#this has been hacking away at my brain for weeks

[horrorartsworld]

like a prayer

nun alastor/f!reader

warnings: religious talk, religion, religious themes, sacrilegious, sex in a church, choking, manipulation if you squint, mentions of blood, referring to al as ‘it’ for most of the read since reader doesn’t quite know who he is yet, didn’t proofread RAHHHH

a/n: sooooo sorry for my little hiatus, i’ve been stuck to adulting lately that i haven’t had a chance to write for shit, but here i am!! 😌 also i just wanted to say thank you to a lovely follower (@urmynextvictim) for the nun alastor idea!! and as always i hope you enjoy ;)

♪ Like a Prayer ~ Madonna ♪

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The only noise in the chapel was the clicking of your heels echoing amongst the sacred walls as you strolled in, nobody else in sight with it oddly enough being a Sunday afternoon. Giving off an eerie feeling that coursed through you while you looked around for any presence of life to no avail.

Shaking it off, you finally approach what you’ve been looking for. A giant yet beautiful articulated cross stood before you, glimmering in all of its holy glory and waiting for you to spill your sinful guts to it. In which you did just that, kneeling with your hands in a praying like motion while your muttered your forgiveness. Hoping to feel somewhat rejuvenated after your long unforgiving week.

Suddenly bringing you out of your thoughts a loud bang is heard from behind you, startling you so bad that you spring up almost falling into the cross in the process with your eyes darting every which way to find where the noise had come from, a tall candlestick holder had been toppled over and now laid at its side in the middle of the walkway. “W-who’s there?” Your voice so quiet and meek that you could hardly hear yourself when speaking out to what seemed like nothingness.

“My apologies..…” This voice was more sinister and distorted like an old radio, and so close to your ear it made you jump for a second time, quickly turning to finally get a glimpse of what was tormenting you.

Eyes widening at the sight of what looked like a nun though the grin plastered amongst its face said otherwise. Red ears twitching at your small shaky breathes in your alarmed state. “…I didn’t mean to frighten you my dear..”

“W-who are you?” You manage to stammer out, The nun snickers circling you like a vulture with its red piercing dial like eyes wandering up and down your body with a certain hunger.

“Someone who wants to help you…maybe someone who you could confess to? Seems you have a lot on your mind…” A hand then clamps down onto your shoulder as it stops and stands behind you looming down on your figure.

“N-no!” You absentmindedly shout, heat rising in your cheeks at your loud outburst as you then clear your throat sheepishly. “I-i mean no… i think i’ve confessed enough for today…I should be heading home before it gets too late..” Attempting to slip away from the mysterious figure and make a beeline for the doors.

“Oh but I insist,” A low growl seems to escape from the depths of its throat causing the static in its voice to boom frightfully, following a harsh grasp on your wrist pulling you back falling into its chest from behind. “Now what did you want to confess..,” A clawed finger coming up to tuck some of your hair behind your ear while it waited for you to go on.

“I-i…um-” You start to speak, but your mind was too clouded of what this nun or whatever it was might do if you didn’t abide by its commands. By you being too caught up it started to grow impatient with you and dug its sharp claws into your wrist tightly making you hiss in pain and quickly brought you to your senses once you feel the warmth of your blood start to trickle down your palm and onto the white marble floors. “I-i’ve been having thoughts I don’t think i should speak aloud!” You quickly say feeling the sting of its claws finally let up.

An amused look crossing its face, “Darling, if you don’t speak on it now it may cause you more trouble then you want…” Bitting your lip, you think of the likely hood of how the turmoil of it all might come back to bite you if you didn’t and if not it to confess to, then who else would be more fitting? Yet, the hum of anticipation that cascaded in the air made your palms slick with sweat and a lump form in your throat. The nun, however, remained still, trying to patiently wait for you to muster a syllable.

"I... I carry quite lustful thoughts," you reveal a minute later, the admission leaving a foul taste in your mouth.

The nun, veiled behind you, did not immediately respond. The stillness was near unbearable until it’s claws were around your wounded wrist once more, bringing it up to its mouth till you felt the coolness of its tongue lapping up the blood that spilt from the marks it made. Your eyes widening at the sickening sensation it brought, trying your best not to squirm as you didn’t want to upset it further though it snickered more at your attempts to conceal yourself.

“Lustful?…Is that right?..” It clicks its tongue at you disapprovingly before you continued, “Y-yes…it’s quite unbearable..y-you see i can’t help but act on it…by…touching myself.. The feeling it brings so insatiable everytime with my release that it haunts me into the next day. An endless cycle it seems I cannot break.”

"I see..." is all that came from the nun’s response, and silence fell amongst the two of you once more.

You were unsure of how to take this, in hopes that just maybe it was coming up with a groundbreaking, world changing response that would sustain all your worry and to ease your mind. However, a sudden feeling as hard as a rock rubs up against your backside making every fiber in your being run amuck.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a special someone to fulfill those needs would you?” The question knocked around in your mind for a moment before you muttered out a quick, “No”, and that was all it took to have you bent over a pew with your skirt pulled up to your hips.

“Good girl,” It purrs tracing its fingers up the backs of your thighs, until they ghost over the fabric of your panties where your clit would be.

“W-wait! what’s your name?” You asked in a mixture of emotions, big doe eyes trying to get a glimpse of it behind you, chuckling at your sudden question, retracting its fingers until it started hiking up its habit and showing it’s hardened cock that had been neglected for far too long as it was leaking with pre-cum.

“Alastor…a pleasure to meet you…now that I suppose we’re well acquainted and you have something to scream..” He trails off pulling your panties down in one go and immediately thrusting into you, not giving you any chance to adjust to his size. You squeal in pain, gripping the pew underneath you for sense of security but Alastor places a hand over your mouth, shushing you for your vocals. He then takes his hand off your mouth and lets it travel down to your throat giving it a nice squeeze in warning to be quiet, making you choke a little with the pressure causing Alastor to moan at the sound.

Moving in and out at a normal pace, not seeming to care at all about your poor cervix which he was currently beating up with his elongated cock.

Your body growing to love the feeling he was giving to you once you adjusted, making you a whiny and moaning mess. Tears ruining your vision and making Alastor more aroused seeing them fall down your flushed cheeks, therefore making him move faster.

He groaned as he pounded into you roughly and glared down at where you two were connected, seeing your cunt taking him so well. Then suddenly this feeling came over him that decided this wasn't enough, taking his hand away from your neck and bringing his thumb down to your clit.

You cried and whined as it was all too overwhelming. You felt filthy, absolutely disgusting, but also so alive. Something you hadn't felt before compared to your own pleasure. You were trembling from a cock too big for your own little pussy to comprehend and you loved it. It was now you realised there was no chance you could come back from this, enjoying such a lewd act, letting this creature you didn’t even know fuck you dumb in a church against a pew.

"Please! Alastor mhpm I need more!" You whined rolling your hips back into him.

He growled at your words and actions, pulling out fully and bringing to your feet.

“Open..” He then taps your chin seeing you without hesitation open your mouth wide, he then leaned down and spat into it.

"Swallow dirty girl." He snarled at you.

You eagerly did as was told, hoping there would be a reward in which there was, his eyes half-lidded as he grinned down at you when he saw you followed his orders well, then shoved his whole tongue in your mouth.

He tasted just as you expected, abnormally like death with an odd hint of whiskey. Noting his tongue wasn’t normal either. It was way too long and pointed for its own good, poking at your own as they battled for dominance (which obviously he won). Filling up your mouth once he concurred your cavern and made you choke slightly, but just like before, once you adjusted you were moaning like a slut again.

Cumming for what felt like the gazillionth time not knowing which number this one was though it was definitely better than the last. You started feeling drained now, and overstimulated was an overplayed word at this point. You had no idea when Alastor would let up and it made you nervous, surely he would stop once he came you thought. Then, when would he cum? When even was his limit? Not knowing Al could fuck for hours without cumming if he wanted.

Which that was the plan. He wanted to know what you looked like, excessively overstimulated. Only knowing the feeling of him and only him.

You wished you hadn't found out what made this church feel off.

#☆⋆｡𖦹 my writings #☆⋆｡𖦹 alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor nun #this has been hacking away at my brain for weeks #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel smut #alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor smut #alastor imagine #alastor x reader

[shadowystan]

YANDERE! celebrity x f!reader – he's so pretty, so popular (you really don't wanna be his sweetheart)

No but YANDERE!celebrity with a toxic fanbase.

It's not him you should be scared of. Not his bodyguards or his influential family; not his obsessive ex or crushing best friend.

The fanbase.

Jealous fans would cloud your life. If you have social media, you'd be hacked a few thousand times a week. If you block them, turn off your comments and go private, you'd get doxxed. Plain and simple.

It's upsetting. It's suffocating. And it's downright terrifying whenever you're out in public. Death threats at your face, stalkers outside your door. No peace of mind, none whatsoever.

But of course if you're pretty enough...

YANDERE!fans who want nothing but the best for their idol. Only someone as dazzling as you could deserve him.

(It's set in stone. You have no choice.)

YANDERE!fans who're the epitome of degeneracy. Writing dirty, smutty fanfiction on the side while making ship edits with you and their celebrity. It doesn't matter how many times you've streamed live, asking them to quit it because the both of you weren't official or how much it makes you uncomfortable.

YANDERE!fans who instead of agreeing and respecting your wishes, go as far as to send you everything. Gone are the rules of RPF. They're spiteful, they're overbearing and most of all, they want you to know you have no power.

YANDERE!fans who litter whoever you try to date with messages of "kill yourself <3" or "jump off a roof. respectfully." on their social media comments or DMs.

YANDERE!fans who spread elaborate rumors about you when you do something that remotely doesn't meet their standards.

The air was soothing. The atmosphere lively. You heard the chatter of the birds, the laughs of the couples, the giggles of the teen girls-

"-Let's say she assaulted someone!"

What?

Leaning slightly to the left, you nonchalantly readjusted the dark spectacles framing your eyes. Hoodie pulled over your face and a lone piece of lettuce peeking out of your lips, the thought that someone might recognize you left your mind for the briefest of times.

And you focused on the task at hand. Eavesdropping on the conversation happening two tables to your side.

They were being rather loud. And concerning. Quite concerning.

"-That's too much, Sana." A puff of air left your mouth, a reassured smile curling in it's stead. At least Sana had wise friends-

"I mean how bad would it look for Iseul's reputation? He can't be dating an assaulter!"

You froze.

Iseul. Iseul. Iseul. Iseul Iseul Iseul Iseul-

That damned name.

A bunch of collective "oohs" and "aahs" splattered. The teenagers nodded in agreement, being particularly vocal.

"Let's say she bullied one of us!"

"Or that she has been to prison!"

"We caught her shoplifting?"

"Boring!"

A fry was thrown at whoever said the last word. Useless bickering followed by rolls of their eyes, the girls easily overcame the little hindrance and got back to brainstorming.

You sucked in a breath, spoon limply hanging off your fingers.

They were definitely talking about you.

Whatever. Whatever. Whatever. It's not a big deal. This is normal-

"We should break into her house or something. The address is leaked anyway."

The table screeched, you stood up.

Legs having a brain of their own, you paced out of the restaurant, the memories of the girls fibbing and bickering and planning like no tomorrow kept echoing through your mind. Like a broken record. Since when had your life turned to such shambles?

God. Why were things like this for you?

Releasing a shaky breath, you gulped, burying the insecurity deep inside of you. Whipping the lopsided glasses away, you stop caring for a moment.

You don't care. For sure. But then your hands are moving and they're looking through your pockets, seeking for something and my goodness, since when did your phone start feeling so heavy?

Unfamiliar and hesitant, you went through your contact list, heart beating so fast that you felt like it'll rip right out of your chest. Your lips quivered, flushed skin feeling hotter and hotter by the second. A fever? Or was this anger?

You shivered, ignoring the tears and the salt and the aching, aching feel of your soul. You fiddled for a moment – just a moment – but then you're harshly pressing the call button and wiping snot off your nose before placing the phone to your ear and waiting like a madwoman. Impatient and uncalm and-

"My love! You called!"

Him.

Him. Him. Him. Him.

How you hate him.

"I'll-I'll do it,-" You spluttered, very much on the verge of choking on your own spit and mumbling strings of curses at him and them and every single person who's so, SO mean to you- "I-i'll make it official. We.. we will! Just..- just please.."

You've perished. You've perished until this second, this moment and you'll continue perishing but-

"J-just.. make them stop."

Don't you deserve a break too? With everything he puts you through?

A tsk from his side was heard. Iseul sounded amused, almost cross with you. Almost pouty. Almost smiling.

"Really now? This easy? Things were only just getting fun."

You wanted to gut YANDERE!celebrity. Brutally.

#yandere x darling #yandere x female reader #yandere!male #yandere #yandere x f!reader #yandere!celebrity #yandere!fans #yandere x reader

[luveline]

rockstar!sirius where he's on tour and reader calls from home and just mentions she's been a bit sick and he drops everything to come home and take care of her and she's just beyond surprised <3333333

You should've guessed from how sweet he was over the phone that Sirius was up to something. He is sweet, and when you're sick he's a ball of secret worries, but usually there's at least some sort of plaguing, badly timed jokes. He likes to poke fun and you like to let him, but he doesn't. There's no comment on your snotty-nosed voice all stuffed up and full of sniffles, or your hacking cough that he's remarked before as sounding like a dragon mid heart attack.

He hangs up murmuring sorries and love yous, promising to make it up to you when he gets home in two weeks time. The last thing you expect to wake up to the next day is a key in the lock, or footsteps up the stairs. Frankly, it freaks you out, worried a murderers approaching and you'll be too bedbound to fight them off.

But there Sirius appears in the door, a brilliant, beaming smile on his face. "My girl," he coos, like you're the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

You're maybe not. Hands to your neck, heart a riot in your mouth and your hands, used up tissues dotting the bed like snow drifts that tumble off of the bed when you flinch, you look perturbed. And poorly.

"Sirius," you say weakly, tears fast at the back of your eyes, your body reacting to his appearance even when your mind hasn't clocked him yet, "what-"

"Didn't think I was gonna leave you here all by yourself did you? Like this?" he asks, sitting by your hip, hands quick to cover your own. He pulls them to his thigh.

"You scared me, I thought you were a burglar."

He moves in slowly. "I'm sorry," he says, face inching toward your neck, lips to the soft flesh under your jaw. "Sorry." It vibrates through your skin. He kisses you gently.

"Don't, baby, don't stay too close. I'll make you sick," you croak.

"I'm taking your temperature," he jokes.

He pulls back. His hair is scraped back into a short pony tail, too many earrings to count swinging in his ears and bouncing the light of your bedside lamp. His dark lashes flutter as he takes in your appearance, and his lips fall into a concerned frown. "Poor girl," he says, back of his hand stroking your cheek for a blessed, swift split-second. He collects himself, puts on a front for your sake. "Soup?"

You let yourself relax into the headboard behind you. "Soup would be nice. But... can you stay here for a bit? I missed you."

He compromises, wrapping you up and half dragging you down to the kitchen. For a while, you worry your sick brain has conjured him up, desperate to be taken care, desperate to be with him while he's away. Then the soup spits at him and he swears, and solidifies himself in your head completely. There's your superstar, defeated by bubble and squeak.

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black drabble #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black imagine #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #the marauders x reader #the marauders fanfiction #the marauders fanfic #the marauders #marauders era #marauders #rockstar!au

[vampykween]

mic i need to know. how vampire!ghost and vampire!price spend their individual time w pet (nickname ?:3) does pet have a favorite…

how does pet warm up to them!! 🧛🏽‍♀️🧛🏽‍♀️ literally kept captive like a bird but ghost and price are so so offputting but nice at the same time.. hmm…

im convinced you hacked into my brain because i was just drawing up ideas on how pet (love the nickname) has a different relationship with each of the boys hehe. i hope this suits ur fancy, i started running away with it like always oops! <3

price shows you to your quarters on the first night after the wooziness of being bitten (by an actual vampire!!!!) wears off. the space is grand and luxurious, and if you weren't so shaken up you'd marvel more at the beautiful window seat with gorgeous bay windows - the perfect spot to curl up with a good book.

once price leaves you alone in your room, you hastily lock the door and sob. what the hell has your life become?! for the first week, you don't dare leave your room in hopes of being able to avoid the creatures holding you captive. price is amused at your little attitude; how cute that you think a little door lock would stop him from being with his pet.

your relationship with price is weird, you're grateful he saved you from the woods, but you also hate him for keeping you in this stupid castle all alone. in an attempt to lower your hackles, price comes with breakfast for you each morning, he knocks as if to give you the illusion of choice whether you want him in your space or not, he unlocks the door and barges in no matter what you say anyway.

he insists on feeding you breakfast himself, you bristled at the idea at first because is he serious?! he offers you a simple shrug and a curt "amuse me, pet." and after realizing it was more of an order than a suggestion you concede.

you hate that price treats you like your his prized possession, it makes it so much harder to hate him. perhaps that was his goal really. it starts to work because eventually, you relax as he pops strawberries and decadent french toast in your mouth one morning - and when he leans in and licks the sweet juices from your lips, you feel warmth blooming in you. suddenly, you can't help but imagine him in between your legs licking over you reverently.

with ghost, things are so vastly different. you don't even see him until you finally work up the courage to leave your quarters. you're exploring the entirety of the manor and stumble upon the most impressive library you've ever seen. flitting between bookshelves silently until you're startled by a looming figure in the corner.

you realize it's ghost and are frozen with the decision on whether to leave him be or go over and try to talk to him. there's something so odd about him, but that only makes you want to figure him out more.

the library becomes you and ghost’s little meeting spot. he’s different when he’s not under the supervision of price, still very much reserved. but unlike price ghost avoids making any advances towards you, in fact, it was you that made the first move.

ghost had been dropping little tidbits about his life before he was turned and your heart ached painfully for him. he was curating a pile of his favorite books for you, and when he leaned into your space unintentionally, you place as shaky hand on his face in an attempt to drag him into a kiss.

ghost concedes and kisses you back with a passion you weren’t expecting. when you pull away and search his eyes for any sort of explanation, he simply shrugs and says he has to leave you for now. you’re left reeling from the magical kiss you two shared, surprised at much more you want from him.

#mic answers #vampire!au #vampire!ghost x reader #vampire!price x reader #vampire!price #vampire!ghost #fem reader

[radical-sky]

Shelter, part 1

don't you ever leave me alone, my war is over, be my shelter from the storm

One year post-Fallout, Ilsa joins the IMF, partnering with Ethan and his team. After their first mission goes catastrophically wrong, Ethan sacrifices himself in a desperate bid to save Ilsa's life. Believing he failed and she's dead, Ethan suffers the consequences of the unsuccessful mission. Five months later, the team - and Ilsa, get him out.

pairing: Ilsa/Ethan

wordcount: 4.1k

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, violence, graphic depictions/descriptions of torture and the aftermath, pregnancy, very minor mention of a suicide attempt.

AO3 (user restricted) here

ENDLESS thank you to the truly amazing @agentfaust for the most thorough, in depth, and detailed beta anyone has ever given me. You are phenomenal babe!!

Ilsa can’t remember the last time she was tempted to fidget, all nervous ticks trained out of her before she was even with MI6. The old habits have never been as tempting as they are now, standing in a cold and damp third-world prison waiting for Ethan to be brought out to her.

Well, not just her. The White Widow stands next to her, her brother not far away. He scowls at Ilsa, not happy to be here and not happy to risk his and his sister’s lives on a job for her. It’s nothing sanctioned (if any members of your team are caught or killed, the secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions) but the moment Benji had finally, finally found Ethan the team had gotten things moving as quickly as possible. Luther and Benji worked their computers nearly 24 hours a day, and Ilsa called favors and made connections in country wherever she could. Even Brandt was helping, pulling strings and doing as much as he could legally behind the scenes while staying their inside man at the IMF.  

Luther or Benji (it doesn’t matter now because they both had been trying their damnedest to get it done) had hacked into the security system in the prison; cameras in every cell, interrogation room, the hallways. Not that any of them needed to see what they were doing to Ethan (in the two weeks since she first saw him on the grainy camera feed it’s all she sees when she closes her eyes, doesn’t need audio to hear his screams and the sounds they rip from his throat, or backdated footage to catalog what tool made each scar or bleeding wound on his body. Those pictures will be seared in her brain for all eternity. She wants and yearns and rages at the sacrifice he made for her, for them, and falls asleep with a screen playing live footage from his cell in her lap, showing him pressed back into the corner of the tiny cage, curled up protectively, shivering or trembling she can’t tell. Wishing she could tell him somehow I’m coming. I will get you out. I haven’t forgotten about you. you’re not disavowed to me. I’m sorry. I’m so terribly sorry Ethan). 

They don’t have to watch the footage for long to decide that any escape that depends on Ethan getting himself out won’t happen. Without government backing and even with Brandt’s help they don’t have the resources or the manpower to storm the prison and break him out. That left one option, and it wasn’t one that any of them liked. The White Widow hadn’t been the least bit interested in taking a call from Ilsa until she’d said John Lark needs your help. 

The team had debated on how to refer to Ethan, desperately wanting to keep his identity as an American agent secret. They knew he hadn’t revealed it, the terrorists would have auctioned him off or killed him if he had. The White Widow knew him as John Lark, and that was all it took. From there Alanna was easily bargained into breaking him out. To Ilsa’s trained eye she could tell Ethan intrigued the other woman. It wasn’t a jealous realization, wasn’t even a shock. It’s Ethan - people are drawn to him, he’s magnetic without even trying or meaning to be. Without even being in the room he can convince people to take jobs that are completely against what they usually do. Ilsa can speak to it herself, she knew she was burning a bridge when she saved him the first time, but despite her past, she couldn’t watch Vinter kill him in the most painful way possible. She’s never been in a relationship like the one with Ethan, drawn in and ready to sacrifice the mission for someone else. Ilsa had been ready to be out of the game for a long time, before Kashmir had believed that it would never - could never - happen. Ethan changed that. Changed her reasons for wanting out. She didn’t plan on falling in love when she tossed him the key in London.

Breaking him out had been the original plan, but when Zola studied the camera footage, guard patterns, and security he decided it would cost too many men. A second plan was formed, and the White Widow had brokered a trade as diplomatically as she always had; the prisoner who was arrested after a motorcycle accident on terrorism charges 5 months ago traded for cash and enough weapons for a small personal army. Ilsa knows she should be as worried about what the weapons will be used for as the rest of the team, but even though she is part of them now, she operated differently for so long that she’s almost forgotten what it’s like to have those concerns. It’s Ethan, surely any price is worth his freedom? (Deep down Ilsa knows Ethan would disagree, loudly, with his dying breath, that his own life is not worth a single innocent life.) Benji and Luther had come up with a secondary mission, running alongside the retrieval to guarantee there would be no innocent lives lost because of the weapons traded for him. It took another week for Alanna to acquire the weapons, leaving ample time for the team to gather the cash for Ethan and the separate cash for Alanna, one-half of the price for her involvement in the exchange. Alanna, just like the terrorists, had also required a two part payment, unable to pass up an opportunity when it presented itself to her. Ilsa doesn’t worry about the other half of Alanna’s fee, it's a problem for later. After Ethan is back and healed and whole again. She hopes he won’t be too furious with her for agreeing to it on his behalf. 

So, now here she is. Not fidgeting. Not twisting her ankle or flexing her calf muscles and imaging she can feel the rods and pins holding her leg together, or the scar where her tibia bone punched through the skin of her calf, not twisting her arm and feeling knitted scars where the bones ground together excruciatingly. 

And above all else she’s not resting her hand on the barely there bump on her stomach, the bump invisible and hidden beneath a loose blouse and trench coat. Invisible to everyone who doesn’t know her and Ethan’s secret. 

———

The first mission wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

It was supposed to be easy and wonderful and the start of the greatest partnership of his life. 

So of course, like everything else in his life, it went to shit in 5 minutes. 

He and Ilsa had never exactly named The Thing between them, except that it was theirs. He didn’t tell Benji and Luther (although greatly suspected Luther knew and Benji was suspicious), and Ilsa being a free agent didn’t have anyone to tell. They were each other's greatest secret, greatest weakness, greatest compromise. Because they did compromise each other. There was no question after they’d saved each other so many times, sacrificing the mission for them. The Thing started simply. After handing Lane off to MI6 they spent a week in London exploring each other's bodies carefully around broken ribs and bruised necks (and how he had enjoyed adding his marks to her neck and having her hands on his chest) telling stories and sharing the private, secret parts of themselves no one else knew - then a night Cape Town, a weekend in Moscow, six hours in Brussels, two days in Paris, traveling 8 hours to spend half that time in her hotel room in Athens. Whenever they could and their schedules overlapped enough, or if they even happened to be in the same time zone, they were together. 

After Julia, he didn’t think he’d ever feel this way about another woman. 

Any chance he could he’d pull her into his missions. Anything to have her by his side. Ilsa was always available and never said no. She was traveling a lot, but he didn’t think she was taking any other jobs as a free agent, waiting for him to call her and almost always close by. Ethan had wondered many times if she declined jobs and traveled to follow him, just close enough it was convenient. When Brandt told him Sloane had given him the approval to extend the offer of a permanent position with the IMF - with Ethan’s team - to Ilsa he was perhaps the happiest he’d ever been. The two of them together - partners - properly, permanently. 

He never thought he’d be considering marriage again either.

So it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise when it fell apart. The plan failed. His backup scenarios ran out. There were no more moves, no more chess pieces. So when he wrecked and went down, Ilsa dead in his earpiece, Benji too late to save her, a part of him, all hope, died with her. When he saw his pursuers approaching he was relieved, he’d never been so ready or willing to meet death than in that moment. To go where Ilsa would be waiting for him. He was already halfway there, a piece of rebar in his chest, internal injuries too numerous to catalog, his leg didn’t feel right, arm wouldn’t lift. Ethan closed his eyes, ready for the bullet that would end his life. 

He certainly hadn’t expected them to take him alive, put him in the hospital, and get him just healthy enough that he’d survive the torture, and survive he did, but not as Ethan Hunt. As something else, a shell of a human. All hope lost. No prayer of rescue. He knew he was disavowed and no help would be coming. He tried to escape, more than once. Each time failed and each time it got worse. So he kept his mouth shut and took what they gave him. Didn’t utter a word except for the screams and shouts when it became too much. He’d already failed everything and everyone else. He couldn’t fail here. Couldn’t stand to betray his country on top of it all. 

When his captors told him he was being traded for goods more valuable than him, he knew he had to end it or escape. He couldn’t do this indefinitely. Eventually, he’d break and the shell would crack and he’d be human again. So he plotted and planned, and when they came for him he knew what he had to do. His final mission, the last plan, the one to end it all. 

———

The far door opens with a clang and three guards file in, dragging a body by a chain between them. 

She’d known it would be shocking seeing him again and was already braced for what condition he’d be in, but she wasn’t quite prepared for how awful it would be to come face to face with the consequences of her own failures. How jarring it’d be to see Ethan so still and lifeless, compliant. She would’ve guessed he’d die before giving up. 

Ilsa is the cynical one, she knows the harsh realities and cruelties of this world. She’s practical. She’s been the torturer and the assassin with no regard for the lives she’s affecting. But not Ethan, it was never supposed to be him that faced down the darkness of her world and had to, somehow, come out the other side. Ilsa has already done that. Too many times to count. It’s made her who she is and she’s not prepared to be on the opposite side of that. Ilsa had been alone for so long before him and no one had ever protected her like this before - sacrificing themselves to shield her from her own mistake. She hopes it hasn’t destroyed Ethan. Taken away his loyalty, compassion, the ability to see goodness in everyone, or the desire to protect everyone. It takes every bit of her not to step forward and cradle his body to hers when another guard grabs his legs and the two men toss Ethan into the center of the room. 

Ethan hits the ground with a thud and multiple wet coughs. 

“Fucker tried to kill himself. Been a long time since he’s had that much energy.”

Fury, hatred, and grief all ripple through her at the words, but the man spoke in his native tongue, one she isn’t supposed to speak. She keeps her face and body language impassive. This isn’t a man she’s deeply in love with. He’s a job, a mission required in the course of her duties. Nothing more than the man her employers want her to hunt down and bring to them. 

If only it were that simple.

Ilsa steps forward and crouches in front of Ethan, fisting her hand into his hair. She pulls up harshly, detaching her mind from her body and what she is about to do. (Her mind is raking her eyes over him, unable to focus on one thing because her attention is immediately drawn to something else. There’s a thick chain fastened around his neck, tight to his skin and surrounded by some of the deepest bruising she’s ever seen. The end of it trails out from his neck, a mocking and sick impersonation of a leash. His hands are bound behind his back with rope that’s splotchy bright red with new blood and dark almost black of old, dried blood. She can’t see the skin of his wrists. She doesn’t want to. He’s shirtless and Ilsa can count his ribs where they protrude from his chest and the vertebrae of his spine down his scarred and bleeding back. She can identify where and what bones of his bare feet and hands have been broken and healed wrong because she’s done that, she’s broken those bones on prisoners before. She wonders what his legs look like under the ripped and torn tac pants he’s still wearing from the mission. Each breath rattles in and out across lips that are cracked and bleeding. Her eyes jump across him and she is seething, furious, ready to burn down th-) Ethan’s glare is still defiant when their eyes meet, and before he recognizes her he spits a wad of blood and saliva into her face. He starts to speak in a hoarse, raspy voice completely foreign to him “you might as well just kil-”

He cuts off as he realizes it’s her. Almost instantly his face collapses into the most profound display of grief and heartbreak and utter relief she’s ever seen. It’s an expression meant to be carved in marble, painted and displayed in a museum, or preserved in a book for all eternity but not on someone's face. Human beings aren’t supposed to look like that, especially not at her. Not for her, when she’s done so much wrong. There’s blood running from his bruised nose and congealing in the sparse hair on his lip. The smack she delivers to his face adds more to it. 

“Хуй!” She swears in Russian and wipes her face as she stands and pushes Ethan away. 

There is a simmering beast of rage burning within her. She has killed and tortured and maimed and done things that haunt her. Nothing will haunt her as much as the way his face instantly shuts off, all the emotion in his expression a moment before disappears. He doesn’t flinch or wince with the slap. Just takes it, and flops motionless to the ground. He’s nothing, a blank slate as if Ethan is gone, and here is his corpse. 

“This is the target.” Ilsa still speaks in Russian, accent perfect, with no hint that it’s not her native tongue. No hint of the swirling emotions within her. She nods to the prison warden. Alanna, face a perfect mask, passes the backpack stacked full of cash to him. 

“We can continue with the exchange then. I assure you, it’s all there. Couldn’t stay in the business like this if we didn’t ensure all terms were met on both sides.” Alanna says, perfect smile in place. Underneath it though, her skin has paled a shade. Shocked by the brutality Ethan has suffered. 

The man takes it, a slimy grin exposing yellow teeth as he hands it to another man who excuses himself to count it. 

“When my man confirms it you’re free to leave with him.” He rakes a dirty hand through his greasy hair and sends both women another nauseating smile. 

Only in your wildest dreams, Ilsa thinks as she nods to him again. She expected nothing less, to everyone else this is nothing more than a business transaction.

The room waits in silence, save for Ethan’s rattling breaths. She glances at the White Widow whose face has gone another shade paler as she looks more closely at Ethan. Her brother behind her looks grim but is no longer glaring at Ilsa. 

She refocuses on Ethan. He hasn’t moved since she slapped and pushed him back to the ground, hasn’t even turned his head so his face isn’t resting on the floor. His breaths begin to take on a wet quality and she steps over to him with less urgency than she feels. Ilsa pauses when she gets to him as if she’s considering, and carelessly uses her foot to push him up and onto his shoulder, the closest she can get him to the recovery position. 

“Can’t have you dying before my employers get their hands on you can we?” She says, her voice low as she crouches back in front of him, trying to meet his eyes and communicate with just a glance like they used to. His stare is dead ahead, eyes unfocused. There’s a small pool of blood where his face was just resting on the ground, more running from his nose and mouth. It’s concerning, but not enough to be immediately life-threatening alone. She’s not sure if paired with the rest of his injuries and the disassociation it’s a significant concern. 

She stays crouched by him, listening to his breathing and watching his chest rise and fall jerkily, winces as she can his broken ribs flex and expand under the skin that’s practically molded to them he’s so thin. 

Ilsa stands when the outer door opens and the man who counted the money nods. 

The warden looks at them, “It seems our terms have been met, the terrorist is yours. My men will move him to your vehicle. It’s a pleasure to do business with you, perhaps next time we’ll meet under more pleasurable circumstances.”

Ilsa wants to punch the man square in his smug face, maybe whip around his back and break his neck with her thighs. Instead, she nods and motions two guards forward. 

“Carry him. My employers will not appreciate any more damage to the goods.”

The warden translates, and there is a brief bickering back and forth before the guards begrudgingly scoop Ethan up by his feet and under his arms. It’s not a long walk to the roof of the compound, but it still concerns Ilsa that Ethan doesn’t move or flinch throughout the journey no matter how many times the guards carelessly let him bump into the walls of the corridor. 

Outside on the roof, the light rain from when they arrived has lifted, leaving the air damp and chilling to the bone. She instantly wants to shiver and pull her coat tighter around herself.

Ilsa points to the helicopter she arrived in, indicating where she wants the guards to set Ethan. They toss him in, none too gently. She dismisses them with a flick of her hand and they retreat back inside. She nods at Alanna and Zola, as they climb into their own helicopter.

Alanna has to shout over the sound of both helicopters spinning up, “I trust you’ll ensure he’s well healed by the time I need to call on the second half of my payment.”

Ilsa nods again, not needing another reminder of the other half of the agreement, “You have my guarantee.”

She nods to them in dismissal before ducking under the spinning rotors, stepping up into the helicopter, and sliding the door closed with a satisfying thunk when it latches. She reaches forward and taps Brandt, behind the stick of the chopper, on the shoulder, giving him the signal to fly to their first rendezvous point with Luther and Benji. His gaze is focused on Ethan, worry written in every wrinkle of his face. 

As gently as she can she rights Ethan, crouching on the floor and leaning him against the fuselage of the helicopter. He’s still out of it, gaze empty and unfocused. Ilsa blinks back sudden wetness in her eyes and swallows a choking feeling rising in her throat before dragging the first of the multiple medical bags towards her, fishing a pair of medical shears out of a front pocket. She begins to reach behind Ethan to cut the ropes on his hands when he makes an almost imperceptible sound of pain, barely audible over the sound of the helicopter as it lifts in the air. She’d have missed it if she wasn’t leaning over him. As quickly as she can she leans back, gently cradling his body to rest back against the fuselage. His eyes are red and bloodshot, one swollen, and the other already surrounded by bruising. But they are staring directly at her, locked onto her face, his expression a mix of fear and hope, an open book to her always. 

“Ilsa?” He asks in the same shattered voice as before. 

“Yes, it’s me. It’s me.” She drops the medical shears and cups his cheek with one hand, the other cradling the back of his head, her fingers tangling into his hair. 

Ethan is staring at her with so much intensity it’s almost overwhelming. Like she’s an oasis in the desert and he’s drinking her in, a dying man and she’s the thing he needs to survive. He leans his cheek into her palm, pressing into it and nosing into her wrist, eyes falling shut for the briefest moment before they snap open and he pulls his head up like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done, eyes locked back on her. 

“You’re real? You’re alive? This is all real?” Ethan’s eyes are brimming with tears and he’s not even trying to blink them away, afraid she’ll disappear if he takes his gaze off of her for even a millisecond.  

She presses a kiss to his forehead, “It’s all real. I’m real, I’m alive. You’re alright, you’re okay.”

Ilsa swipes her thumb over the bruise under his eye, catching a tear as it falls and watching as his face crumples with relief. She pulls him into her, tucking his face into the side of her neck, pressing her own cheek on top of his head, one hand still tangled in his hair, holding. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. We’re both alive. You’ll be okay. The other arm wraps around him carefully, avoiding the worst of the wounds on his back and holding him close for the first time in five months, pressing them together, and wishing she could lay her claim on him. She’ll never be able to protect him entirely, but damn if she doesn’t wish she could. Soon she’s crying too, silent, as Ethan shakes in her hold. 

I love you. I love you. I love you. She thinks. 

They’re safe. Together. Alive. A weight she didn’t know was on her shoulders lifts, relief coursing through her so powerfully it leaves her feeling breathless, overwhelmed, and exhausted. There is a fine tremble running through her hands. She almost didn’t get this; holding him, kissing him, loving him.

The baby kicks, shifts inside of her and she holds back a gasp. The doctor who had performed the surgery on her leg had consulted an OB after confirming she was indeed pregnant. After the surgery, there had been conversations - what to expect and when, how often she should be coming in for check-ups, and more dietary and health recommendations for herself than she wanted to think about. The list had been endless, but she had been out of it with pain, grief over losing Ethan, and overwhelmed with shock that she was pregnant after a lifetime of being told she couldn’t conceive children. But now, thinking back, the doctor had told she’d start to feel kicks and movement around five months. Even with tears on her face, she smiles a bit. He’s already like his father with perfect timing. She presses more kisses to Ethan’s hair, making her way down his face with gentle touches of her lips to his skin, ghosting over his eye, trailing across his cheekbone, and collecting salty tears until she gets to his mouth. He surges up to meet her, pressing them together desperately and with more force than she thought he was capable of. Ilsa smiles into him, god she missed this. 

Meet your dad, little man, he’s the best of us. 

an: anyone catch the sneaky little line of dialogue i stole from rogue nation in there?? title of this fic and the lyrics at the beginning are from the war, by syml. also, xуй means dick in Russian

taglist (i made this from people who showed interest, please don't hesitate to ask to be removed (or added!!), absolutely no hard feelings): @valmare @thethistlegirl @alcafrach @izzypuppybutt

#mission impossible #ilsa faust fanfic #ethan hunt fanfic #mission impossible fic #ethan hunt #ilsa faust #ethan x ilsa #ilsaethan #ethanilsa #ilsa x ethan #rad writes #my writing

[the-magicians-blue]

How about micah and reader where reader dies and micah just waiting for then to get online again,, i just really live for angst 🙏🙏

Ah I see you’ve caught me at a good time. Angst it is!

10:07pm

MicahYujin: You there?

MicahYujin: Angel?

MicahYujin: Y/N

MicahYujin: ….

MicahYujin: Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry.

MicahYujin: Please talk to me.

Micah was concerned. He hadn’t heard from you for almost 3 weeks now. He sent messages everyday without fail. You didn’t even touch your computer anymore (he knew because he hacked your computer to see if there was any activity). Maybe you were out of town and forgot to tell him? But you’ve never forgotten to tell him when you’d be away from your computer for long and you usually would text him. Something was wrong, really wrong but he couldn’t figure out what. At this point there was only one thing he could think to do: go to your house and see for himself.

The plane ride was stressful. All he could do was hope for the plane to go faster so he could see you again. The car ride was stressful. He was stuck in traffic and the driver took two wrong turns. But he thought it’d be worth it to see you. He thought it would.

When had finally got to your house he was surprised to see multiple cars and a moving truck in the driveway. He soon saw a slightly familiar face: your mother. He had never met her but you had shown him photos. She had tears in her eyes as she was carrying a box full of your things out of your home. Your mom saw Micah and recognized him from the screen shots you secretly took of him when you talked.

“Oh, you must be the boy Y/N talked to so much.”

A bitter smile grew on her face.

“They really liked you. Its not often Y/N bring up someone they’re talking to we when we talk… thank you for treating my child with so much love and kindness.”

She began to tear up again as Micah stood there confused.

“What… what happened?”

“They were on their way to the airport. Something about a surprise visit? It was a super early flight but… but apparently there was a drunk driver who was out late and speeding and… and the car hit the taxi and flipped over the car…. And… and-“

Your mother began to sob as Micah stood there in shock. No, no you can’t be gone, not just like that. You were just talking to him a few weeks ago, smiling and laughing and clowning him. You can’t be gone. You just can’t. And a surprise visit? You couldn’t have been going to see him were you? Did you die because of him?

A young man came up behind your mother to console her, sitting her down before going back to Micah. He introduced himself as your cousin. He only confirmed what Micah didn’t want to be true.

“Y/N had been in a coma for two weeks. At first it seemed like they’d wake up after a few days but… they’re condition worsened and by the end of the week the doctors said they were brain dead and weren’t gonna wake up. It took 2 more weeks for Y/N’s mom to finally decide to pull the plug. I’m sorry you had to find out like this… Oh! Wait I recognize you! You were that guy Y/N has a photo of on their dresser! Micah right?”

Your cousin ran off and returned with a battered box, parts of it singed.

“Y/N was apparently holding onto it when the paramedics found them. Apparently they kept saying something about making sure it got to you? They asked us if we knew a Micah but Y/N never gave us your name.”

Micah could do nothing but stare at the box in his arms. Taking a deep breath he opened the box to see a handmade plushie of skrunkly, a sailor moon figurine and a note.

Dear Micah,

As you know I’m not someone thats good at saying my true feelings face to face, so I wrote them down here. You are one of the best things that has happened to me in a long time. I’m always busy so having someone to talk to consistently wasn’t something I had the luxury of. You make me laugh, you make me calm, you make me feel safe. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so close to someone in such a short time before. I hope you like the gifts, I made the plushie myself! I know I can never capture the full beauty of skrunkly but I hope you appreciate my efforts. That sailor moon figure was actually hard to find too so you better be happy. I guess it’s just to pay you back for how much you’ve changed my life (and for the cute dinosaur plushie). Thank you for everything.

Love(ew),

Y/N

P.S if you ask about any of the mushy stuff I wrote to my face I can and will deny any of it. I am not past gaslighting.

As he read the note Micah began to laugh before breaking down into tears. He couldn’t help but feel like this was all his fault. If you hadn’t tried to surprise him you would still be here. Maybe he should’ve paid more attention when you asked him what his favorite sailor moon character was. He should’ve noticed when he saw you searching up how to crochet. He should’ve done something, anything. Maybe, he should’ve never started talking to you in the first place. He should’ve just like that little revenge hack be all that it was. You would still be alive if he did. Would he have met such an amazing person? No, but that would have been better than knowing he’s the reason they’re gone now.

Micah helped clean your house out. Your family like him keep the photo of the two of you on his first visit to your house as well as the dinosaur plushie he gave you. They invited him to the funeral but he just couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t be able to handle seeing you laying there, completely lifeless. He just went home promised himself that he’d never get close to anyone like that again. He wouldn’t be able to take losing someone else.

#error143 #micah yujin #please play error143! #micah yujin x reader #micah x reader #micah yujin angst

[a-ticklish-banshee]

The anon harassment

Guys, I need to get serious for a moment. There's two anons going around, spreading hate and stirring the shit pot. They are not the same person that started the bullshit with bambinella. The first anon is just going around spreading lies and hate about her, often threatening to put you on a list, if you dare disagree with them or defend Bambinella. This anon- and probably anon minors- will start coming into your inbox with stupid shit.

This second anon is much more sinister and this is where we need to be careful and stay safe.

Some of you may have seen or been the unfortunate recipients of an anonymous troll that screams at you in all caps and says the most absolute vile things. I am not posting screenshots of that anon, as she says shit relating to rape, pedophilia, necrophilia, and suicide baiting.

I did a little detective work. This is not some edgy minor, who's being a little shit. No, y'all. This is a grown ass, thirty year old woman. She is relentless, I'll give her that much. Her name is Chloe.

Chloe targets her victims at random. And she does not stop. Aside from the disgusting shit she says, she threatens to make a pedo AI bot of you, hack you, and doxx you, if you manage to piss her off enough. Now, she may not have the IQ or brain cells to do that, but I still suggest not engaging with this deranged freak.

From what I have gathered, she supposedly had a husband that left her and her kid got taken away via CPS.

If the bambinella anons target you, block on site but Chloe?

DO NOT ENGAGE. Do not respond. Click 'report anon.' I've also heard that she had her blogs taken down recently, thanks to people reporting her.

A blog called chloe-harassment-proof documents and saves this sick cunt's behavior, so people can build a case against her. This blog is where I got my information about Chloe. Chloe also has been reported to the FBI for her pedo related bullshit.

I scrolled down this user's blog far enough and saw something hopeful, that chloe-harassment-proof reblogged:

Chloe fucked with the wrong blogger. She claimed to have the user's IP... But the joke was on her. This user had an IP grabber on their blog and correctly said which state Chloe was in.

Her time may be coming to an end here, as she keeps getting reported and taken down. I say that optimistically but the only problem is, Chloe has a VPN of sorts or something like that, that's able to bypass sites she's banned from, like DeviantART. She was banned from there but found a way to get back.

Stay safe, y'all. Don't respond to either. Block and report Chloe. Block any blogs with no content and avatar that start following you.

Lock down your blogs. Turn off anon asks. Make it to where people who have only been following you for a week can message you and respond to posts.

One thing I've seen with Chloe, is that she is stupid and desperate enough to come off of anon to be a cunt. If or when that happens, report her immediately, do not respond in any way. Be warned, she will reblog shit that users reblogged from you just to troll you, even if you have her blocked. This is why blocking doesn't work. Report her every time.

Let's run this bitch off for good.

#melody's posts #important psa #anon hate #anon harassment #chloe may

[whxre-bxby]

Enzo (Dmitri Antonov)

Stranger things is a beautiful series, and while I am simping for Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson and Billy Hargrove, Enzo has a different effect on me and I love this man.

SEASON 4 IS GREAT, ALL WRITERS GET TO WORK. I literally cracked my neck and stretched my fingers and started writing after I finished it:)

Warnings: mature content, NSFW, smut, fluff, ANGST, Age gap (we love it), unprotected sex, claiming, breeding kink

I woke up feeling cold again. The temperature harshly reminded me of where I was. The Russian prison, located in god knows where. The thin blanket I curled up in every night for the past 3 and a half weeks, brought me little comfort and warmth. I'd say it is completely useless but I still sleep in it, hoping every night that it will warm me.

I ended up here because I stole files from the Russian government. Sensitive files, with the information they didn't want the world to see. Each country has files like these because each country has corrupt and cruel people at the top of the pyramid, we just don't know about all of them.

I used the files to hack into databases with their given codes, to find missing people and see the real reasons people died.

Apparently, I wasn't as slick as I thought and found myself seeing the same few vans and cars on a daily basis. They would either park outside the place I was in or would slowly drive next to me while I was walking and then speed off. It was obviously suspicious and I noticed it straight away, but when I moved from city to city, state to state, they followed. That's when I realised that I couldn't escape them and before I could get any sort of help, I was stuck in an alley, the black cars blocking off both exits and apparently taken here. I don't remember it that well, I think they knocked me out with something. When I woke up here, I was cold and had different clothes on. My cell was and is dirty, the walls all out of stone and cement and I was fed the most disgusting food. A bowl of brown or grey goo with rock hard bread twice a day.

I had a guard who was assigned to give me the food every day. I hated him in the beginning because he was one of them. While the other guards would just open the cell door and chuck the food on the floor he knocked and then placed it on the ground gently or walked up to me and put it in my hands.

Most of their prisoners would do labour work but they knew I wouldn't be 'suited' for that. Instead, the General had 'better' ideas planned. They had men as prisoners that were hard to control and they made a deal with them, that they would behave and follow instructions and not injure any more guards if they would get an hour with me a week. And I had no say in this whatsoever. They were all disgusting misogynistic men here. Fucking pigs.

The first time they threw me in a cell with a man to 'contain' him and fulfil his natural needs and I fought him off with all my strength. I screamed and scratched his face and body. It was awful being locked in a dark cold cell with a brutal horny man. That was by far the most traumatising thing I have ever experienced. My screams and cries must have been heard all over the prison.

So the next time they 'needed' me, I was brought into a different enclosed room with guards and the General all around me. They held me in place as one of them took out a syringe and filled it with some type of fluid, before injecting it into the main artery on my arm. It took about 5 minutes for the chemicals to kick in and I started feeling lightheaded and dizzy. Once my brain couldn't comprehend what was happening anymore and my body was too weak, they carried me back into the cell with the man. As much as I hated, feared and despised the situation, I preferred being injected because I couldn't remember anything after waking up. The scene I had once witnessed, I never wanted to experience again.

Dmitri was on break with five other guards and they were all playing cards at a table before my screams bellowed through the cold stone building. He instantly froze and looked at the others who seemed unfazed by it. Since I was the only female for about 100 miles and through my scream, one could identify my sex, Dmitri knew straight away that it was me.

He dropped his cards. " I should go check on her." he said in Russian to his colleagues.

"Hey, sit down you idiot. Can't you tell? Those are cries of joy." Another man said (in Russian), chuckling to himself and the others grinned. Dmitri didn't know what was going on.

"Fucking bitch had it coming." The man sat next to him said.

"What are they doing?" Dmitri asked, sounding more demanding and worried than curious.

The guards froze and it was silent before the eldest one replied. "They didn't tell you because they think you like her." he grinned before speaking again. "What do you think a woman is good for? Huh? Especially here. She can't do anything. So the general assigned her to the man in cell 12, to keep him under control." Everyone knew that the man in cell 12 was a pain in the ass to handle.

Dmitri couldn't believe what he was hearing. The guard rolled his eyes. "You know what they want her for. Don't make me explain it." he spoke coldly, not seeming bothered by the situation but finding it amusing. "And calm down, otherwise they will really believe you like her. You will be out of here for that."

Dmitri stayed quiet, for he knew there wasn't much he could do to help me.

An hour later he heard footsteps outside the breakroom and watched as guards walked past, one of them carrying me over his shoulder. Dmitri noticed I wasn't awake because of the way I swayed like a ragdoll with each step the man took and he hoped that I was alive.

This happened for the next 3 weeks, the rest of the time I was locked in my cell or the General would tie me to a chair with minimal clothes on, stripping me of any dignity I had left, and just sat close to me and stared while smoking a cigar. I wasn't treated like a person here. My rights went out the window the second they loaded me into their car. I was pushed around, touched and neglected. It got to the point where I didn't question anything anymore or fight at all. I just obeyed and in my cell, sat in my usual corner in silence, blankly staring at a wall.

The only thing that stopped me from completely giving up was the one guard, Dmitri. He treated me better. Obviously not well because he would get fired for that, but he wasn't cruel. He talked to me sometimes, and even though I often felt too weak to respond, I listened to him. I learned that he was called Dmitri. Even though I normally would have been able to pronounce his name because it wasn't that difficult, with the state I am in, I couldn't. So he told me to just call him Enzo. 

He made me feel a little better about the situation I was in. But soon, he stopped coming to my cell. I waited a few days and he hadn't shown up. I didn't ask the new guard anything, just in case he got in trouble because of me. 

The silence of my cell was disrupted when someone hit their first against the door and it was opened. The general was standing outside, accompanied by two guards. 

"Get up, sexy. We have plans for you." He spoke and I obeyed again, following him. It was only shortly after that I realised we passed cell 12 and I was curious about what was happening. 

We then arrived at an open cell, without enclosed walls and they unlocked the door. There were a few men inside it, watching the situation. I tried avoiding eye contact and just stood put until I was once again shoved inside. They closed the door behind me and the General said. 

"You die tomorrow. They do too. Be so kind and give them a show. Make their last day worth living." he grinned at me before turning to the others in the cell. "Do what you want with her." he mumbled and walked off after securing the lock on the door. I watched them walk away and then slowly turned around. Most of them were staring at me and one disgusting man licked his lips. I ignored them all and sat on the bench against the wall, starting to shiver. 

"You heard him, give us a show." One man laughed and a few others chuckled. He took a few steps towards me and started mumbling things to himself in Russian which I couldn't understand. Before he got too close, a man who had his back turned the whole time stood up, putting himself in the path of the other prisoner. 

"You lay one finger on her, and I promise you, you won't have hands anymore. " he growled and the man swore at him before retreating back to his previous spot. 

I looked at the man who stood up for me and recognized him once her turned around. It was Enzo. But he looked a lot worse. The man was covered in cuts and bruises. He smiled a little at me and sat down on the bench with me, keeping his distance though. 

We talked for a while about how we got here until it got late and I somehow managed to fall asleep. Enzo didn't sleep at all. He stayed up all night, to make sure no one would come close to me. 

In the morning we were taken out of the cell to prepare to fight the monster they kept locked up in another cell. The monster seemed impatient and there was a malfunction in the system, which opened and unlocked all doors. Meaning, everyone including the monster was free. 

Enzo and I discussed that we wanted to escape last night, but it wouldn't work without a miracle. He and I exchanged eye contact. This was our miracle. Most of the guards were assigned downstairs to hold to doors of the Demogorgon's cell but once it broke free, most of them had been killed within a matter of seconds. Enzo and I were obviously also in danger but I had no idea where to go. He however knew his way around the facility and grabbed my wrist, pulling me behind him. We sprinted through hallways, taking sharp turns here and there before we ended up outside the prison. We heard screams of the victims of the Demogorgon and it just made us run faster. Enzo had led me to the car park and we quickly got into a white van and he managed to drive off. I had never felt that much adrenaline in my entire life. 

We didn't know where we were going, but we knew with that thing on the loose, we had to drive far from it. After about 2 full hours of driving at top speed through the snow and through the woods, we found a small village. It was only about 5 houses and a small church and it was completely abandoned. No one was anywhere to be seen. Enzo and I hadn't exchanged a single word throughout the whole car ride. We were both still in shock. So when we entered a small house, we were finally relieved and able to let our guard down. 

It was warmer than the cells and we found food, which we both instantly devoured. 

The escape took up the whole day and we were both tired. Night fell quicker than Chrissy's bones snapped (I'm not sorry) and when we looked for beds we saw that there was only one bedroom with a double bed. 

My face got a little red and he cleared his throat. "I can take the floor if you want." he offered and I smiled. Such a gentleman. Like I was going to let that happen after all he did for me. 

"No way, you take the bed. You deserve it more." I said and he chuckled slightly.

"I don't think that's fair." he replied smiling. 

"We can share it. I don't mind." I say, managing to contain my blush and push my sinful thoughts away. 

Enzo looked at me for a while and then nodded. I proceeded to go through the drawers of the closet and found some clean clothes, pulling them out and throwing the onto a corner of the bed. Enzo stood silently, watching me. 

I turned around to face him and smiled softly. 

"Thank you by the way. For everything. " I say, breaking the silence. 

"I don't think I was much help. You managed to survive on your own." he said softly. 

"I wouldn't have... you made me want to wake up each morning." I confess, staring at my feet.

I saw him smile at what I said, but then he looked away. He looked guilty of something. 

"What is it?" I ask. He still doesn't dare to look at me. I walk up to him, looking at his face and slowly reach for his hand. His gaze shifts down to my fingers holding on to his. We have never touched before and the physical contact sent shivers up both our spines. Finally, Enzo looked at me. But his expression was sad. 

"I could have done more for you. I'm so sorry for everything that you experienced in there. Please, just know that I never wanted any of that to happen." he whispers. 

"It's okay, I'm able to deal with it now. I appreciate what you did do. If you would have done more, they might have killed you on the spot." 

"If it would mean that you would be free and safe, then it would have been worth it." he softly whispers again. My eyes become glossy and watery as I stare into his sad ones. I can't stop myself and just hug him. My arms wrap tightly around his waist and I feel Enzo tense up before he lets his arms fall and holds my head against his chest. We stay like that for a while, because damn did we need that hug. 

When we pull away I look up at him with big doe eyes, just admiring him. He then gently tucks a strand of hair that fell in front of my face, behind my ear and I just melt. This is the first time we showed affection to one another. 

"You're gorgeous. Moya prekrasnaya devushka." (my beautiful girl) he whispers, gliding his thumb over my cheek and admiring the sight in front of him.

My eyes flicker from his to his lips, hinting that I want to kiss him. I've wanted to kiss him since he started talking to me in my cell. Enzo got the message and carefully cupped my face, leaning down until our foreheads touched and he looked at me, wanting me to give him consent by connecting our lips. He wanted to make sure I wanted this because the last thing he wanted to do was to make me feel like he used me as the other men did.

I moved my head up and stood slightly on my toes until our lips finally connected. It was a soft and long kiss. We didn't move our jaws, we just stayed in the moment, loving the new contact. 

I slowly pulled away and opened my eyes again. 

"You can't imagine how long I've wanted that." he said, his voice a key lower now. 

"I think I can." I reply and before he can process it, I press my lips against his again. He seems surprised but is the happiest man alive and would never want me to stop. 

We kiss more passionately now and I run my hands down his clothed chest, making him shiver in anticipation again. He finally feels down my own body, exploring almost every bit because it's been ages since he's been with a woman. And a woman as beautiful as you, he couldn't believe his luck.

Enzo's hands stay above my ass, on my lower waist. He's trying to be polite and not pressure me into anything. As much as I appreciate his concern, I just want him to fuck me so badly at this point, I'm close to begging. I take my hands off his chest and grab his wrists, moving his hands down to my ass. He doesn't move them until I press my body flush against his, receiving a groan of praise from him. Then, his hands dig into the flesh of my ass and he pulls my waist against his crotch. I moan into his mouth, in hope to cut him loose from his restraints and it works. The noise he managed to push out of me turned him on so much he had to pull away and start unbuttoning his shirt. I pulled mine off in the meanwhile and when he looked up at me, I felt my stomach twist with excitement. His pupils dilated to the point where his eye colour was barely visible. He was so lust drunk by the sight in front of him, that his brain stopped functioning. 

To top it off I pulled my pants down and stepped out of them, while Enzo just stared. I attached my hands to his pants and that managed to snap him out of his trance. He hastily unbuckled his belt while I opened his zipper and pulled the fabric down to his ankles.

We were both in only underwear now and turned on to the point where we couldn't keep our hands off each other. 

Our bodies collided and wrapped one leg around him. Enzo's hands travelled down under my ass and he squeezed my thighs, signalling for me to jump. I obeyed him and he carried me with care towards the bed and gently placed me onto the mattress. He attached his lips to my neck and then left a trail of small peppered kisses down my body. 

His hands then reached up to my bra and he carefully tugged at the cloth, looking up at me.

"Can I?" he asked and I nodded arching my back so he could reach behind me and unhook my bra. He then threw it to the side and scanned my bare chest in adoration again

 "So beautiful." He mumbled before cupping one with his hands and kissing the other one. I hummed in appreciation and ran my hands along his muscly shoulders. His hands then moved to my abdomen and he looked up at me for consent again. Without him having to ask this time, I nodded, biting my lip and lifting my waist up so he could pull my panties down my legs. When Enzo threw them to the side he moaned when he saw all of me. 

"Y/N you look like an angel."  he mumbled before slowly gliding his fingers through my folds and dipping them into my slick. As much as I would have enjoyed that, I needed him too bad for him to continue his torturous exploring. I held his wrist and he looked up at me, confused. 

"As good as that feels, I just need to feel you inside me. Please." I whine and he chuckles. 

"Needy little dove. Anything for you." he replies and pulls his boxer shorts down, his huge fucking cock springing free. I gulped when I looked at it. It was so thick and the length was perfect. I watched it throb and admired the pulsing vein leading from his abdomen to his tip. He saw my reactions and chuckled again before climbing on top of me again, kissing me. Enzo aligned his dick with my entrance and needed my consent again before starting. I groaned and dragged my nails along his back. 

"Enzo please, just fuck me already." I tell him, and if it were possible, Enzo got evermore horny. He nodded, his breathing becoming irregular, and he slowly pushed his tip in. We both needed more, so he just slid all of himself into me with ease. His head dropped into the crook of my neck and he moaned. " So tight.." he said, making it sound almost like a whimper. 

"Please move." I beg him and he does just as I say, starting at a slow rhythm. I moan at how he fills me perfectly and wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper each time. 

Soon Enzo can't stop himself from speeding up and we both started moaning uncontrollably. He had me gripping the bedsheets or scratching his back as if my life depended on it while he propped himself up above me, focusing on the angle he was entering me. When he hit my G-spot I moaned such a pornographic sound, he knew he had found it and started to relentlessly fuck into me with speed and strength, making sure he hit it every time. My body jolted in response and I started forgetting about space and time. All that mattered in this moment was Enzo. And all I could think of was how well he was fucking me. Pounding me like there was no tomorrow. Our skin slapped together, red marks covering our bodies and coating them with shiny shimmering sweat. 

"Holy fuck I'm close-" I moan and am cut off by the pleasure I feel again. 

"Me too, printsessa. Me too, just hold on." He groans, his eyelids fluttering closed. He felt his own orgasm build up and knew he wouldn't last much longer either. After a few more brutal thrusts he gave in. 

"Cum with me, cum baby." he moaned and that was all I needed to push me over the edge. My back arched and I pressed my breasts against his chest and I moaned again. My pussy clenched around his dick and milked him for all he was worth. That's when his hot, thick ropes of cum filled me up. He put his weight on me and held me down while he emptied his balls into my fucked out pussy. 

Once we both came down from our high, Enzo slowly pulled out of me and rolled up so I could get some air. We steadied our breath for a few seconds before looking at each other and laughing. 

"I'll give you a few minutes, then we can go again." he says, smirking. My eyes widen and it seems to amuse him. He knew I was already fucked out. 

"Baby, I haven't been with a woman for more than a year. I can do this all night." he tells me, his voice all scruffy but fuck, so hot. 

And I was not about to complain.

#enzo antonov #enzo stranger things #enzo #dmitri antonov #stranger things #stranger things 4 #smut #fanfiction #fluff #oneshot #reader insert #female reader

[kuroecchy]

the pic in the list are not mine, I just found the pics from pinterest

English is not my first language and no beta.

fair warning the theme i chose for my october prompts are completly randome so I have nothing planned for any of them.

Day 2 - Guardian

It started after that fight. Tony was sure it was gonna hit him, he had no time to dodge. So when he closed his eyes, reading himself for the upcoming pain… Well, let's just say he was confused when nothing happened.

When he opened his eyes expecting to see something, anything. There was nothing. It’s as if there was nothing aimed at him in the first place.

Dumbfounded, Tony flew down from the sky and dismissed it as him being tired.

After that his luck seems to take a nosedive but somehow he always ends up fine.

The day after that incident, Rhodey had invited him to go on a jog.

They ran around the park. It was rather uneventful; it was a simple jog while talking about random things.

What was eventful was when they were on their way back. They decided to buy some food first at the other side of the road.

They of course waited until the stop sign turned green to cross the road but a car who had not hit their break fast enough skidded to them.

They raised their hands to their face (or at least the engineer did) in a futile attempt to protect themselves.

But then… the noise of the car was behind them. Tony quickly looked and the car that had been about to hit them was now behind them driving away.

The hero once again felt dumbfounded.

He looked at his best friend only to be given a shrug.

There was nothing he could do about it if Rhodey didn't see it there's no point thinking it over. Unless he (JARVIS) hack into the security cameras.

So he dismissed it once more.

After that, strange things kept on happening.

At first it was simple things such as when he fell asleep at his workbench he would wake up with a blanket on top of him.

He has asked as unlikely as it is, whether Pepper of Rhodey had been the one who had done it (Pepper would simply wake him up and get him to his own bed, Rhodey would do a similar thing).

They both had said no. Although for some reason the female had this knowing glint in her eyes when he asked. He decided not to ask about it.

Then it started to escalate into more suspicious things. For example, he had spilled coffee on his desk so he went out to get it cleaned only to come back with it already cleaned.

He asked JARVIS about it and his AI had simply responded with it disappearing on its own.

After that Tony has a suspicion on what's been happening around him lately. And because of said suspicions he decided on letting it be for now.

It was 2 weeks later (2 weeks of bad luck and needing someone to save him) that he finally saw it with his own eyes.

It was late at night at the tower. He had been awake for more than 48 hours. The only rest he took were small power naps (He had fallen asleep for a few minutes before forcing himself to wake up).

So it wasn’t really a surprise when he had started to stumble around the penthouse half asleep searching for the coffee machine (or was he searching for food?).

He forgot that he had some electronics that he hadn’t cleaned up from last time he was tinkering with them in the common room. So of course his brain that's been running on nothing but his will power decided that it was too much to notice them in front of him.

He tripped.

Honestly at this point, the sleep deprived man was welcoming the floor, ready to fall asleep on the cold floor.

Instead he fell onto the open arms of a tall man. The hold was strong. Well maybe not the grip but the way the arm hugged tight on to him his body relaxed on their hold.

The engineer’s brain tried hard to think about who the mystery person was, he didn’t have the energy to look up to the other’s face.

So tired at first, the other was wearing fabric that’s hard to the skin and he could feel the slight tremors from the other’s hands.

The next thing he noticed was the smell, the man (he’s pretty sure that they are a man at this point) Had the smell of incense clinging to his clothing and the aroma or calming tea mixed with it.

Tony knew that based on these descriptions he’s supposed to already be able to already guess who his savior is but his brain simply didn’t want to give him the answer.

It took a familiar baritone voice for him to realize who it was, “I think It’s time to go to bed.”

He could hear the fond smile coming from each of those words.

He smiled on the others arms and muffled, “Stranger danger.”

The sorcerer huffed and decided to teleport them to his room. He put the smaller man down on the bed and spoke fondly, “Alright, off to bet with you.”

“You're no fun, Stephen.” he pouted but otherwise did as told. He crawled up to the middle of the bed and positioned himself comfortably.

Stephen had chosen to sit by the foot of Tony’s bed to make sure the other actually slept.

Tony on the other hand had started to drift off.

“Guess you’re the one that’s been protecting me…” he mumbled

“My own secret guardian…” and with that Tony went to the world of dreams, leaving Stephen a blushing mess on the foot of his bed.

~ The End ~

did i write this instead of sleeping? yes i did

apologies for any mistakes im supposed to be asleep when i was writing this

#ironstrange #stephen x tony #tony stark #tony x stephen #stephen strange #fanfic #october #writing prompts #protective stephen strange #tony stark has a heart #doctor stephen strange #stephen strange has a heart #marvel #marvel mcu #iron man #ironman #doctor strange #mcu fandom #mcu #mcu fanfiction #i don't know how to tag

[motorcity-thoughts]

ive had this idea floating around in my head that could probably be a fanfic?? like idk ive been thinking of making this into a fan made “episode” script but in case i dont do anything with it i wanna share it rn cuz its been in my noggin since a week ago!!! aa!!!

at first this just started as an animatic idea of a chase scene between red and chuck but then i tried to elaborate on it all. ive been curious as to how they would interact, so im gonna make them for like 1 minute BUT UNDER WHAT CIRCUMSTANCES? one mission, assigned to red. Kane has been studying the burners one by one, and there was one who caught his eye.. chuck. he seems to be the closest to mike, literally riding shotgun with him IN HIS CAR in almost every battle so far, and he was the one who managed to hack into kane’s warpod that one day along with being the boy responsible for shutting down a kmg MID AIR. the boy is smart; he might know a thing or two. both about precision, and most importantly.. chilton.

kane (or actually the r&d department lol) has a little gift prepared for him. all they need is the actual boy to give it to. the thing is, he’s never seen alone.. they need him by himself. this is a special mission, one that requires stealth and speed, so who better to send to get the job done than red? he’s beat mike down almost twice, and even captured him once with a bit of help. here’s the plan: lure the burners out of their lil junkyard with kane bots, follow them from a close distance & use chuck’s “gift” to disrupt surrounding power sources (INCLUDING the burner cars engines) which should result in them crashing near a foggy area, and snag chuck.

the burners get out to investigate their engines.. they’ve been shut down. but from what?? their car hoods were completely shut- SURPRISE!! red takes chuck away into the fog!! o noes!! (insert chase scene with chuck lol) once he’s in red’s hands, he literally plugs kane’s surprise gift into chuck’s back, attaching itself to him and to his nerves like a parasite. the extending wires almost glow through his skin as they enter his body.. compressing his current memories and sending commands to his brain. chuck’s struggling was getting weaker by the minute as more commands began to take over his brain. he would now be used as a weapon against chilton once an for all.

thats as far as i got since ive been rrlllyyy busy lately :p okbye

#ehh idk #╮(╯▽╰)╭ #motorcity #disney xd

[thedawningofthehour]

You. Why. Why are you doing this to me? I fucking hate you.

I already have my brain filled with a bunch of other ideas and you throw this at me? I think by this point I should make a list.

God, I can already picture the dumb dumb trio acting like spoiled children, especially Leo who would be a little shit who loves his family and is good at heart, but would be a little shit anyway.

Donnie/Gale I don't know if he would be much different from his canon version, considering he would be raised by Draxum, but at the same time growing up on the surface and being friends with April. I feel like Draxum would be a little more lenient with his petty crimes.

April: *opened the door with a bang* Galois fucking Draxum!!!! Half the building just went dark, you're mining crypto again?!

Gale: Aprinella O'neil, you of all people should know that I have standards!

April: says the guy who hacked into every ATM in the entire north side of the city, stole parts from the government to build his rocket backpack and blew up half the school just because the computer teacher dared to give him an A-

Gale: Like I said, standards.

And please don't make me think of Splinter spending 13 years in a gilded cage hating a man who is unknowingly completely reformed, for nothing, this man has been through so much already.

Splinter is doing his damnedest to keep his kids at least a little grounded. Makes them put away their own toys, teaches them to say please and thank you to the hotel staff, will take away privileges if they get bad grades or are being little shits. (and god help Big Mama if she tries to overrule his discipline, that's one of the few things he'll legitimately fight with her about) And he makes sure they keep busy, between training and school and their hobbies, so they're not just lazing around all day being waited on. It helps that his kids are just genuinely good kids too.

Leo is definitely the most spoiled of the bunch, both because he can fool his dad and because he spends the most time with Big Mama. So a lot of his misbehavior never gets back to Lou, and Big Mama...I wouldn't say she doesn't discipline him, but she has a completely different set of standards than Lou does, and those standards seem to shift a lot based on her mood. She doesn't care if he's rude, she lets him do pretty much whatever he wants, and when she does find out about his shenanigans more often than not she'll say it's 'their secret' and never bother to do anything more than wag her finger at him, if she even does that. But she'll also get upset with him for showboating in front of cameras when she delighted in his theatrics the week before, and go between being incredibly proud of her son's cunning and enraged that it nearly rivals hers. Staying on her good side is a dance atop knife blades-which Leo is very good at, but it takes a toll on him. He feels the absence of his twin most of all, even though he knows so little about them.

Mikey is spoiled in the way all youngest children are spoiled, and he's so incredibly cute that no one can find it in them to say no to him. The kitchen staff don't sneak him cookies before dinner out of fear of Big Mama-they do it because he looks so sad when he's told no and it's just heartbreaking. Mikey knows this and is willing to exploit it. Splinter keeps him very close and fares slightly better against the puppy dog eyes, but he's only human(ish). Mikey at least has a number of hobbies Splinter can indulge him in and Big Mama can throw money at. He takes personal art lessons and trains with professional chefs, but he's learning proper skills and Splinter thinks it's good for character building.

Raph probably gets the shortest end of the stick. His strength and battle prowess is the main way he distinguishes himself from his brothers in the eyes of his mother, and she plants the idea of fighting in his mind very young. She would never let him get really hurt, of course, but he's still been trained to put himself in harm's way for his mother's attention. His father avoids him often, frustrated that he volunteered himself for something Splinter tried so hard to keep him out of, and unwilling to see the constant bruises and bandages that cycle through his body. And as the oldest he understands the most about their missing sibling, and probably has a bit of a complex about that. He's supposed to be the protector of his siblings. If the people his mom is hiring aren't getting the job done, then doesn't it fall to him?

(fuck I'm doing it again)

Donnie would never mine crypto! He's see through that shit like a ziploc bag. He was probably one of those guys on wallstreetbets fucking with Gamestop's stock.

But yeah, Draxum is extremely chill with minor law-breaking. As long as his golden rule of 'don't get caught' is followed. Gale can't end up in jail, they'd take his cloaking brooch and find out what he is. (do you always have to strip when you go to jail? Never been arrested here, I'm very boring) He also covers for April sometimes, which isn't necessary very often but when it does happen it's met with "you really shouldn't be shoplifting, but I'm not about to cry for Walmart." He lets them drink in the apartment.

Honestly, I don't even think of him as really reformed, he was absolutely planning on hopping back on his bullshit for a while there. His plan at first was to lay low until he wasn't being hunted so intensely, build up his resources and wait until Galois was a little older and more self-sufficient. But Lou just became more determined as time went on, and the flight to the surface and integration into human society happened before he could rebuild his lab. He isn't actively planning a genocide right now...but less because he's made the conscious decision that that's Wrong and more because he's a single father to one teenager and a weird uncle to another, (I've also decided that Cass starts crashing on his couch and he's just like "welp, I guess I have two kids now") and he's just too tired to really formulate plans for world domination.

#april kicking open uncle draxum's door at 7 am on saturday: GALE HOLY FUCK- #last night: yeah that's pretty much all my thoughts on this au i don't think i have much else to add #me today:

[typingdyslexiaisathing]

Too Much Hassle (Obey Me!) fanfic

summary; This particular MC hates Valentine's Day. But will put up with the chaos to keep the best boys smiling. However. The end of the day has them seeking isolation. With Leviathan.

characters: Marzena OC/MC, Leviathan.

content: romance overload, frustrated MC, casual fluff

I was going to lose my mind soon. The past two weeks had been nothing but holiday prep and gushing over Valentine's Day. The holiday I absolutely hate. But I didn't have a way to explain why without hurting all those happy and smiling people that wanted to gift me their love. So I had been putting on a neutral mood to go with the flow.

But the day of had been absolute chaos and constant chocolate gifting. I had not even gotten to sleep in. Since Asmodeus had woken me up for a pre-breakfast spa treatment. The fruit scents helped a ton. But by the time we finished with the after dinner party, I was about to rip into someone verbally or physically or both. Lucifer took the hint to tell his brothers to let me go to bed early. Beelzebub giving me a bear hug before I walked away to thank me for the small mountain of various snacks I had been sure to gift him. Which felt good, but didn't help my brain much. So I did the only thing I could do afterwards. I walked up to the second floor and texted Leviathan to unlock his door.

The door was slightly open when I got to Leviathan's room. Which I was so glad for I just walked right in to then close it. The shut in otaku looking up from his computer to ask me, "Did you come by to borrow that new manga?" I shook my head to just drop my ass next to his chair and shudder. Which had Leviathan pause to then turn off his current game. "Marzena? Are you okay?" I shook my head to hug my knees. "Overloaded... Too much everything..." Leviathan went wide eyed at the realization of what I meant. So he grabbed up the fuzzy blanket I had bought him to drop it over me. Which helped so much before he tuned on some soft techno music. His frame soon settling beside me as I heaved a sigh of relief. His tail lacing around my middle as he huffed. "I keep forgetting that you have anti-normie tendencies like me. But you get so popular around these holiday celebrations. I keep assuming you like it."

I gave a snort before I finally told the truth. "Levi. I hate this holiday. Valentine's Day is a load of absolute garbage. Ever since I was a preschool kid. My school always had us make a big deal out of this stupid holiday. Made the kids craft up shoeboxes that we decorated to get little cards. But every year... My box either got trashed or it just went missing. The one card I got the kid said his mom made him give it to me. Then the jerk ripped it in half and threw it away on me."

Leviathan goes so quiet he stops breathing. My eyes watering as I rubbed at them and continued. "I got asked out on dates. Then got stood up or saw my date was with someone else. That one group date turned out to be so everyone might show off they were a couple and I got sidelined. I hate this holiday so damn much, Levi. If people are supposed to show the ones they love how they feel, then they need to do it like it's a day to day important thing. Not make up some dumbass holiday for it." A quiet pause has me think that someone else heard me outside of Leviathan's room. But I don't get the chance to think on that when Leviathan sweeps me into a tight hug. Moving the blanket so he can look me in the face. "Tell me their names... Every one of them... I will hack their socials and ruin their lives... Bank accounts drained and jobs lost... I will ruin them for every tear you've ever cried.... Heartless bastards...!"

The fact that it was Leviathan saying this had me look to him in surprise. Only to see something I never expected from him. Pure and barely held molten hate and fury for me. His demon form out in full as he gave growls every time he breathed to have his muscles tight. Which was honestly the most impactful thing to see. So I blinked a few times to then feel a lot of my stress melt off me. My arms coming around Leviathan's waist as he gave a surprised squeak. "That's the most romantic showing of love I have yet to see. Crazy as that sounds. It was real and completely just for me based on feelings of love. Best Valentine ever."

Leviathan went rigid to yelp and stammer. But he soon realized how happy I was to blush and hug me tighter. His anger popping like a bubble to be replaced with the fluff heart of gold that was his true self. "Crap. Now you got me all flustered and mushy feeling. Natural twenty critical hit, Marzena. Cripes, my heart is gonna pop if you keep this up." I gave a huff of a laugh to nuzzle my nose to his and hum at him. "Silly nerd. You got my heart doing the salsa right back. So it's mutual, Lev. Also. I know you got me that strawberry ice cream mochi that is hidden in the freezer. You win first prize in that bet Mammon has about what my favorite treat is. So you get to rub that in his face."

Leviathan gives a happy snicker before he nudges us over to his tv and the pile of cushions I set up for him to game on top of. The two of laying down on our stomachs with the blanket over us to start up Devil Kart. With Leviathan saying with confidence, "Full tournament race. Then we sneak down to get said snack."

#obey me! #obey me shall we date #obey me: one master to rule them all #obey me! shall we date? #obey me! fanfiction #obey me! fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #Obey Me! Leviathan #To Much Hassle

[stronghours]

2008; 21, 45

It took twenty minutes flat, between Jules slamming the door shut upon his exit from the backseat to Martin spotting his dark head reappearing over the hoods of parked cars. He returned by himself, without Paul. Walking normally, he slid into the passenger seat and closed the door with little politeness. He offered no words. Martin played at fumbling with the keys to lengthen the time between the silence and the engine in case words were going to be offered right away. He doubted it, and correctly.

“Take me somewhere,” Jules said, once they’d nosed into traffic. He sounded terribly hoarse. A livid red puddle marred his cheek, and the rest of his skin transitioned from saturated to sallow between streetlights.

“Home?” Martin asked.

Jules nixed this with another bout of silence.

Martin tried again. “My apartment?”

Jules rested his temple against the window. “I’m hungry,” he said, and Martin took this as an offered kindness – Jules was as pathological about food as he was with money, and dining out married the worst of both factors, all of which Jules had laid out for him: The admittance of appetite; the act of eating; being observed eating; being at the mercy of someone else’s kitchen; being at the mercy of your companion’s meal; the exchange of cash; the indignity of being paid for; wanting to be paid for; worrying if you would be paid for.

Considering the arrangement in the parking garage and inside Paul’s apartment, Martin wondered if Jules had experienced a sudden epiphany about how silly that struggle and anxiety had been, and resolved to let it all go and become a much easier person to date. Ha-ha! Jules’ voice caroled in his brain: As if!

Martin had been chauffeured in Jules’ car often enough now to start finding the silence in his rental off-putting. He always forgot to put on the radio. If Jules had to take a sharp turn in his own, the cumulative plastic clatter of dozens upon dozens of CD jewel cases were enough to rain out whatever bridgeless, hookless, sonic cut-and-paste he was using to transmigrate his muffled emotions. Jules would tell him the names of artists and albums; Martin would try very hard to remember, until he figured out Jules was freest identifying the names of musicians toward which he felt the least.

I like this, Martin gently prompted, white lied, once when Jules had been stuck on the same album for a week and his curiosity would not let him resist. This was before the first of their several consummations and he’d felt unpleasantly disconnected from his romantic pursuit. Huh, Jules replied, underneath a barrage of repetitious guitar and martial drums and a singer’s shredded voice bellowing BLOWYOURBRAINS! OUUUUUUUT! BLOWYOURBRAINS! OUUUUU-HOOOU-OOOOOOOOUT!

And after they’d bonded a little more, and Martin told Jules how, historically, he was usually the one pursued by his marks, Jules cackled against his bare thigh and showed all the crooked and missing teeth on his bad left side, and thereon Martin’s education began. At least, his education regarding the song, which was about a pedophiliac serial killer – a religious cult – the biologically essential murder of male/female coitus – cannibalism – a playground snatching – a parent fucking their child.

Don’t worry about it, I like other stuff too, Jules said.

-

In the street outside the diner in Jules’ neighborhood, the only place cheap enough to hoodwink his neuroticism, he was stricken with an explosive coughing fit and didn’t fight when Martin helped him step over the curb. Inside, the sympathetic waitress Martin liked was nowhere to be seen, and they were gestured sharply to the booth near the washroom by a nasty young man not much older than Jules, whom Jules had affectionately dubbed their hate-crime server.

Jules hacked into his napkin and ducked his head under the sticky tabletop.

“Did Paul not even give you a glass of water?”

Jules resurfaced instantly. “Oh yeah, I asked for a glass of water,” he said. “And a cuddle, and a blankie.”

Martin wanted to touch his face. “Did he hit you?”

“You know he hit me.”

Martin did not like the grimy neighborhood, or the diner, or the ugly-minded server Jules found so funny, or the cruel tut-tut look on his lover’s casual face. Jules sucked down a glass of water, no ice, and Martin imagined him as a loner at the table, cruising the waiter as a gag and getting slammed straight to hell. He did know Paul hit. They’d discussed the hit explicitly, the two grown-ups, far away from their little pitcher.

“Fix your face,” Jules said. “The trauma is minimal.”

“Something’s bothering you.”

“God, sure. I felt like I was watching a movie I didn’t like, but not enough I could walk out of the theater.” Jules held the lukewarm glass to his jaw. “It was bothering me in the backseat of the car while you two went through you little pimp script, and it bothered me when I saw you two exchange the envelope that may or may not have had real money inside, and it bothered me walking up with Paul, and in the elevator, and in the foyer of Paul’s apartment – it was bothering me. First of all, where were you?”

Jules pointed.

“I was in the car,” Martin said, accustomed to these debriefs.

“Wrong answer.”

Martin immersed himself. “I was the pimp, selling you to a stranger.”

“Right answer,” Jules said, “to a question I wasn’t asking. Let me try again.”

But he didn’t try, right away. The server slammed menus onto the table with such force the table’s uneven legs barked against the floor; even Jules recoiled. Martin would have stood up, but Jules kicked him in the shin.

“It’s like, so funny that he’s getting worse,” Jules said, and stole Martin’s water cup.

“He wasn’t always that bad?”

“Singular guys like that don’t care about one faggot in their vicinity,” Jules explained. The smack mark on his face was, if anything, getting worse and he was beginning to squint. “When I got to go to high school, everybody could clock me, but nobody cared, because I wasn’t trying to fuck anyone.”

Any erotic fulfillment Martin might have gleaned from Jules’ delinquent teen escapades had been overrun by the discovery that he had fallen out of touch with what the kids were going through. Most of his dear friends were his age, many were older, and the young people around them had acted as mute, respectful ears to their compiled experiences. He’d been spoiled. Now he had Jules to observe and immerse himself within, who couldn’t have cared less about Martin’s coming of age through the seventies and eighties, was indifferent toward AIDS, was outright caustic toward the leather protocols that had given Martin so much direction in his youth, and, as far as Martin could tell, incapable of personal nostalgia, even when it related to the time periods of his most beloved, horrible music or his rancid gore films and video nasties. Martin had never met an artistic twenty-something so fundamentally bad at fantasy. Once, trying to rev up the evening early in the relationship, Martin had asked what Jules thought about when he masturbated. “You think I masturbate?” Jules, appalled, answered.

If he had taken that that little anecdote seriously, before his meeting with Paul, Martin realized, then this night would not have happened.

But Jules was traveling on his own track. “I think I’ve been really open with you,” he said, a sudden burst. “I think I’ve allowed a lot. I think we got really close in a really short period of time. What are you not getting from me that made tonight happen?”

“What do you think tonight was?” Martin’s desperate attempt to merge.

“A stupid, therapeutic roleplay scenario.” Jules’ voice was distorted by his hand palpating his cheek. Worse than angry, he sounded cheated.

“I didn’t mean it as a therapeutic.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jules said. “It was a transaction play. I’m not dumb. I know what you know about what I’ve done. You brought cash props. If you included it, you included it for a reason. Not only do I have to suck off some stranger and get slapped around, I have to ponder on healing themes and come to some kind of positive conclusion. We just start getting really, really intimate, and you impose this – this – this – distance. You weren’t even in the room! You were sitting in a fucking car!”

“I guess,” Martin tried, “I can’t convince you I did this solely because it was a scenario that gets me off? That your reaction beyond going through with it didn’t matter?”

“Get real,” Jules said. “Anything you do to me, you do for me.”

It was a pretty good line; Martin was touched. He reached out to grasp Jules’ free hand with both of his. He wished they were anywhere else but in public. “Oh, my buddy,” he said, absolutely nothing else in his head but goo. “Oh, kiddo.”

But Jules was capable of horrible sternness and didn’t react to this tenderness. “I can’t believe you weren’t even in the room with us. He had this framed print of Salvador Dali on the cover of TIME. And one of those stupid balls of fake leaves in a gold rim. I saw that from like, the floor, and was all if Marty was in here, I wouldn’t be noticing the shitty culture.”

“Why on earth didn’t you call it?” Martin gave his wrist a tug. Jules tugged back, listless.

“I don’t know,” he said. He thought about it. “I guess I know what a huge bitch I can be. I guess I wanted to give it a shot and see what I was missing.”

The physical reality was untenable – parties had arrived, been seated, waited, and served around the pair, and Jules, with the mute, desperate pain of a house pet, could not stop pawing at his face. Martin, hot and uneasy, rose to leave and Jules followed; but not as meekly as he looked. He said, in an overloud voice as they passed from inside to outside, and the male server swept behind their backs: “You know he’d fuck a man, right?” The jingle-bells strapped to the door were not so cheerful when they were pointedly slammed.

“It’s true,” Jules said, as Martin steered him over curb. “They’re only that mad when they know they’d fuck. If it came down to it.” And he was silent until they reached Martin’s sublet, where Martin distracted himself with ice in the freezer and Jules half-undressed on the edge of the bed before resting his head in hand, ruminating somewhere behind his empty face.

Martin believed his romantic habits were healthily balanced, and had been so for some time – he had not made a habit of linking up with very young men or particularly aggressive ones; but he’d collected a few throughout his late thirties and forties, just enough to know Jules was not the angriest, the most socially wronged, or the most antisocial among them – he was fastidious, virtually sober, socially perceptive, and possessed of a well-muscled work ethic bizarre to behold in a twenty-one year old – (Martin handed over the ice) but (Martin began to undress; in the long closet mirror, Jules’ forearm flexed) he was, or had been, or could remain, one of the most inaccessible.

While Martin had done his chasing and wooing, this had been exciting, sexually frustrating, pleasantly silly. He’d felt very young. He listened hard to Jules’ music in the car and wondered if the kid was sending him subconscious clues and messages through the song choices, a conceit he had to give up after he heard, beneath the instrumental clutter of one song, the voice of Mario Savio intoning, and you’ve got to put your bodies upon the gears and upon the wheels! Upon the levers! Upon all the apparatus and you’ve got to make it stop! And you’ve got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people who own it -! In retrospect, he had not been prepared for Jules, so firmly guarded, to have swung open the door so sudden and wide. He’d thought, once inside that door, the places Jules would go were the places Martin could guide him.

Because Jules had given him the right, Martin seized him by the shoulders without asking and pressed him back against the mattress. The ice slapped against the floor, and Jules rubbed his wet face against the sheets with the indifference of someone who’d seen it coming. He said, “ok,” just a vocal reflex, then looked Martin flat in the face with big, black, take-it-or-leave-it eyes and Martin’s wrist, scraped lightly by Jules’ fingers, was shocked by his freezing hand. He knew at once two things: that the plaintive, whiny atmosphere souring his headspace, the one with words that went will you please lighten up, will you please let me understand you, will you please let me like you harkened back not to his hearty memories as a grown man fucking and relating with other grown men, but to his experiences with his daughter Claudia during her teenage years; and that he would not in a million years be getting hard tonight.

He pressed his face into Jules’ neck and demurred.

Jules was canny. “You can’t even make love to me,” he said, and wriggled towards his side of the bed. The first time Jules had uttered the phrase make love Martin almost fell on the floor laughing; instinct and a miraculously timed sneeze stopped his lungs (that’s romantic, Jules had responded mildly, and handed over the Kleenex)

Sometime during the night, which Martin only became aware of in the morning, Jules migrated backwards against his chest, and he could enjoy a few minutes of conscious rest against the rare treat of a pliant and silent Jules. But the evening before asserted itself. He’d pretty much fucked it up, he decided. He’d allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security. Jules had stroked his ego for three months straight and he’d lost his edge. Possibly he’d lost it long ago.  Jules wasn’t waking up and Martin tried hard to follow.

He lay with one arm lightly around Jules’ ribs and the light lengthened across the walls and he entertained all sorts of grim, unproductive thoughts. You weren’t even in the room! Why hadn’t he been in the room? Such a small, simple detail. Jules tended to sleep with at least one hand palm-upward on the pillow, his fingertips nestled together. He’d held something in his sleep and dropped it. Martin wanted to find it and give it back, no matter how trivial – a tennis ball, a wadded washcloth, the belt Martin used to beat him and choke him, a yarn skein, the car keys to the 99’  – but Jules was only careless with his body, not his belongings – so odious, so sick at heart that you can’t take part, you can’t even passively take part put your body upon the gears and upon the wheels and upon the levers – There’d been a big, clashing piano. He’d forgotten the band already.

He woke up again much later, Jules superheated against his torso, beginning to grumble and sniffle under the blanket. Martin’s phone made a racket in the kitchen, and he went to make it quiet. It was Paul.

“Congratulations,” said Paul, bright and clear, possibly up for hours. “That’s a hell of a lot of raw talent for you to deal with. I’m not sure why you leave the house.”

Martin was so instantly incensed, so suddenly and hideously jealous, he could not move or speak. Then, in a clap of the hand, the velocity halted, the emotions vanished, and the memory of their clarity and clearness left him empty and amused and sweet-tempered. He was just a stupid old guy, he decided, and moved into the bedroom. “Oh sure,” he replied.

Jules was upright and cross-legged, his long, bare, gorgeous back to him, his head enough in profile Martin could half-read the expression on his face. It was either suspicious or gloomy, and it was his business now.

“How’s your boy?” Paul asked.

“Oh, fine,” Martin said. Jules turned, confirmed he was on the phone, and gathered up the blanket around him, like he intended to leave and give Martin privacy. Instead, Martin engaged the speaker and tossed the phone onto the bed.

“Between you and me,” Paul’s degraded voice bloomed, “I think the hit was a little sloppy on my part. But you know what it’s like when you’ve only got one hit in you.”

“We’ve all been there,” Martin replied casually, tucking himself back in while Jules performed a series of double-takes and emphasized, by merely bulging his eyes, what the fuck Marty? “But too excessive for what I was thinking. It was pretty much a wash once you let him go.”

“Well, tell the kid I apologize. Tell him he’s welcome back anytime.”

Jules slithered irresistibly into Martin’s lap and hooked him around the neck with both elbows. He wore a toothy, lunatic smile and his eyes were bright and focused.

“I think, as an experiment, we might have found out all we needed.” Martin leaned back to accommodate.

“Sure, but what a shame. Come to think of it, he’s very sexy, but what was I picking up on – is he, uh, just the tiniest bit, kind of creepy?”

Jules was bluntly slapping Martin’s ribcage with the heel of his hand to express his mute hilarity. “Be thankful –” Martin fended off the hand. “Be thankful you don’t have to watch movies with him. Women fucking corpses. Women sawing off corpse penises. Women getting pregnant from corpses. You’re better off not dealing with it.”

Jules battered him with such intensity Martin had to seize him in his arms and crush him, not an easy task. Jules was smaller than him, but not small in general, he was rangy and a scrapper.

“I had a feeling he was not super immersed,” Paul continued. “He appeared unfocused. It was off-putting. I almost called it, but I decided it wasn’t worth it. I hope you agree.”

“Everything’s just fine.” Martin adjusted his hold as Jules settled down. “Just fine. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

They talked casual for a while – Paul recommended an up-and-coming workshop in their neck of the woods, run by an old acquaintance they shared (where did all these old acquaintances come from?) regarding headspace reinforcement, for the sake of Jules’ training – until Martin’s breeziness convinced him there couldn’t be anything else to discuss about yesterday’s tryst, except for the fact it had been nothing to write home about. Martin said good-bye, but Jules’ darting hand killed the call. With his heel, he launched the cell toward the foot of the bed.

“You dog.” He slithered all the way up Martin’s chest, something he tended to do when he was turned on. Martin preferred it to clawing. “That was one of your old friends!”

“The great thing about casual old friends,” Martin corrected, gathering Jules up and depositing him down once more, “Is what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“Still,” Jules said, even while Martin tended to his oblivious body. “Aren’t we all responsible for each other? Wasn’t this his chance to grow? Are we just on earth to use each other? Ow -! Man, I can’t believe he called me creepy. That’s sooo –”

Without pain, or shock, or novelty, it sometimes took Jules ten or fifteen minutes to settle down into sex. He would not shut up, he would brace himself against Martin’s body like an inexperienced swimmer being dragged out into the lake, he would kick himself free from Martin’s snares, roll away, hold his head, then roll back. After finding a superficial calm, his body would rediscover the motions and his awkward, bony hands would caress Martin’s hardworking back. But Martin would feel one of his open eyes against his cheek and know he was staring blindly at the ceiling, maybe thinking what the hell is going on?

Jules once said to him, only once, and casually, “too bad you can’t just beat the shit out of me all the time,” and Martin knew better than to vocally disagree. He didn’t know how to tell Jules that after the great opening of the door, the permission to start fucks while the other was asleep, the granted across-the-board freedom to apply maintenance discipline, the instructions to continue after a no, no, stop, that sometimes after experiencing all these gifts, you would not want them. You could take them or leave them. You could leave them behind as decisively as you forced yourself to forget the time your creepy, youthful boyfriend un-blinked up at you as you both made love; and you had to forget, because you saw that inexplicable, parentified expression on his childless face, the one that said, please lighten up, please let me like you, please let me understand you – twenty-one years old! So who had he learned it from?

#safeworld

[creativecuteness]

Total Slaughter Island (Rescue Rangers) Prologue

I did promise I would post each week and here's the beginning of my brand shiny new Fanfic based on Evaeee-ry's horror AU I used to love Total Drama as a kid and in a way I feel like I'm writing a love letter. Anyway, enjoy the Prologue and let me know you're thoughts.

The fresh ocean breeze left a salty taste in her mouth and nostrils as the bow rocked to and fro. She stared at her reflection in the clear blue water with purpose. With the cloudless sky, orbiting seagulls, and cool breeze, it was a perfect summer day. Perfect for swimming, fishing, and cold creamy treats, but it wasn’t perfect in fact; to her, the last thirty days couldn’t have been more stressful.

She glanced at her associate out of the corner of her eye. The sun always had a way of hitting his handsome features just right—his short black hair, subtle beard, and brown eyes. He was wearing a white T-shirt with a teal green one over it, dark shoes, and brown khakis. his sorry excuse for a signature outfit.

To many, Christopher McLean was the Canadian equivalent of a Hollywood icon; he has appeared in countless movies, was a host for several radio shows, podcasts, and reality TV shows (put a pin in for that last one), and he was handsome to boot, especially when the light hits him just right. But to her, it wasn’t endearing as much as it was annoying.

Dakota Natalie (age 16) knew full well that Chris’s nice guy act was nothing more than that. His quote-on-quote acts of selflessness were just a way to paint himself as a humble, chivalrous, not your average celebrity kind of guy. But below the surface, the countless fangirls and mutual respect were the many ways he stroked his own ego. In actuality, Chris was an egomaniac, narcissistic, and overall insufferable. Any brave fool who tried to call him out on it would be fired on the spot and taken to court for ludicrous charges. Only a fool would work for Chirs, and sadly, Dakota, their captain who was manning the boat, and two junior high schoolers were those fools.

She turned herself fully to get a better look at Chris as he smoked his cigarette. He truly had no care in the world, and that just added to the young girl’s disgust. How could he be so nonchalant about this? Were his staff and actors just that disposable to him? Or maybe he was starting to feel an ounce of regret and couldn’t risk showing that vulnerability. Dakota liked to think it was the second option, but the logical side of her knew what was going on in his twisted brain.

Chris lowred his cigarette and puffed out smoke, all of which hit the brunette square in the face, making her start hacking as she fanned the air as the smoke stung her eyes and lungs.

“Ugh, yet another reason why I shouldn’t start smoking." She prayed that the repulsive stench wouldn’t linger on her clothes. A brown-skinned girl with purple hair in a braid handed her some water, which she gladly drank. Once her coughing fit ended, she gave Chis the best death glare she could muster.

“Watch where you’re blowing that stuff. Are you trying to kill me too?" She spat, a small part of her wanting to throw the TV host overboard.

“Hey, I gave you a warning, but you were so lost in my beauty, I guess you didn’t hear me.” He remarked teasingly. Even in her observation, she didn’t see his lips moving once he hadn’t said anything to her, and he knew she knew that. Barely anything gets past her.

“Pfft as if.” She scuffed, crossing her arms and leaning back on the railing. “I’m just seeing if you regret leaving twenty-one teenagers on a deserted island while you left to save your own hide.”

Chris’s features softened for once, letting his ego deflate as he gave his assistant an affectionate pat on the head. She had the urge to push it away, but moments like this were rare and far between, so she let it slide. (Just this once.)

“Look, as much as I hate admitting my wrongdoings, you have a point.” He sighed, taking another drag from his cigarette, this time blowing in the direction of the wind (and out of her face). “I shouldn’t have left those kids on the island with a crazy killer.” He spoke, “It’s just seeing Ezekiel’s head and severed body parts I panicked. I didn’t know what to do; what was I supposed to do?”

“Uh, bring them with you!” She snapped, banging her fist on the metal railing, startling their other two helpers, who were playing Go Fish using a barrel as a makeshift table. "Call the authorities and let them handle the rest! But no, you had to selfishly leave, giving those kids no way out, all of which could be dead thanks to you. How do we tell their parents?! They’ll sue you from here to Timbuktu; your reputation will be ruined, and you have yourself to blame for this, McLean!" She yelled, giving him another hateful glare.

Chris had to hand it to her; just like Hearther, her looks could kill, and it left him regretting waiting this long to rescue them.

A Hispanic teenager with short brown hair watched the scene unfold. He thanked his lucky stars that he wasn’t chosen for the show. As Chris and Dakota argued back and forth on the morality of their situation, he eyed the purple-haired girl and motioned for her to invite Dakota to play with them.

She nodded in understanding, not wanting this short-term alliance to be the end of them before their search even began. “Hey Dakota!” She spoke, waving to her, “Why don’t you play with us? We need a third player to even the playing ground.”

Dakota thought for a moment, giving a small glance at Chris, wondering if he had any final words on their conversation, but figured it’d be better to just end it now.

"Fine, deal me in.” She agreed, not giving the former host a second glance as she joined the two acquaintances, her expression still stormy, which showed since she didn’t bother to make small talk; the only time she spoke was to ask for a card. Chris would never admit it out loud, but he hated seeing her like this; Dakota’s dad was an old friend of his. Back before Chris was a big-time movie star, he got his start as a radio host. Dakota’s father worked in audiovisual and kept the sound in check and made sure the equipment stayed in perfect condition. It wasn’t long before Chris had himself a small fan base and was asked to audition for a variety of different roles. (His voice and charisma made him very likeable.) It wasn’t until years later that he reconnected with his old friend and offered him a job in the studio; he had a pet project he was secretly working on and wanted the best AV man on board. Plus, hearing he had a wife and daughter was intriguing; he guessed it wouldn’t be bad to have one of them on board too.

It wasn’t long before he met Dakota and took a minor liking to her; she was sweet, patient, and didn’t talk too much, which Chris minded at first, expecting to be bombarded with questions and the story of his life. Only to have that come crashing down when she stated she had never heard of him. Those words felt like a punch to the gut, and he took it personally. If it wasn’t for his busy schedule and reputation, he’d take her to the screening room and show her his filmography. But he had work to do, and being full of yourself doesn’t make for a good first impression, so he let the remark slide, reasoned his work in America wasn’t as popular as it was in his home country, and gave the family the tour, making a mental note to get Dakota familiar with his acting career when he had the time.

It wasn’t long before he developed a sort of uncle/niece, father/daughter relationship with her. For once, Chris’s ego didn’t get the better of him, and he enjoyed the downtime with the Natalie family; he even gave Dakota an internship, which she seemed to enjoy for the most part. He was on top of the world, and nothing was going to stop him. He was going to achieve his life goal of creating and hosting his own reality TV show, and for the moment, it seemed it would come true. Then he had to go and screw it up; in hindsight, he should have prioritized the players safety over ratings and drama. They only gave a brief overview of the filming location and didn’t even explore the whole island, but in his defense, no one pointed out strange happenings, human-shaped shadows, or anything of the nature. They didn’t know a psycho even lurked in the forest. So, naturally, they thought it was safe. Oh, how wrong they were, and now twenty-two minors could be dead, and a crazed murderer was still at large. And it was all his fault; he never should have left them and swept Ezekiel Miller’s death under the rug. He had more than enough money to pay whatever price his parents would have demanded for losing their son. Heck, he has enough money to pay all the legal fees those angry parents would’ve thrown his way.

And yet he left them anyway; his stupid pride and fear of a ruined reputation were what kept him from loading the campers onto his boat and calling authorities. And as if he didn’t feel bad enough, his favorite person can barely look at him. He showed Dakota his true colors, and now their entire relationship has fallen apart. (But little did he know he'd been showing the cracks even before then.)

McLean looked at his secret fiancée, Chef Hatchet. (It wasn’t easy being a bisexual man in this day and age; yet another act of cowardice Chris can add to his growing list.) They both looked at each other with saddened eyes. Hatchet knew how much Dakota’s distance hurt him behind his ego and selfishness. He was a human being with a heart of gold that was corrupted by his growing fame. Chef always knew his lover wasn’t the biggest fan of kids but hoped bonding with one would have Chis finally agree to adopt some with him. When he got out of the war, Chef worked as a daycare attendant and loved those little munchkins and their mischievous nature; Sure, they were a headache and gave him war flashbacks. Yet leaving them left him longing for kids of his own. He expected the longing to last a year or two before moving on, but it never did. Instead, it was replaced with a desire to raise a few with the love of his life.

Chris wasn’t a bad person by any means, but he sure as hell wasn’t a good one either. And yet that’s why Chef loved him; he too had a twisted mind and some deep, dark secrets he never wanted to get out.

If Chis was Dakota’s second father, slash uncle, Hatchet was her third, and he loved that kindhearted teen with all his heart (something he didn’t know he was capable of). Chef mouthed the words, “Give her time; she’ll come back around.” And they pretended their daughter from another mother, and father was going through a rebellious phase and returned his focus on getting them to the island before nightfall.

Chris just nodded, looking at his assistant, who barely said a word as she watched the two helpers. Who tagged along to widen their search.

“Yeah, things will return to normal eventually. All I need to do is save a few kids, show the world I’m not at fault, and everything will be right in the world again.” He thought he was pretty sure of himself. Though no amount of lying could prevent the elephant in the room, assuming the killer claimed more victims, that amount of trauma and worry is enough to fluff up anyone’s mind. Even if therapy is provided, who’s to say the trauma will become too much and someone could turn to unhealthy coping methods or commit suicide? Heck, for all Chris knew, they lost all hope and already did, making this rescue null and void.

“Face it, McLean.” A part of his brain spoke, “Nothing will ever be the same, and you know it. This act of cowardice will forever haunt you and the campers. So, stop playing hero, kiss your career and Dakota goodbye, and enjoy your last days of freedom. Because prison is the only place you’ll be going.”

And for once, Chris listened to the little voice in his head and kept his head down, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his heart and feeling of dread as Camp Wawanakwa slowly filled the horizon.

#Total Slaughter Island (Rescue Rangers) Prologue #dakota natalie OC #chris mclean #chef hatchet #sierra td #td alejandro #more character will be tagged as the story goes on #I gave Chris way more humanity than I expected but oh well makes him a more complex character #Next chapter comes out next Friday

[doorsclosingslowly]

my brain's dead so this is from a silliest of premise, i.e. years ago Éomer and Gríma got very drunk and had a conversation about royal heirs and marriage which they both think the other doesn't remember, and then after the war Éomer gets married

Gríma learns of his King’s marriage from a young widow out on the hills just north of Edoras. Ámrun heard the news when she went into town to trade for new knives last month she says, and It’s a time for newness! For joy!, and I met the new King once he was Third Marshall then it was before the war before my Élbert was called to fight and he—

and Gríma with as much sweetness as he was born with which is none people would say if asked at least the people who knew him back when he was more than just a roving shepherd Ámrun doesn’t know him of course or she wouldn’t have him at her table at all but outside of Edoras few do and so it was a mercy from a certain view at least that he was sent away by the King when the war was won and Gríma’s stump healed. He tells her, The two lambs you want are worth more than the shirt you offer but I’ll give you the favour if you part with two turnips as well. They are wrinkly anyway it's early spring now soon new turnips will grow just give him the turnips give them. She calls him a cut-throat and a cur but she says yes which is all that matters and she mentions no more of the war, and no more of Éomer-King’s marriage.

The turnips have no crunch in them left. They are disgusting.

Back when he was still more than this Gríma would have been the first to know about the King’s wedding. Would have arranged for the most useful match would have picked the day the clothes the guests the food the vows the songs trespassing beyond his true duties as the King’s Chief Counsel because he knew best. Not to do badly by his King though of course there is much diplomatic affront to be caused by the right song to the wrong ears. No war-bells ringing now so it won’t have gone as badly as could this time this wedding which was the wedding of Éomer-King to someone Ámrun couldn’t name. If Gríma had arranged this marriage he would have done better than some woman no one can name. Is she from the south perhaps from Harad or Khand not Gondor of course after the cold Lady Éowyn’s surprising match or is she Forodwaith maybe even from Rhûn such an alliance might even counter the new strength of Gondor and—

He is a shepherd. Not even a rider not even a man. Much has happened since the days when Éomer-King’s wife was his concern things to do with Wizards and worms and pain and running and the tower the tower the tower for weeks only Saruman’s wrath for company and then the Ents. The flood. The parley with the Wizard Gandalf and Théoden-King who yet lived and Éomer was there too when Gríma tried to stab Saruman for crimes against the kingdom and crimes against him so many crimes painful crimes he was scared then of course but he was trapped a trapped beast is dangerous he took his knife and stabbed the Wizard and then he was flung or he jumped he wants to have jumped from the crest of Orthanc and he lived, too, because of the flood the Ranger later said to the dwarf they thought he was asleep then. The flood saved him but his arm is just— They thought he was asleep because he went away into himself at first from the pain. From the arm. The flood saved Gríma but it took his arm the dirty water it poisoned his arm which was mangled in the fall bleeding broken then poisoned in the water. They hacked it off. The dwarf did dwarven Prince son of—the Gríma before would have cared would have known. Théoden-King told the dwarf to hack it off the Wizard Greyhame looked on Gríma remembers this as well but not the name of the dwarf not his father.

Gríma lived.

#gríma wormtongue #dimtraces makes things #unfortunately for poor old me my setup just sprouted layers of motivation for éomer and gríma. i just wanted to write a stupid sex scene :( #grima wormtongue

[leviackermansgoodgirl]

Bare with me on this yall cause it's my first legit written out post here. (Has 97% to do with Levi Ackerman tho)

💥TRIGGER WARNING💥 mentions of Death, Car Accodent, CHSA/SA, cursing, mental health

I'm going through what feels like a living hell right now and thankfully as always Captain Levi to the fuckin rescue!

I found out last week that my 29yo cousin passed away in a horrible car accident and this week I was then told he was on the wrong side of the road at 3am on his way to work and had to be identified through dental records as the vehicle caught on fire and his body was burned beyond recognition... my real world boyfriend found out last night that his 12yo female cousin has been repeatedly assaulted by her foster father for we don't know how long. Plus my bf also got hacked on FB and started getting cyber bullied and roasted.

HERES WHERE CAPTAIN LEVI COMES IN

So to stay sane personally, I've basically been deriving my comfort from writing in my book that's about our dear captain and y/n (aka myself too) where Levi is listening to my character explain about being Beaten to death by a horrific boyfriend but she's saved when doctors bring her back and she's dissociated explaining this event while he's trying to control himself not to go hunt that bastard down...

Anyways I got to thinking (my real world bf has focused mainly on his problems much less on me or my grief and even when he does it's not in the ways I need...) I feel like with how perceptive Levi is paired with his own trauma filled life experiences, that he'd basically be the perfect partner especially for anyone that has/is dealing with trauma.

Levi would immediately notice when somethings 'off' whether it's anxiety, depression, ptsd, a breakdown etc. He'd immediately ask you what's wrong or going on bc he knows you aren't okay and gods help you if you try to say 'Oh its nothing/I'm fine' you're 100% getting the arched eyebrow look. He'd sit you down and ask you what you need or what he cam do to help you right now so that you're completely in control and his actions will match your words perfectly because he cares about your needs and understands how difficult it can be to bring up when somethings up.

He'd focus singularly on YOU NOT HIMSELF OR HIS PROBLEMS BECAUSE YOURE HIS PRIORITY RN! He never interrupts you or points the conversation or cathartic session towards himself because HE KNOWS YOU NEED THIS! When you stop talking because you're getting emotional and know you're about to break, he'll grab onto and hold you tight against his chest stroking your hair soothingly telling you

"It's okay babygirl. Just let it out you don't have to be strong right now I've got you."

And not a single piece of you doubts him which allows you to be fully vulnerable.

I feel like levi would've actually studied everything he could about all different manner of trauma, it's effects on the brain/emotions/ personality... so you never have to explain or even question yourself because when he notices you beating yourself up emotionally he will explain why what you're feeling and how you're behaving is perfectly understandable and 100% valid while reminding you not to be so hard on yourself.

"Show yourself the grace, compassion, and understanding that you give to everyone else in the world you encounter love. " he'd remind you.

I really need Levi to be beside me right now but I fully admit just thinking about having such an incredible perfect partner helped me so much!

PS: sorry for the long winded cathartic spill yall in really hurting tonight and Levi is where so much of my comfort is based right now.

Love yall!!

#levi ackerman #levi aot #captain levi #levi x you #I Need Levi #Levi Ackerman is Perfect #My Therapy is Levi