila and I was all the way in another city. It would’ve been too difficult to keep up the friendship with both of us also starting to have different goals and priorities, as well as new friends. I miss her sometimes, but I’m not desperate to see her anytime soon. I’m sad to see our relationship fizzle out the way it did, but we’re both pretty happy and have been doing well and that’s enough for me. 2021: I stopped hanging out with Aya because she is an abusive piece of shit, and I obviously value my friendship with Jo far more than tolerating an abuser and keeping them around in my life. As for missing her, no, not really. I’ve always found it easy to cut people off and wipe out the positive sentiments I would use to have about a person.

Who was the last person you talked to, whose name started with ‘H’? What color are that person’s eyes? 2020: I don’t know a lot of H people so it was probably Hannah even though I haven’t talked to her in a while. Her eyes are dark brown/black, like nearly every Filipino. 2021: Hans. Same, dark brown/black.

Who was the last person you talked to, whose name started with ‘M’? How did you meet that person? 2020: OMG this was so tough to think about. The only person I can think of is Angela but that’s only because her first name is actually Maria. We met on the first day of 1st grade, back in 2005. I accidentally stabbed her with a newly-sharpened pencil and made her palm bleed, and for some insane reason a lifelong friendship was established that day. 2021: Macky. He’s a coworker but is a couple of positions above me. At first I took issue with my workplace not using honorifics, but when I learned it was a tactic to get everyone comfortable with one another, I soon got used to it.

The person you love/like is offered a job in another country. Would you let them go, or try and convince them to stay? 2020: Let them, because that was what we agreed on. 2021: No matter my feelings towards the situation, I would never interfere and ask them to stay.

Is there anyone you dislike so much, that you actually can’t stand to be around them? 2020: Back in college I hated being anywhere near a frat guy. They all had the same vibe, had the same fashion sense, used the same slang, had the same shitty work ethic so I always knew whenever one was nearby. 2021: One of my uncles, who I believe has COVID literally right now because he refused to get a vaccine. Can’t say I feel awful.

When was the last time you wanted to cry, but didn’t, because you didn’t want to show that you were upset? Why? 2020: I’ve been hiding my emotions and my tears from my family the whole month because we’re not a showy family when it comes to our feelings. We deal with our emotions privately, in our own bedrooms. 2021: Like two weeks ago when my teacher in my Korean classes shared a song recommendation with us and it turned out to be this really emotional, introspective song about dealing with life anxieties. It was beautifully sung and I nearly cried, and the only reason I didn’t was because I was in a virtual class full of strangers and I wasn’t about to start bawling my eyes out in such a situation lol.

If you found out that someone had been talking about you behind your back, would you confront them? 2020: I probably only would if they’ve always been super nice to me to my face but talking shit about me if I’m not around. It would be something I’d want to get into the bottom of. 2021: Depends on who the person is and if I think they’re worth my energy or not.

Which do you think is worse - saying something and then wishing you hadn’t, or not saying something and wishing you had? 2020: I hate nothing more than being too afraid to say something and then never having the space to say it again. That’s the type of regret that stays with me and keeps me up at night. 2021: I still go with the latter.

Do you know anyone who seems almost incapable of showing their emotions? 2020: I wouldn’t say I know anyone exactly like this, but I know of people who have built a great big wall around themselves and are super defensive when it comes to their emotions in a way that you’ll never know if they’re going through something. The first person I thought of was JM. 2021: My dad is extremely unexpressive. I guess I can say I kinda get it - he has to keep up his image as the father of the house and all - but I hope he has his own, healthy ways of processing his emotions, even if they have to be done in private.

What are 3 things that are guaranteed to make you smile, or put you in a good mood? 2020: Good Mythical Morning, seeing my orgmates, and driving. Driving seems to put me in a really good mood these days, though that’s likely because I haven’t had to do it as often as I used to. 2021: BTS, my dogs, and talking to Angela and Reena.

Do you look more like your mum or your dad? 2020: I’m a carbon copy of my mom, I’ve been told more times than I can count. 2021: Well yeah, that hasn’t changed.

When was the last time you saw your grandparents? 2020: I last saw my paternal grandparents in February; with my maternal grandma, two Thursdays ago. I have not seen my maternal grandpa since June or July 2015. 2021: Start of August for my maternal grandma; and I believe it was June when we most recently visited my dad’s parents. I visited my maternal grandpa at his columbarium slot during his birthday last year.

Have you ever felt really attracted to someone, but been deterred because you found out they didn’t have a very nice personality? 2020: No. If I get attracted to someone, that means I’ve already decided that they’re attractive on all fronts, including their attitudes and personality. 2021: ^ That is such a damn lie lmao. I remember getting attracted to this boy Lance from high school and thinking he was so cute and that I should probably try my chances with him...but I immediately got turned off when I noticed how he was slightly immature for his age and I stopped pursuing him immediately.

Have you ever hugged/kissed someone you’d only just met? 2020: Probably when I was out drinking, yes. 2021: ^ That’s true but that only goes for hugging.

Where is the person you would most like to see/be with? 2020: There is no such person. 2021: All my friends and best friends are at home. At least they should be at this hour, lmao.

When was the last time you bought a CD/DVD? Which one was it? 2020: The last CD I bought was Beyoncé’s self-titled album, but I can’t remember if I bought it in late 2013 or early 2014. 2021: ^ 2020-me had no idea :’) Anyway, the last DVD I placed an order for was Map of the Soul ON:E, though I’m not getting that until October. The last thing I was able to successfully receive was my Butter CD set.

Have you ever gone against someone’s advice and then regretted it? 2020: I don’t usually ask my friends for advice since I don’t want to possibly be the jerk that asks for advice but goes against them. I’ve always just gone with whatever I think is best for myself. 2021: I guess I’m still the same as I found myself agreeing to those two sentences.

Would you ever apologize for something that wasn’t your fault? 2020: Welcome to my life. 2021: Before, I used to. I won’t let shit like that pass now.

What’s been the best thing about your day so far? 2020: I’ve done a good share of self-care activities today…I actually got up in bed and have been taking surveys, I ate a lot for breakfast, I took a shower, and fixed myself a cup of coffee. The bar has been set very low since August obviously, but considering I’ve been skipping out on a great deal of activities that used to make me happy, I’m just glad I accomplished several today. It’s the little joys, guys. 2021: Getting good feedback from my boss on a deck I had to work on all day today. Also the new episode of Run BTS, aka my favorite thing about Tuesdays.

Has anyone ever cried in your arms before? 2020: I can only recall one person who’s done this. 2021: Sure.

Who was the last person you talked to, whose name started with ‘C’? Is that person older or younger than you? 2020: Tina, but her full name is Christina so she counts. I keep forgetting she’s a year older than me. 2021: Coco. Yeah, I believe so.

Do you keep a lot of things from your parents? 2020: Yes. They know my good side - my awards, achievements, job prospects, all the shiny stuff they can be proud of. They don’t need to know how mentally fucked their firstborn actually is, because it’s not like they’d know how to deal with all that weight. 2021: Yes.

Who was the last person you confided in? Do you regret it? 2020: Angela. Not at all. She’s been my rock for the last 15 years. 2021: Andi, and no. I trust them with my whole life and then some.

What was the last film you watched, that you hadn’t seen before? What kind of film was it? What did you think of it? 2020: I’m Thinking of Ending Things is a psychological thriller. It’s not for the faint of heart, especially those who’ve been feeling depressed and/or existential lately. It certainly didn’t make me feel good and I wish I could unwatch it, not because it was bad but because it was a bit too triggering. 2021: Be With You; it’s a Korean film that’s mostly romance but with a super super slight tinge of fantasy if you squint your eyes hard enough. I loved it a lot; both the leads are sooooooooo pretty to look at and the kid is a fantastic actor. I also cried a lot, but I do think the ending could’ve been executed better as it felt rushed.

Have you ever had an argument with the last person you hugged/kissed? 2020: Lots. 2021: Nothing more than extremely petty fights, the last of which we had approximately 12 years ago.

Using one word only, describe the day you’ve had so far. 2020: Lonely. 2021: Routine.

#survey #surveys

[sokkathebluewolf]

A review Why you do that? Making Sokka mention 28 in his vows now everyone think he slept around after the best time of his life? They both dont deserve this June slaves Hina Tylee now this Please don't make more girls fall for him involve with him feels like the whole fic turned around this Haru deserves better Tylee is flirting around

Don't get me wrong This is your fic and you can do anything you feel fit I'm merely giving an opinion ''cause Gladiator has things which you handled the best There is a Reason for this success I just hope this plus 1 girl thing in Sokkla relationship Stops But I always respect you with your great work(:

You do realize how utterly laughable it is to tell me “DON’T MAKE MORE GIRLS FALL FOR HIM IT FEELS LIKE THE WHOLE FIC IS TURNING AROUND” and then say “you can do anything you feel fit, I respect your work (:”, right?

This is not respect. This is not “constructive criticism”. This is not an opinion so important and valuable that it warrants being repeated about a million times across A YEAR. Most people? They give out their opinions, negative or positive, ONE TIME, and leave it be, because what matters to them is CONVEYING how they feel, not forcing a writer to constantly explain themselves or write whatever they would be comfortable with. Actually? Most people who have given me negative opinions so far have been like that, except one guy who was outright flaming my story because he wanted to wank to it, and he couldn’t believe he had to read 97 chapters to finally reach the smut. That I’m comparing you to this reader and reviewer is PROBABLY a bad sign, don’t you think?

Sokka didn’t MENTION 28: Sokka acknowledged his past mistakes because he’s a grown man who knows to feel remorse when he hurts people he loves. That he brings up having hurt her, to this day, isn’t in the purpose of going “HEY HEY AZULA REMEMBER WHEN I BROKE YOUR HEART LOL”, it’s in the purpose of saying: “I’ve learned from my mistakes and, as it has been for YEARS, I will devote myself to NEVER hurting you again”. That, anon, is a PERFECTLY VALID SENTIMENT for a wedding vow, and one that requires far more character growth and complexity than “Lol I’m so happy we were both virgins because that is the only kind of pure love that has ever been valid in the universe, anything else doesn’t count”.

Hell, you’ve literally made me go right back to the chapter to look at what he says, exactly: “I messed things up between us over my damn stupidity”, he... is literally beating himself up about this. To this day. He’s not talking about it proudly. And yet you’re here complaining as though he were?

SPOILER: More people will have feelings for Sokka in future chapters. In fact, I want to make it even MORE people than I’d originally planned after receiving all these asks. I’d rather derail my story into something you can’t stomach reading than cater to you. Azula will outright JOKE about being “jealous” in a future chapter, and Sokka will know it’s a joke! :D And I’m NOT lying about this to mess with you, it IS going to happen and your persistent asks absolutely WON’T make me alter my content. And why is it going to happen, you’ll ask? Why, because nice, charming, charismatic guys like Sokka attract people whether they want to or not. It’s what they DO about attracting others what matters to me! :’) And that Sokka rejects other people who attempt to be with him should be, I think, a much more important message about loyalty to someone you love than “I ONLY EVER ATTRACTED ONE PERSON IN MY LIFE AND MARRIED THEM”. Because I know that’s virtually the only thing you appear willing to accept, going by the first ask.

And holy crap, Ty Lee is... flirting around? Flirting around... with Haru. The guy she’s in a committed relationship with, whom she’s going to marry. The whole situation is meant to be insanely ironic considering Ty Lee is with the guy she SHOULD be with but it looks like it’s something else? (Hell, nobody even KNOWS it was Ty Lee, Mei Xun didn’t stick around long enough to discover the woman’s identity, so her reputation’s actually safe?) But you’re just so emotionally compromised by anything regarding Sokka being with anyone else, even if it’s 1. not true because he’s MILES away, with Azula 2. a joke 3. a plot device for a FUTURE EVENT, that you just can’t grasp this irony at all?

Ty Lee, by design in this story, has ALWAYS been pretty damn liberal about flirting and relationships. Despite we’ve mainly just heard such relationships mentioned on the side, rather than witnessing them directly, she is objectively the cast member who’s had the most relationships, whether serious or casual or just occasional, with other people. And even then, she’s getting married. Even when she’s had so many people in her past, she’s settling down with Haru for good. And Haru? Haru is THRILLED. Because he loves her. Because she loves him. Because HER past does NOT have a single thing to do with THEIR future. And yet you seriously read these chapters, where Ty Lee is having a lot of fun with her fiancé, and your brain just translated this as “OMG TY LEE IS A SLUT HARU DESERVES BETTER!”? Seriously?

I feel like I’m getting asks from a childish version of Drax from Guardians of the Galaxy. Everything that isn’t straightforward needs to be explained point by point, apparently, and even then, you don’t get it. I literally went to literature school and was told to write intelligent fiction so readers would feel compelled to unravel its complexities themselves... apparently that was a big fat lie? :’) Your persistence actually has convinced me that it is.

Oh and, for future reference (because I KNOW you’ll come back, that’s all you ever do): not because you throw compliments at me later to “cushion” your complaint does it mean you’re respecting me and my story. You can’t slap someone in the face and then go “Oh your cheeks are so plump that I bet it doesn’t hurt”. You can’t just disregard my request that you keep these sorts of questions to my PERSONAL blog rather than the fic’s blog, and pretend you respect me. You can’t come to me time after time with the same complaints and attitude, watch how I’ve basically gone from initially responding with discomfort (because, in my personal blog, there are MANY asks that predate yours, where I’d already explained my reasoning to someone else who apparently didn’t get it, which means the subject wears me out, A LOT), then seeing that I started ignoring your asks, then seeing I closed the inbox so I could regain some sense of normalcy in my life that you refused to let me reclaim, and then seeing that I’m answering with outright hostility, and pretend that it’s ME who has a problem. 

If someone I respected responded in any similar manner to ANYTHING I said to them, I’d basically feel like shit and never talk to them again because I don’t want to be a burden or a problem for someone whom I value in any way. You, apparently, would rather be a problem, and to no avail, because all you’re achieving so far is convincing me to continue writing things that will make you riot until you stop reading my story. If you CAN’T stop reading regardless of the horrifying, amoral, dreadful decisions I’ve made? Congratulations: you still don’t have the right to tell me what to do with my story. And until you GENUINELY understand that, your compliments don’t mean anything to me. I have readers I value who have conveyed complaints, MANY TIMES, in an actual respectful manner. Readers who are even bothered by the same thing you are. And yet I’m even FRIENDS with them. Imagine that :’) It’s almost like the problem isn’t having whatever opinion you do... but rather, the intent of IMPOSING your opinion constantly and persistently until you’ve driven me to lash out as bluntly and cruelly as I may! To the point I’m outright saying I’m going to rewrite my story into becoming EVERYTHING you don’t want it to be so you leave me alone!

And if you’re not the one who’s been here for a year, and this is not really an echo chamber (despite all of these messages have the same complaints, wording, tone, format, style, punctuation and grammar mistakes), yet you SAW that other people have been doing this for a long time, and thought it was PERFECTLY FINE to join the party? You’re no less of an asshole than the rest of them. No matter if it’s your first time voicing your “opinion”. Because it’s NOT about what you’re saying: it’s about HOW you’re saying it. It’s about trying to guilt trip me into writing whatever you want and claiming the story is going off the rails because something makes you personally uncomfortable. This is NOT objective criticism. This is SUBJECTIVE, ENTIRELY. This isn’t a real problem in storytelling, it’s a personal problem for you because it clashes with your moral values. And NO ONE is forcing you to continue consuming content that goes against your moral values, you’re choosing to do that yourself.

If you’re to live by any of the words you said in these two asks, make it “This is your fic and you can do anything you feel fit”. Because that’s literally what I’m going to do. It’s what I’ve done over EVERY complaint in poor faith I’ve gotten, ranging from “quit writing so much happiness it’s boring” to “where’s the sex you prude”. And it’s what I intend to continue doing. What kind of criticism do I value? “This particular scene features a factually contradictory line with a previous event”, such as Zuko claiming he never went to Sokka’s house when he in fact did, and I plain and simple FORGOT about it. What more kinds of criticism do I value? “You need to work out the Gladiator League’s system better because it’s not a solid business venture”, and this one was right? And yet it was too late to fix it, despite it’s 100% spot-on and I should’ve worked it out way better than I did. Another? “Sokka may have gotten over the fact that Azula captured him and tossed him in a slave market too easily”, because? It’s a perfectly valid sentiment? I disagree because Sokka is canonically shown to get over grudges relatively quickly, and yet I CAN see why it seems too fast for some people. What else do I value? Maybe suggestions on wording problems! I’ve made a lot of stupid wording mistakes, in virtue of being a non-native speaker. I’ve done my best to amend those, but it’s a work in progress even now.

Point and case being: in literature, and thus, in fanfiction? Constructive criticism isn’t “WRITE WHAT I WANT TO READ BECAUSE I WANT TO BE PERFECTLY COMFORTABLE WITH ALL I CONSUME”. Constructive criticism is given by people who KNOW storytelling. So I’d only consider it constructive criticism if it’s given by people who can read those chapters and see that the ENTIRE purpose of that conflict is to trigger growth and development as both Sokka and Azula realize their own mistakes and shortcomings with each other. So, someone who’s giving actual constructive criticism wouldn’t come to my inbox a million times with the same complaint... someone who’s giving constructive criticism would come to my inbox, ONE TIME, and say “Hey, maybe this alternative to conveying Azula is instinctively jealous over her canonical insecurities about being a monster and earning people’s love and loyalties COULD have been preferable, despite I know you can’t change that anymore as it’s fundamental for your story”, or “Hey, I thought of another way for Sokka to convey that he realized their interest in each other could result in something TERRIBLE if they ever acted on their feelings, a way for him to not act on that specific impulse to flirt with Suki to push away Azula, but to act on ANOTHER, believable, IC Sokka-compliant impulse that might still convey exactly what you needed to”. But again, even if it were complaints like THESE? I can’t change anything anymore. It’s TOO LATE. If I think it’s too late to fix Zuko saying “lol I never went to Sokka’s house” when it’s not true? It’s WAY TOO LATE to rewrite chapters that are over SEVEN years old, and I don’t even want to do it to begin with. But I WOULD concede these criticisms. I would accept them. I wouldn’t consider them offensive to me, or my work, or disrespectful in any way.

Constructive criticism is NOT about forcing an author to agree with you, or to do whatever you ask them to. Constructive criticism is about helping an author convey what they were conveying in a better, smoother way. If you CAN’T understand what the author was conveying? You don’t qualify for offering constructive criticism. If you need explanations as to why the author did anything they did? You’re, again, not qualified to offer constructive criticism. Your criticism, in any such cases, is NOT constructive, no matter what you’re telling yourself. This is a VERY important distinction, and one you can’t pretend isn’t valid just by throwing a bunch of compliments at me after telling me I’m ruining my story.

Until the day you DO understand the difference between constructive criticism, and subjective complaints? Your opinions will not be considered valuable enough to affect my story in a positive way. And the more disrespectful you show yourself, by continuing to disregard my DIRECT request for you to stop coming back with these complaints, as well as the direct request to stop sending these questions to this blog? The less your opinions will count for me. I don’t bend over backwards for anyone. And I’m definitely not going to do it for you.

#anon #ask #how long will it be this time #before you return? #I should hold a betting poll #I might actually become rich #that'd be the only silver lining for all the crap you've given me for a year