#(also also also- i enjoyed drawing injuries. for better or worse i think of 'injuries' whenever i think 'hockey'.

[nero-neptune]

made up a group of edwardian-era hockey girls, Heavily inspired by the many wintery late 19th/early 20th century photos i processed in an archive over the summer. at some point, i decided their team would be called "the hail raisers".

[san8ny]

Knee Socks.

an: i got like 2 other works lined up, but here’s some slowburn, emphasis on burn; the smallesttt of nsfw at the end by ellie; ARCTIC MONKEYS REFERENCE?!

Ellie's gaze involuntarily flicks downwards, her eyes taking in the sight of your shorts riding up your thighs. She's mesmerized by the softness of skin, the curves of your body, the way you’re innocently watching the show— you, who was unaware of the perverse heat Ellie was supressing herself, rubbing her olive toned thighs together in an uncomfortable manner.

She wants to reach out and touch, but she knows that's the last thing she should be thinking about. She's already a mess of emotions as it is, and adding desire to the mix would only make things worse. Surely it wasn’t her fault to think like this?

"Are you comfortable?" Ellie rasps out, unable to help herself from asking the question, who wouldn’t? A pretty girl sprawled on her comically animated bedsheets, her plain black work shorts hugging her upper thighs, revealing soft inner-thigh pudge with little stickers of celllulite,

“uh-huh” you reply back sweetly, looking over your shoulder to where Ellie sits against the pillows near the headboard while you’re layed on your stomach near the foot of the bed, I’ll get a better view here you’d told her earlier when you two got back from work and began hanging out at her place. Oh, did she mention you two met eachother at work?

She still remembers the way she would follow you around everywhere when you were showing her around the place, teaching her the ropes. Ah, make sure you don’t get here thaaat late, ‘aight? Manager is pretty chill but she’s kinda bitchy during rush mornings, you’d said with warm eyes and a downturned smile right before walking away.

"Good," Ellie replies quietly, now being brought back to where you two currently lazed on her comforter. She can't help but also notice how your shirt has ridden up slightly, revealing the ittiest sliver of your lower back. She sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes glued to the exposed skin. She wants to trace her fingers over the soft expanse of flesh, but she forces herself to stay still.

“When are they gonna kiss already?” You exclaim clearly edged on from the show, your elbows giving up as you face-fall fully onto the bed now; the fabric of your shirt slightly twists around your waist, “All this talk is making me wanna sleep.” you say muffled into the bed,

The said bed creaks ever so slightly as Ellie scoots forward, “That eager to see people make-out? Crazyyy..” She snorts, finding her hands lightly beginning to massage at your calves.

You melt into the touch, airily giggling as you back up into her alittle; it wasn’t uncommon for you two to massage each other after a long shift yall worked, We’ll save money you told eachother that day.

propping your head up, you lay it on folded forearms instead, the attention on the show is long-gone; all that could really be focused on was how skilled the auburnette was as she kneaded at tensed muscles; Had the temperature gone up? You groan when her hands roam up your thigh, now making their mark at somewhere that had been sore for time, a slightly healed injury you’d gotten during an accident at work where you pulled a muscle,

“Yeah? Right ‘ere?” She mumbles to you, readjusting her position on the bed to slightly hover over the back of your hips as she works deep circles into place you hadn’t even thought were knotted, “Mhm..” you hum back, glossy orbs now closed as you enjoy the sensational warmth that came over your body. God, she was a pro.

Ellie’s hands now began to climb to your hips, her thumbs drawing figure 8’s with the rest of her digits tightening a grip on your sides for a moment before letting them go in short pulses. By now, her face was lined up with the back of your neck, slight hairs standing up as she lightly blows at it; a cheshire smile on her stretched lips when she notices the scrunch inbetween your brows. She wanted you to feel this as much as she was,

“Feels s’good Els..” You sigh contentedly, fluttering your eyes open and turning your head slightly to the side as you look to where she was above you, her upper body fully now pressing, and laid on your back by now.

Ellie’s face was lightly flushed, canines biting down on her rosey, chapped bottom lip as they drew slight blood; How could feeling you up feel so good for her if she wasn’t even the one feeling it? The sight brought a small smile to you as you sat up, Ellie now seeing the initiative to sit back down on her haunches rather than her knees, and not on you importantly. You slightly lean in, brushing her slightly sweaty bangs away from her forehead; “Thank you for that. I really needed it.” You gently say, cupping her cheek before dropping it down to grab your phone, looking at the device,

“Ugh, ‘almost 12, I gotta get going. See you tomorrow at work?”

Ellie doesn’t even realize how dazed she looks before running a clammy hand down face in an attempt to wake herself up, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll pick you up actually.”

You nod as you two make yourselves out of her dark room, and into the dimly lit hallway, towards the front door, “Okay! Bye Ellie, I had fun by the way!” is what you tell her as you skip over to your car.

She doesn’t even say a ‘bye’ back before hastingly slamming the entrance shut, sliding down the door as she buries her face in her once balled up palms; she spreads her thighs slowly, noticing the growing wet spot on her shorts as it dawns on her what just has happened.

You had her so fucked up.

[xxsweetoothxx]

Hi I just wanna say I love your redesigns for the creepypasta characters! I'm curious what weapons does each character use and what abilities do they have if they have any?

Thank you! Some of these mfs I have been very unsure about. I need to draw their other outfits. Like their fancy lil suits. Slenderman has a dress code for his proxys however the rules of it are not super strict. They can wear what they like so long as it meets his criteria. (Gonna be hard to draw Wilson ina suit without making him look like some kinda wanna be joker :o( )

This is gonna seem unnecessarily long but I feel like I do need to explain a few things about how Slendermans Proxys work in PM as well as how living humans are affected by just being in the underworld because it isn't made for living humans.

There's also as far as weapons go that, while they DO have weapons they ENJOY to use most, Slenderman is very particular about how things are done so they don't always get to use them. Proxys are more like Hitman or assassins (at least Slendermans are). I'll give some faves for each of the 3 main fuckers living with Slendy (who aren't 100% OCs) currently as I'm still figuring out anyone else who may show up (I have plans for EJ to show up and potentially may start working on my own version of Toby as well as a few other OCs who are Proxys for other Opporaters in the Underworld)

As for abilities I think even the humans have at least one natural ability. Humans who get hurt in the underworld don't really always heal like they should because they aren't meant to live there. When a monsters that live down there hears "human" In the context of someone living there. They assume that you mean someone who died and is now living there as an undead. They assume Zombie or Ghost, potentially even a poltergeist. But never just a breathing living human. So when living humans do get hurt the same "magical grid" (for lack of better words) keeping them from dying also heals serious injuries in a way to try and prevent the same injury from happening. It's a whole thing and I'll explain how it works with each character (in this post specifically Jeff and Wilson)

That being said I'll stop rambling and actually answer the fuckin question!

I will put a trigger warning for things like blood and mentions of self harm and mild body horror(?) (I think ripping flesh counts for that if not for mild blood/gore this is specifically for Jeff split mouth. Not sure anyone will be bothered but better safe than sorry.)

Jeffrey DuBois

Weapons - Jeff enjoys using knives mostly (shocker!) however he doesn't use them a lot while actually doing Proxy work. In fact he most commonly will just SNIPE a mf. He doesn't particularly LIKE when his job is that quick or easy but hes also not complaining, it's easy money. (Jeff the killer with a gun is also just really fucking funny to think about). he's always stoked when told that he won't be able to kill from a range though and that he'll have to actually get close and personal. But him not being able to kill with knives doesn't mean he doesn't still use them. Killing is his job but cooking is his passion and for him the two go very hand in hand.

Abilities- Jeff is just a human guy like I said so his Mouth scars didn't heal normally. He got them just before getting to the underworld and they were only partially healed but in his early days with Slenderman he did end up making them even worse. When they healed however he found out shortly after that he could reopen them and close them at will and it didn't hurt. In short his mouth can open up similar to a snakes. I've drawn it before in a previous Ref sheet, here's how it looks.

Other abilities he has are really just because of training. Though he does tend to accidentally sneak up on people despite the fact hes fucking HUGE. Man just doesn't make sound when he enters a room and it's not really an intentional thing. He will seemingly just pop up out of nowhere like a spooky ass ghost.

WILSON CROSS

Weapons - He likes machetes. That's really all there is to say. Wilson is still in training at the Institute and unlike Jeff he doesn't care as much about the professionalism Slenderman insist his Proxys have. While he follows his rules he does try and find ways around them because he is actually trying to make things fun for himself.

Abilities - Like Jeff, Wilson is human. He's been in the underworld for FAR longer, he grew up down there and has a couple different things the biggest being that after coming through the well that brought him to the underworld Wilson DID fall into the river Styx and was found and pulled out of it By Frankie and Jackie. If your familiar with how the River Styx works you know anyone who falls in that shit gets the Curse of Achilles. Which probably sounds fucking WILD. The obvious upside is that hes just really fucking hard to stop. The man seemingly just doesn't feel much pain. However even in the underworld where he won't die he still if hit in the right spot will go down like a bag of bricks and he's not getting up until he's had time to heal. Which can take a few days. If he's in the over world he WILL just fucking DIE. So he has to be a Lot More careful up there. Imagine you just trip and fall the wrong way and fucking DIE. Aside from that though he can bend and turn and just overall move in weird ways due to the amount of bones he's broken growing up in the underworld and how they healed weird like with Jeff's mouth and of course Wilson being an idiot. Seriously, some of the stories he has are just summed up to him being a dumbass. Only a couple people who know his weakness aside from Jackie and Frankie is Jeff.

Jackie Ragzdale

Weapons - While they technically do work for Slenderman they aren't actually proxy however they do still kill on occasion for personal reasons and funniest shit I just thought it was silly is that they will use various weapons however Jackie is a Toyfolk and thus all their weapons are made IN TOY LAND. So they might pull a shot gun out of their box, sure but it's going to LOOK like a toy. It won't LOOK real. It's gonna look like a full-sized toy shotgun but it is in every aspect a REAL ASS GUN. And I just find that so funny. And they ALSO find it funny. They will go "STICK EM UP THIS A ROBBERY!" Knowing damn well no one is gonna think that's a real ass gun and then laugh at their surprise when they shoot and it's revealed to be a real ass fucking gun! This is made worse when you take into account they do just have Prop/fake weapons in there as well so sometimes they will just fuck with people by using a fake one and being like "Haha gotcha!" In short they like Toy weapons that are real weapons but look like fake ones.

Abilities -Compared to the original cannon LJ, Ragz doesn't have nearly as many abilities. They have 3 different forms though.

They have a Toy Decoy, which is basically exactly what it sounds like where they just are a seemingly normal inanimate toy, this is for when they're in their box but either not home, busy, or just simply don't want to come out of it.

The second form is a smaller doll like form. Which lets them appear as a regular toy but still be able to move around. They usually use it to scare people who don't know they're alive. Other times they use the doll form is when they need to hide, are hella tired, or when dealing with children. They often are in the form when spending time with Sally.

The 3rd form is the form they most usually are in.

Other than that they can very easily switch out their body parts. They want different arms they can just swap them if they want. They do have to be made with materials from toyland to work properly however.

That's all as far as the main character who are technically Rewrites who use weapons or have abilities right now. Everyone else is either an OC or I'm still developing/designing and coming up with their backstory.

[astranite]

A continuation for the insistent Virgil fans. (Untitled)

Some more for the Virge fans, and everyone because of encouragement! (I’m very happy that you actually liked it.) I enjoyed writing this extra bit, it got longer than I thought it would.

Just calling this a low pressure piece of writing, just get out a something without worrying about it being that perfect on a technical front. I’ve honestly proof read this once, and fairly half-assedly at that. Also throwing medical accuracy out the window for this, ignoring what I know because narrative reasons and can’t be bothered to research what I don’t know.

Don’t worry, Virge’ll be okay. In a bit. Just not right now. (...Might do a third part even.)

Part One (This won’t really make sense without it, and who’d say no to more Thunderbirds?)

Warnings for descriptions of injury.

-----

“Alan, Gordon, go prepare the med bay. “ John voice snapped through both their comms. 

Alan jumped and Gordon’s arms briefly tightened around him. 

“FAB Thunderbird Five,” they both answered, Alan a second behind. He’d been too surprised by Gordon’s serious response coming right next to his ear. Where was the joke about John getting the tinies to do the heavy lifting, or something? When they were paired together, Gordon was always teasingly ribbing him or cracking silly one liners or pointing out funny things to make Alan laugh. Even in the serious moments he has smiley eyes. Alan would even take the awful puns right now. Anything that meant Gordon sounded like Gordon. 

Or Virgil’s puns which were worse, but they’d mean his big brother speaking and okay and right there with him. He had Gordon but Alan just wanted his bigger brothers. 

Gordon nudged him to get them moving towards Thunderbird Two. A hand on his baldric tugged him around when Alan half turned to look behind them. He didn’t see anything, just Scott still crouched on the ground. At this point he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to. 

Inside the green ‘bird, he and Gordon went through the medical equipment. With trained efficiency they prepped the bay for receiving a patient. It was better to be moving. At least he wasn’t just waiting helplessly, straining his ears listening out for the slightest noises, trying to put the pieces together but not able to see what was going on. He was doing something to help his brothers, he was making a difference. Or he hoped so. It still felt like it wasn’t enough, that somehow he could be, should be doing more.

Gordon had more medical training than Alan did so he was preparing medications, drawing stuff up from vials that had scary names with way too many letters in them. Alan recognised the type of strong painkillers he’d only been given once. It had been when he’d last broken his arm, a nasty compound fracture that hurt like screaming white hot. After the drugs he’d apparently been deliriously babbling about spaceships, but he’d have to take his brothers’ words for it because they’d knocked him out good. That Virgil might be injured badly enough to need them wasn’t a fun idea. 

Alan ran system diagnostics on the med scanner one last time, then handed it off to Gordon when it all came up clear. Next he checked their crash cart by the procedure Grandma had drilled into him. He never wanted to think about actually having to use it. Especially not on a brother, not on Virgil. The only thing keeping him from completely freaking out was that Gordon was letting him check it over instead of doing it himself. He knew Gordon trusted him to do it right, but also it meant he didn’t think they would likely need it. 

Gordon’s hand landed on Alan’s shoulder when they were done with the checks and he drew Alan into his side. This time Alan went willingly. He leant heavily on him, because Gordon was warm and comforting and here right now, and Alan needed that. 

Two’s doors opened with a clank and whirr. Alan’s first thought was that Virgil looked so small. He was limp in Scott’s arms, head lolling against Scott’s shoulder.  Scott was carrying him, carefully supporting his body, paying attention only to Virgil, not Gordon and Alan. It made Scott look small too, his lean frame contrasting with Virgil’s bulk. Their eldest brother didn’t usually pick up their biggest brother, that was usually reserved for the younger ones and John because he was a lanky space noodle that even Alan could sort of lift if he tried hard enough. To see Scott bracing himself, face set in stubborn determination, and Virgil not responding at all was awful.

Alan quickly moved towards them, to stand on Scott’s left next to Virgil’s head. On the other side, Gordon did the same, sharing words with Scott. 

He stared at his helpless big brother. Virgil wasn’t meant to be like this. He was the strong one, the steady one who kept them all together. Alan could always rely on him to just be there when he needed him. Now Scott was cradling him like he was the most precious and breakable person in the world. Alan didn’t know what to do.

Gordon kept talking and John too, but Alan wasn’t really listening anymore. The actual medical part would be up to his big brothers.

Scott gently lay Virgil on the med bay bed, hanging on for a second too long before he let go for Gordon to attach a med scanner. Then they were both standing in front of Virgil, leaving Alan once again staring at grey on blue and yellow on blue, with only the tiniest hint of green peeking through. 

Alan still couldn’t tell what was wrong. Virgil was unconscious and that was bad, Alan knew that from his training. But he couldn’t tell why. 

He didn’t think Virgil had hit his head, but he didn’t know. It was definitely possible, the bridge collapsing had left a mess of concrete dust in the air and debris falling. Head wounds bled a lot but he couldn’t see any blood, though maybe Virgil’s dark hair was hiding it. He’d seen a hint of red smeared at the corner of Virgil’s mouth, jumping out because of its bright colour. Hopefully just from chomping on his lip until it bled which was likely enough, but Alan’s mind was going straight to internal bleeding and literally coughing up a lung. 

Dull reflections from the med scanner displays lit up the metal flooring in greens and ambers. Alan let out a sigh of relief at the lack of reds. 

Gordon stepped out of the way to go for something in the storage lockers and Alan finally saw what was wrong with Virgil.

Alan swallowed hard. It looked really, really bad. 

He’d once see Virgil in his workshop straightening out a support strut from the exosuit that during a rescue had gotten all bent out of shape. Except right now Virgil’s leg looked like that. 

His knee was not meant to be at that angle, knees weren’t supposed to be able to do that. Scott was carefully supporting the joint between his hands and Gordon was grabbing splints. 

There’d been much worse injuries Alan has seen up close as a rescue operative. Way worse. But this was his brother. 

He froze up, just staring at Virgil’s leg, unable to look away, until his other brothers blocked his view again.

Gordon finished his tasks and stepped back, leaving Scott was still fussing with equipment near Virgil and watching over him.

As soon as he managed to unlock his body, Alan threw himself at Gordon. He didn’t know whether Virgil’s knee was dislocated with the joint all messed up or the bones completely broken to pieces, and normally he’d just ask Virgil a medical question like this but right now he couldn’t because it was Virgil lying in that bed. 

Alan hid his face against Gordon’s wetsuit. It was the same position Gordon had held him before when he didn’t want Alan to see Virgil’s injuries but this time Alan was trying his hardest to snuggle closer so he didn’t have to see. 

[morb-untamed]

Most of my friends on the HOHS discord already know this, but I figured I'd place it here as well.

Next Thursday I'm getting an ACL reconstruction and meniscus surgery on my right knee. This is an injury I have had for over 2,5 years and I ignored for too long as I was getting brushed off by professionals multiple times. Something about me either being young and not being an athlete probably. Meanwhile this problem has been getting worse over time that I cannot walk or do certain activities without pain and instability.

I know this isn't life-threatening, but because of this I had to halt my training as a florist, stop the first and only sport I genuinely enjoyed, and now have to put my life on hold for. And after my surgery I'm gonna need to go through intense physical therapy that's going to last for about a year.

But first I need to heal. So depending on how I feel I'm gonna be less active here for at least the first few weeks, and probably won't write and draw as much as I usually do. But once I feel better I really hope to get back into the swing of things and write and draw to my heart's content as I'll be stuck at home for at least 6 weeks.

I'm not gonna lie, I'm nervous. And the closer I get to the surgery the more I'm thinking to myself "Oh my fucking god what have I gotten myself into.". It's gonna be a challenge to allow myself to heal, depend on others, and regain trust in my own body.

It is also hard to not feel like I am being dramatic and over exaggerating even though this surgery is giving me a lot of anxiety and dread. I'm also having a lot of internalised ableism towards myself, which has made this injury worse in the first place. Like I can walk, I seem fine, so there's nothing wrong! Everyone experiences a little pain! I'm just being a baby. Meanwhile I know that this isn't the right way to think, and does more harm then good.

Once I'm home I'll post an update, and I hope I can get back into creating and doting on my blorbo's as soon as I can. Sorry for the long text, but if you've taken the time to read this I thank you either way.

Wish me luck <3

[blowflyfag]

WWF RAW MAGAZINE: JUNE 2001

On Top of his Game

The More Triple H Is Hated, the More He Loves It

By Aaron Williams

Triple H knew this was his chance. For years, he had studied his craft, honed his skills, and prepared for the day when he would be given the opportunity to be one of the top Superstars responsible for carrying the World Wrestling Federation.  As the fall of 1999 approached, he knew that his time had come, and for better or worse, his performance over the next several months would either make or break his career. Looking back almost two years later, not even Hunter’s most ardent supporters could have predicted the success he has attained. From refining his character, to pulling off matches thought impossible in today’s sports-entertainment environment, to playing an integral role in the behind-the-scenes activities of the Federation, he has, in many ways, changed the way the game is played. 

There comes a point in everyone’s career when learning one’s craft takes a back seat to applying what has been learned. For Hunter, that point came in the fall of 1999. Undertaker and Stone Cold Steve Austin were hampered by injuries, and he and The Rock were given the ball and asked to take the Federation to new heights. While he definitely felt pressure of being put in such a high-profile position, he also felt that the timing couldn’t have been better.

“In the months leading up to that point, I was preparing for it to be my time,” Hunter recalls. “When the time came, it was really on myself and The Rock. I think that there was a feeling of a lot pressure because some very important people were gone and we were still expected to draw. But I work best under pressure, and at that point, there were really no restrictions to what we could do. It was full steam ahead for both of us. I don’t think there was ever a question of whether The Rock and I could do it. We were ready.”

Hunter didn’t always feel this way, and if he had earlier, he questions whether he would have done as well. Although he studied the business from the moment he first stepped into the ring, in the early part of his career he was more concerned with “Enjoying the business” rather than really learning it. 

“I was into the business, and studied it a lot, but I didn���t apply what I was learning as much as I could have,” says Hunter. “There was a point in time when I was still learning, and I just wasn’t ready to be where I wanted to be. I knew that, and I was really more set on enjoying the business. It’s not that I don’t enjoy it now, but it was more just going along and doing things. I knew it wasn’t my time, and I knew I wasn’t ready. 

“Until I was ready, I didn’t want to do it. So I spent time learning, sitting back, being a young guy in the business and enjoying all the perks that come along with it,” he continues. “Now I'm much more serious about it. Believe me, it’s a dream job and I'm thankful everyday for what I do, for the honor to do what I do. But at the same time, I’m very determined and focused and try not to leave any stone unturned.”

[“My goal is to be the one who can have matches with anybody and be able to make those matches great; to make them mean something. And when the matches are over, I want to be able to say I brought out the best in both of us.”]

Today, rarely a moment goes by when Hunter isn’t thinking about the World Wrestling Federation, and if he isn’t wrestling or working out, you can be sure that he is working on future storylines or the nuances of his character’s actions. Always searching for ways to improve the Federation’s product, Hunter spends countless hours watching matches. He understands that even though he is more in the application than learning stage, the learning process never really ends. So he watches other Superstars’ matches with a  keen eye, always asking questions that go beyond the ordinary, probing deep into the psychology and philosophy of the business.

Instead of simply admiring moves or asking just how a particular move is executed, he asks questions such as, “Why are they doing those moves at this particular time?” and “How do these moves fit in with those Superstars’ particular angles?” and “What kinds of things are the crowds responding to?”

As a result, he has earned such monikers as “The Cerebral Assassin” and “The Most Intelligent Superstar in the Business.” More importantly, he has earned the respect of his peers who admire his instincts for and knowledge of the profession, and his boss who appreciates his work ethic. 

“You can learn from everything. Even daily things like watching a movie might spur an idea,” says Hunter. “I try to incorporate everything I do back into the business, and that’s why I think people have given me those nicknames. That’s how the whole ‘Game’ nickname started. Vince [McMahon] used to say that I was the biggest student of the game. And then it came down to the point where they thought I wasn’t just a student anymore, but ‘the Game.’”

Hunter spends most of his time studying the business by himself, but he is very open to others and their ideas. He believes that no one knows everything, and they day you stop learning is the day you will cease to thrive in the business.

“Even the guy who made it all, Vince McMahon, listens and watches other people,” Hunter remarks. “I can watch guys doing a dark match, guys who maybe have had only 20 matches, and i learn from what they are doing. Learning from someone doesn’t necessarily mean you see someone do something right. You can see someone do something wrong and learn just as well.”

As a result Hunter has become an integral part of the off-camera activities of the Federation. He takes part in television production meetings, often talks to the writers, and often serves as a conduit between Superstars and the writers. He enjoys thinking of ideas that will work either for himself or others, and he’s not shy about voicing his opinion. Of course, he understands that not all of his ideas will fly: “Believe me, if they think my ideas suck, they don’t use them.”

Years ago, it would have been unthinkable to have a sports-entertainer involved in the business the way Hunter is. In the past, there was a perception–if not a reality–that it was the boys against the office. “Today this is no longer true,” Hunter says. “We’re all in the same business, and we’re all working for the same thing.” According to Hunter, today’s Superstars understand this, and his involvement in the behind-the-scenes activities has been beneficial for the entire Federation.

“I think at one point when I first started to get close to the behind-the-scenes stuff, there was a fear that I was going to have a ton of heat with the other guys. But I honestly believe that I don't have heat with most of the guys. I believe that’s because they understand that I'm just trying to help everybody. I’m not in there saying, ‘to hell with that guy, give me the push.’ I’m trying to think up good ideas for everybody. If I think of a good idea for Jericho, I push it. Also, sometimes some of the guys might have an idea, and if they don’t have a good relationship with [the writers], or they feel funny talking to the writers, a lot of them ask me to tell the writers. So they can use me in that way, and I think that’s a good thing.”

Hunter’s open relationship with Vince McMahon has also proved beneficial to the Federation, and after spending a few moments with “the Game,” it becomes apparent how much Hunter respected his boss.

“I know I’m going to sound like I’m kissing my boss’ ass but I really think that Vince is a genius. How can he not be? Look where he’s taken this business. He’s made it larger than life, he’s made it into a billion-dollar industry, and now he’s gone to the point where he’s taken over his competition. He’s won the war. Beyond that, he’s a good person. He’s interested in having quality human beings working for him and being involved in his product. He’s extremely passionate about what we do.

“Sometimes people say negative things about him, but I believe it’s because when you are a businessman. Sometimes you have to make tough decisions,” Hunter continues. “It’s not personal, it’s business. Trust me, I don’t envy his job because it’s so difficult. But as far as working with him, you can’t think of a greater honor than to sit next to probably the smartest guy in the world about this business and pick his brain about things all day.”

It’s been Hunter’s ability in the ring and in front of the camera that has really distinguished him in the past two years. One of the hardest things to accomplish these days is to remain a heel for an extended period of time. Heels do a lot of ass-kicking and trash-talking, two activities that tend to endear Superstars to fans these days. Instead of generating hatred, heels often earn the respect of today’s fans and become fan favorites whether they want to or not. 

Hunter, through his smarts, has been able to avoid this pitfall. For the past two years, he has been able to keep fans hating him, a fact in which he takes a lot of pride. 

 “It’s very hard to keep fans from liking you, and that’s something that I’ve worked very hard at. In the last two years, I’ve been one of the few guys who’s been able to do that. I’ve had a long, long run just being hated by the fans. It hasn’t been by accident. I want it that wat. I’m very in tune to when my fans start cheering at things, and I’m very cautious with my prompts in terms of what I say and how I say it so I won’t be cheered. I’m very cautious. I think about everything I do; I don’t do anything just because.”

Other accomplishments that Hunter takes pride in include his ability to take part in long-running feuds, and his ability to work in any type of match and have the and his opponent come out better for it. Observers of the business claimed that the days of long-term feuds were over, but Hunter has proved them wrong with his conflicts with The Rock, Kurt Angle and Chris Jericho. These same observers also claimed that today’s fans would never enjoy a 60-minute match, but Hunter and The Rock proved them wrong again with their epic Iron Man match at Judgment Day in May 2000.

Also, his well-documented relationship with Stephanie has provided hours of entertainment for Federation fans and enhanced his status as a great communicator. Their never-ending scheme to control the Federation has been a high point of Federation programming and if one didn’t know better, one would think they were two veteran performers who had worked together for years.

“I think that when you get two people who are very good at what they do, things work out pretty well. There are certain people in the business who you just have good chemistry with, and Stephanie and I have that chemistry. It’s no different than an opponent who you always have great matches with because there is great chemistry. There’s a good chemistry between us as far as everything we do on television. It’s easy for us to play off each other, and it worked out well.”

Life as a heel isn’t always easy. Sometimes fans forget that Hunter is a Federation Superstar, and that in real life he is a much different person than the despicable heel he plays when the cameras are on. People often confront him, and others have a negative attitude toward him. At times, this bothers him, but he’s wise enough to know that these negative perceptions have come about because he has been so effective in the ring and in front of the camera. Still, being a heel can have its advantages. 

“It's a horrible thing when you have people in your face or you’ve got people who believe you’re what they see on television,” he says. “But there are other times when you don’t really want to be bothered and just want to be a regular person. It makes it a whole lot easier to tell someone to get lost when they think you’re an ass anyway. Trust me, I love the fans, but we’re all people, and I put my pants on one leg at a time just like everybody else. Sometimes you just need some time for yourself. In my position, sometimes they expect me to turn them down, so it can be helpful.”

Despite being mentally drained at times, Hunter couldn’t be happier. After all, he’s living out his childhood dream of being a World Wrestling Federation Superstar. 

“This is going to sound corny, but I get to wake up everyday and live my dream. Being in this business is what I wanted to do. There are days when I need to get away for a little bit, but it’s very rare. For the most part I get to do what I love to do every day, and what could be better than that?”

[astrolo-t]

Morning Sun Pt. 1

Pairing: Ellie x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k~

Warnings: MDNI pls, Cursing, Alcohol, LOTS of Angst, Ellie running at literally any sign of conflict or messy feelings.

A/N: This is the after Santa Barbara I wish Ellie had. 

Enjoy :)

Prologue

She got sloppy. That’s really all it was. Her mind had been somewhere else, everywhere else really. There’d been thoughts of Joel, the closest thing she’d had to a father figure in this fucked up world, drawing his last breath as she’d begged him not to die. In the end, she couldn't make things right, couldn't follow through even when this tireless pursuit of Abby had literally cost her everything.

I would do it all over again.

Joel could’ve done it. He would’ve been able to kill Abby. Or maybe…he wouldn’t have. Of that, Ellie wasn’t so sure anymore.

Then, there had been thoughts of Dina somewhere new with JJ. Probably with someone new. Someone who could actually be a partner to her and help raise a child. Someone who didn’t have night terrors each night and vivid flashbacks during the day. Someone who wouldn’t have left her for a fight she couldn’t even bring herself to finish. Someone…not broken.

Prove it. Stay…

She deserved so much more than Ellie could give. Taking everything and leaving their home behind? She couldn’t even begin to fault her for that. No, Dina deserved so much better.

And so that’s all it took. Just one moment of distraction for her to end up this way, body now just as broken as her spirit. She’d suffered some deep cuts across her left thigh and torso from hunters. Those wounds, along with the gash on her forehead and maybe a broken rib kept her moving slower than normal. She’s had worse injuries for sure. But never had they gone untreated for so long. She was losing too much blood, dizziness, and exhaustion settling in, her hands, shaky and a bit clammy.

And honestly? She was just so, so, fucking tired.

She had long since wandered away from any sort of path and if she’d been in her right mind she might be able to figure out where she was. Taking a moment to catch her breath, Ellie leans against a tree when her eyes catch sight of a brief flickering of light amongst the dense trees. It’s gone as soon as it’d appeared, but Ellie heads toward it anyway. Despite it being nightfall and the amount of vegetation covering the area, Ellie knows that light could contain the possibility of a shelter.

Empty and unoccupied by infected hopefully, the light could mean a place for her to rest. Yea. Maybe she’d get some sleep and try to heal her wounds. She also had a little bit of food and water left that she could polish off.

Or maybe…it just meant finding a quiet place to die.

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Stepping up to the wooden door she twists the doorknob and opens the door, letting it ring out the slightest creak in the darkness. It’s pitch black, quiet. Abandoned, Ellie thinks. Maybe she’d imagined the light. What, with how delirious she was, it wouldn’t have been surprising. Switchblade in hand, she moves through the house, scanning the area for infected with the stealth honed from regular patrols and years of practice at taking down enemies quickly and quietly. She finds none, but she does find a bedroom. Under the blue-white glow of the moonlight, she can see the soft white sheets and a blanket draped over the bed, one side unmade as though someone had gotten up…and in a hurry.

Just as she’s pondering this she hears the unmistakable click of a shotgun from just behind her.

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my house?” a voice growls out.

Hands raised in surrender, Ellie starts to turn slowly, only to stare down the barrel of a shotgun and the faint outline of a person in the darkness. A fresh wave of dizziness hits her then, one she couldn’t fight off. Before she passes out, she’s able to catch your eyes glaring back at her and even in her state of delirium she thinks it wouldn’t be awful if they’re the last thing she sees.

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Reader POV

You knew you weren’t being paranoid.

Well…maybe you didn’t know. But this time in particular, your hyper awareness had paid off because there actually had been a trespasser. 

You'd happened across this place by chance and then chosen to stay because the remote two bedroom farmhouse looked like the kind of place people would stay away from. It was all worn wood and chipped paint, and although it still needed a bit of TLC, it was home. It was also very private. Hidden deep in the trees far off from any path or roads, no one bothered you here. You could yell, scream, and cry at the top of your lungs without any concern. So far removed from any remainder of society, hell, you could walk around outdoors naked if you really wanted to. It was a place where you could exist without restrictions or by anyone’s standards. It was your safety net.

At that thought, your eyes wander over to the girl laying on your worn burgundy couch. Remote as your little piece of peace was, that apparently didn’t keep everyone away. 

You’d stayed up all night tending to her wounds. Because despite her being an intruder, you’d rather no one bleed out and die on your watch. She’d remained unconscious the entire time besides the quiet moans every now and then when you pressed on any open wounds a little too hard.

She was…pretty….despite the blood drying on her temple and the choppy neck length haircut she had. Freckles dusted all over her face, not unlike the raindrops collecting on your windows; then there were those impossibly long brown lashes. She was still in the clothes that she arrived in, a camel-colored cargo jacket over a white tank top and jeans. And weirdly enough, she also looked about your age. 

You cross your arms, rhythmically tapping on the skin of your bicep, and begin to pace because everything about this spelled trouble. People could be following her, and there was no reason you had to have your little slice of paradise ripped away from you.

I mean honestly…she couldn’t just stay here. 

Could she?

Just as you’d begun to think this over, she starts to rustle, whimpering slightly.

Sighing, you come to sit on the coffee table parallel to the couch and chide, “You have to stop moving. Tear those stitches and it’s gonna hurt a lot more than me doing it while you were unconscious.”

Her green eyes blink open, momentarily flickering over to yours, before staring up at the ceiling. You take this time to introduce yourself, then wait patiently for her to do the same. She introduces herself curtly to which you then reply, “Well, Ellie Williams, you wanna explain what the fuck you're doing here? Breaking and entering?

“Pretty hard to break and enter when the door is fucking unlocked.”

You frown, feeling a gentle warmth flush your cheeks. Crossing your arms you say lamely, “Whatever….no one ever ends up here.”

“Clearly that logic no longer applies.” She grumbles mostly to herself as she tries to sit up, inhaling sharply as she feels a familiar pain in her ribs. 

Gently, you press her back down into the couch, narrowing your eyes at her before retorting, “For a patient on the brink of death, you sure aren’t very grateful to the person who just saved your life.”

Her eyes find yours again at that statement, and she chuckles dryly before replying, “Yea well, for my supposed nurse, you have no bedside manner.”

You curl your fingers into fists because the absolute mouth on this woman.

You open your mouth, prepared to spit pure venom at her when you notice the hand laying over her chest. While tending her wounds you hadn’t noticed but, her pinky and ring finger were missing from her left hand. Her eyes follow where you’d been staring not so subtly, and once she discovers what you’re staring at, she sighs. Clenching that hand into a fist, she quickly covers it with her other. 

Subtle y/n verrry subtle. 

Her eyes get this far away look to them, and maybe you’re mistaken but you swear you see tears gathering in her eyes. She swipes quickly at them though, and whatever glimpse of vulnerability you’d thought you’d seen is gone in seconds, or maybe it was never really there at all. Initial thoughts on this situation were pretty jumbled and complicated. You had someone here who was still very much injured and it’d take more than a brief nap for her to really heal. You found her irritating! And unappreciative. And honestly? Really sad. You didn’t know all that the woman had been through, or what had brought her here. But, did that matter? This didn’t have to be your problem, did it?

The sound of Ellie shuffling onto her side in some attempt to get comfortable, breaks your train of thought. Your eyes flicker back over to where she was attempting to fall back asleep, glancing briefly down to her hands once more. Ok so, maybe you do feel bad for her. And maybe something happened to her that had changed her not necessarily for the better. That, you knew about first hand.

With that thought in mind, you quite unceremoniously make a solid decision.

She could stay. 

Even if it's just for tonight…she could stay.

A/N: I went ahead and broke this fic up into 6 parts. I'll be posting one part each day with the final part being posted on 9/16/22 :)

[c-is-for-circinate]

Wait, isn't "anti" stuff more like "anti-pedophilia" and stuff? Like, you have a point about anti-porn attitudes, but from what I've heard just "anti" on its own means against stuff like kid porn and incest porn and legitimately f*cked up sh*t like that.

Okay!  So this, I think, is actually a great example of what I was talking about, and a really useful thing to understand.  (CW rape, child abuse, etc)

Smarter people than me have written much better essays about why policing thoughtcrimes is a bad road to go down, and I will probably reblog some of them next time they cross my dash for more context.  What I want to talk about is the trigger mechanism, the ‘oh, this looks like danger!!!’ immune response in how we look at different kinds of porn, and how that applies to anti culture.

Here’s the thing: I am anti-pedophilia.  I think that, for most people, that’s a stance that largely goes without saying!  Adults who prey on children are bad.  I’m also against incest; relatives who prey on their family members are bad.  Above all I oppose rape.  Sexual predation of any kind is bad.  In fact, I’d say that’s the most important item on the list.  There is plenty of room to argue about where the lines are between ‘adult’ and ‘child’ and how teenagers fit in the middle, and there’s plenty of room to get historical about the lines between ethically terrible incest, distasteful-but-bearable “aristocratic inbreeding” between distant cousins, and the kind of consanguinity that tends to develop in a small town where everyone’s vaguely related to everyone else by now anyway.  The core of the issue is consent, and it has always been consent.  Pedophilia and incest are horrific because they are rape scenarios where the abuser has far more power and their victim far fewer resources to cope, both practically and emotionally; because harm to children is, to us as a culture, worse than harm to adults, for a lot of very valid reasons; and because they constitute betrayal of trust the victim should have been able to put in their abuser as well as rape--but they are all rape scenarios, and that’s why they’re awful. 

These things are bad.  It is good for us to have a social immune response system that recognizes these things when they’re happening and insists we step in.  That is a good thing to develop!  It helps us, as a society.  It can help the people being victimized.  It’s the same reason educators and childcare workers in the US are all mandated reporters, why we do background checks on people working near kids.  These things happen, and they’re terrible, and it’s good that we try to be aware and prepared for them.  (Though obviously studies show we’re a lot less good at protecting the vulnerable than we’d like to pretend we are.)

The question is: why does that same social immune response trigger, and trigger so angrily, in response to fiction?

Anti culture is fundamentally an expression of that social immune response.  Specifically, it’s that social immune response when it is set off by a situation that, while it has some similarities to the very bad real-life crime of sexual predation including pedophilia and incest, is in and of itself harmless.

If you’re instinct is to flare up in anger or dismissiveness because I’m calling these things harmless, I want to ask you to just take a deep breath and bear with me for a bit longer.  What you’re feeling right now is an allergic reaction.

Humans tell and read and listen to stories about “legitimately fucked up shit” all the time.  It’s part of the human condition.  It’s part of how we process those things happening, not just to use, but to other people in the world around us.  It’s part of how we process completely unrelated fucked-up shit, playing with fears and furies and insecurities that we all have, through so may layers of fiction that we don’t even recognize them any more, playing with power dynamics in metaphor and making characters suffer for fun.  Aside from the fact that literally all stories do this to some extent or another; aside from the fact that drawing lines between ‘ok that’s good storytelling’ and ‘that’s too fucked-up to write about’ is arbitrary, subjective, and dangerous in its own right; aside from all of that, these stories are stories.  All of them. 

Even the ones about rape, about incest, about pedophilia.  They’re words on a page.  No real children were harmed, touched, or even glanced at in the making of this work of fiction.  This story, pornographic though it may be, is part of a conversation between consenting adults.  (And if a teenager lies about their age to consent, that is a different problem altogether.)

Stories in and of themselves, no matter what they’re about, are no more dangerous than a crate full of oranges.  Which is to say: utterly harmless, unless all you have to eat is oranges, all day every day, and you find yourself dying slowly of nutrient deficiency--which is why representation matters.  Or unless someone wields one deliberately, violently, as a tool to cause harm, and someone gets acid in their eye--which is the fault of the person holding the orange. And unless you happen to be allergic to citrus.

The key here is this twofold understanding:  First, the thing that hurts you can also have value to others.  Real, legitimate value.  Whether you’ve undergone trauma and certain story elements are straight-up PTSD triggers or you just don’t like orange juice, that story, those tropes, that crate of oranges may be somewhere between icky and fundamentally abhorrent--but we understand that that is still your reaction.  Even if you don’t understand how anybody could ever enjoy it; even if every single person you surround yourself with is as sensitive and disgusted and itchy about this thing that makes your eyes hurt and your throat stop working as you; that doesn’t make it true for everyone.  That doesn’t make oranges poisonous.  No real children were involved in the writing of this story.  It is words on a page.

But, secondly: the thing that has value to others can also hurt you.  Just because a story isn’t inherently poison doesn’t mean it can’t cause you, personally, pain.  That’s what a PTSD trigger is: an allergic reaction, psychological anaphylaxis, a brain that’s trying so hard to protect its own from a threat that isn’t actually present (but was once, and the brain is trained to respond) that it causes far more harm and misery than the trigger itself possibly could.  And no, it’s not just people with PTSD who sometimes get hurt by stories.  There are many, many ways a story can poke the part of your brain that says, this is Bad, I don’t like this, I don’t want to be here.  The story is still, always, every time, pixels on a screen and ink on paper.  The story causes no physical harm.  But it can poke your brain into misery, it can stir up your emotions, it can make you want to cringe and run away.  It can make you want to scream and fight and go after the author who brought this thing into existence.  It can make you hurt.

This is an allergic reaction.  This is your brain and body, your reflexes and instincts, trying to protect you from something that isn’t really happening.  And just like a literal allergic reaction, it can do actual harm to you if it gets set off.  This is real.  The fact that stories can upset you to the point of pain and mental/emotional injury is real, even though it’s coming from your own brain and not the story itself.  There are stories you shouldn’t read.  There are stories I shouldn’t read, regret reading, will never read, because they hurt me.  That doesn’t mean they’re the same stories that would hurt you.  That doesn’t mean they don’t have value.

And, finally:

If getting upset about stories is fundamentally an individual person’s allergic reaction, their brain freaking out and firing off painful survival instincts in the face of a thing that isn’t, in and of itself, a threat?  Then the anti movement is a cultural allergic reaction.

Fandom as a whole has a pretty active immune system, which doesn’t mean we have a good immune system.  We try very hard to be aware of all the viruses and -isms and abuse and manipulation and cruelty, both systematic and individual, that exists around and within our community.  We’re primed and ready to shout about things at all times.  The anti movement is that system, that culture, screaming and shouting and fighting at a harmless thing on a grand scale.  It wants to stop that thing, that scary awful thing that trips all of its well-primed danger sensors, at all costs.  It’ll swell up and block off our airways (our archives) if it has to.  It’ll turn on the body it came from.  It’s scared and protective and trying to fight, and it’s ready to fight and destroy itself.

Luckily, fans and fanfic and fandom and fan culture are a lot bigger and older than they often get credit for, and it’s not like these cultural allergies are anything new.  We could talk about shippers and slashers in the X-Files fandom in the 90s.  We could talk about the birth of fandom in the days of Star Trek.  We could talk about censorship and book burning going back centuries.  We survived that and we’ll survive this, too.

But god, does the anti movement my throat and eyes itch.  Man is it irritating, and sometimes a little suffocating, to realize how many stories just aren’t getting told out of fear of what the antis will say.  And that’s the real danger, I think.  What are we losing that would have so much value to someone?  What are we missing out?

[sdr2lovemail]

Okay okay okay okay hear me out! Your roommate au but Vanessa is y/ns girlfriend and she doesn’t go to work that night. And so here’s y/n coming home with the animatronics and Gregory also y/n is really chaotic and does stupid stuff all the time and gives Vanessa a heart attack

I love Vanessa, grumpy women <3. This one gets a little angsty because I can't help myself. Besides that it's pretty silly.

This is like where Vanessa isn't related to Vanny or Afton in any way. She's just Vanessa.

I hope you enjoy!

There’s a healthy amount of brain cells between Vanessa and her partner but they all belong to Vanessa

“So…What do we do now?”

“That is a great question, Gregory.”

You, Gregory, and a group of animatronics stand outside the burning building of Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizza Plex. Though you were all a good distance away, the heat of the raging fire still ran warm on your skin. Everyone was beat down, tired, and broken. Even Moon, who clutched the scorched children’s drawings close to their chest. Your uniform was covered in soot and you were sure there was a metal rod going through your arm, but you didn’t dare look.

“Tech–nician, couldn’t- we…justleave- in your ca-r.” Monty garbles from Chica’s shoulder. His voice box suffered damage from the fall and heavy amounts of smoke.

You thought about that for a moment. Did you drive here today? No, you didn’t. You specifically remember your girlfriend telling you to not do anything stupid while she wasn’t there. “Nah, I was dropped off today. Besides, you guys are too big to fit in a car.” Your gaze shifts over to the Fazbear Entertainment moving trucks. “But you could fit into a truck.” If you were quick, you could set it up before the fire reached the loading dock.

“Superstar? Where are you going? That is dangerous!” Freddy was just about to set Gregory down and chase after you.

“It’s okay, Freddy. I can hotwire a truck in no time flat! Just trust me.” Freddy let out a robotic sigh. You were determined as always, always ready to help someone in need- did you say hotwire?!

True to your word, you were able to get the truck up and running. It was a great distraction from the searing pain in your arm. You load the animatronics in the back and buckle Gregory up in the front with you. Would Vanessa mind you bringing them home? Nah! You were sure it would be okay! Vanessa loves them!

Through the small window connecting the front and the back, Roxanne speaks up. “Hey…Where are we even going? I don’t think many places would just accept us walking around.”

“Oh! Don’t worry about that guys. I’m bringing you home with me. I’m sure my girlfriend won’t mind, she’s pretty chill.” The rest of the ride was silent. Most of you are still processing the night or mildly bleeding out.

You pull up into the front of your house. It’s not amazing but it’s perfect for you and your girlfriend. And now it’ll be better with your 7 new roommates! Even better that you were trying to butter your girlfriend up about getting a kid, and look you just found one!

Unloading the animatronics and bringing them inside was easy. Figuring out what to do next was the hard part. You hear shuffling in your bedroom. Your dear lover must’ve heard you return home.

“Okay you guys, now I said my girlfriend was pretty chill, but something like this might come as a surprise. So, give me a few minutes to ease Vanessa into it.”

There’s a strained sound of confusion from Chica and a ‘wait’ from Monty. “Vanessssssa- likethe…night guard-”

“Be right back!” You disregard the confusion from the animatronics to turn down the hall. Instantly brightening up upon seeing Vanessa. “My baby! Aw, why are you up? Did I wake you?”

Vanessa, clad in her pajamas, lets out a yawn. “You’re home from work pretty early, babe.” She takes a minute to wipe the sleep from her eyes. “Did something…happen…?”

You look worse than you feel. With the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, it’s easy to ignore your multiple injuries. Vanessa’s heart sank. She leaves you for a night and you’re on the brink of death!

“[Name]?! What…What happened?! Why are you covered in soot and blood?” Her eyes travel to your arm. “Your arm!? What happened while you were at work?!”

“Funny story! Good news is we won’t have to stay up late to go to work! Because it’s burning to the ground as we speak.”

The blonde was exasperated. She steps closer to look at the damage without hurting you. “What do you mean ‘burning’?! Why are you being so nonchalant about this? You look like death!”

Before you could respond two voices could be heard from your living room.

“Sun. It is not nice to go through people’s belongings.”

“But Freddy! I’ve never been out of the daycare before! Everything is so new new new!”

Vanessa’s eyes grow wide as she looks at you. “No…You didn’t..” Easing past you, she turns the corner and is faced with 5 robots from her job and a kid. Oh god! Whose kid was this and why was he injured too?

“Officer Vanessa! Good, well, morning I believe.”

All Vanessa could do was pinch her nose bridge before turning to you. “Listen, I’m gonna patch you and this kid up. While I do that, you’re going to tell me what happened at work!”

“You call this chill, techie?”

“Oh my god…Shut up Roxanne!”

“Aw come on, honey. Don’t yell at her, she's having a hard night.”

Vanessa gazes at you. You’re unbelievable right now! “She’s having a hard night…She’s?! Having a hard night?! It’s 3 in the morning and you’re here with a metal rod in you! And you want to say she’s having a hard night?!” She sets her hands on your shoulders but is quick to back up once you hiss in pain. “...Why are you acting like this? Like nothing is wrong when you’re clearly hurting.” Her voice cracks.

With a shaky, pained hand, you cup her cheek. “Vanessa, sweetie, I’m sorry. I thought if I acted like everything was okay you wouldn’t worry as much. I didn’t want you to freak out.”

“Of course I’m going to worry. I love you.” Vanessa gently sets her hand against your own.

“Aw, how sweet!” Oh yeah, there were a bunch of animatronics and a little boy here.

Vanessa quickly pulls away. “Wow, forgot you guys were here. Anyway you,” She points in your direction. “Go to the bathroom, I'll be there in a minute.” She watched you walk away before turning back to the group. “Okay, it’s the middle of the night and I’m not in the mood for games. Little boy-”

“My name is Gregory.”

“I don’t care, Gregory. I’m going to go patch up my partner and then I’ll be back for you. The rest of you…” Vanessa sighs while rubbing her temples. “Just, don’t break anything.”

Vanessa makes her way to the bathroom to help her partner. You may have a heart where your brain should be, but she still loves you.

[when-worlds-end-archive]

And That’s How It Happened

A/N - Another Spider-Man fic! This boy really has taken over my FYP but I have no complaints, I always love writing for him. Hope you enjoy this mini fluff fic! :)

Day 14 of Writer’s Block Challenge

Pairing(s) : Peter Parker TASM x Reader

Summary : Your crush and best friend, Peter Parker, shows up at your apartment and after one little mishap, something surprising ensues.

Warning(s) : Swearing and fluffy floof.

Word Count : 820

When your best friend said he was coming over at 2AM, you didn’t expect him to arrive at your apartment as Spider-Man. You also didn’t expect him to arrive bloodied and bruised and out of breath.

“Holy shit,” you mutter, opening your window, “You’re Spider-Man? Is that why you’ve been missing all our study sessions? Wait, no, no, don’t answer that one. That’s not important. Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” he laughs at your awkwardness, wincing as he climbs through the window, “but you should see the other guy.”

“I think I’ll pass on that offer,” you went along with his joke, your nervousness rising as you took the time to give him a once over.

The entire front of his suit was soiled with blood and it all seemed to be coming from one main source, a large gash running from the top right of his chest to the bottom left of his rib cage. You couldn't even begin to imagine the pain he must have been feeling, let along how much pain he’d been in climbing up to you.

“Fucking hell, Parker,” you trail your finger along the wound, pulling away when he hisses in pain, “why didn’t you go to the hospital? You need medical attention.”

“Not as Spider-Man,” he shakes his head,” it would put too many people at risk, including you.”

As much as you wanted to argue with him, as much as you wanted him to get profession help, you knew he was right. If the people he fought found out who he was, they would be able to figure out who he cared about, you’d all be put at risk.

That wasn’t the only reason you stopped arguing however. You also stopped arguing because you were happy that he’d come to you. He could have gone to Harry, he could have gone to Gwen, but no, he went to you and that fact alone send the butterflies in your stomach fluttering.

“Then I’m going to need your guidance,” you tell him as you bring your first aid kit and a few washcloths back to your room, having taken an extra minute to wrangle in your feeling in, “I’ve never dealt with a wound like this before.”

“You don’t need to worry, he tells you softly, “you can’t make things any worse than they already are.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I’m sure.”

His words gave you a feeling of comfort, knowing that you couldn’t somehow mess up and hurt him further. You weren’t sure if he was just saying it to make you feel better or if he meant it, but it calmed you down nonetheless.

“Disinfect the wound with rubbing alcohol first, right?” You were pretty sure that’s what you needed to do. It was what all nurses and paramedics did when drawing blood or putting in an IV, when anything needed to punctured the skin. Considering the fact that he needed stitches, your brain made the logical connection.

“Correct.”

With his confirmation, you douse one of the washcloths in the fluid before pressing it to his chest gently, rubbing around the wound. You nearly pull away when he hisses loudly but continue on. You needed to do this before you could proceed with closing the injury.

You look up only once to check on him, regretting the action immediately when your lips brush against his. You first response it to jump back, covering your face with your hands to hide the furious blush.

“Shit,” you exclaim, “I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry. Fucking hell. Of course I’d kiss my crush by pure accident. That’s fucking typical. Wait. Shit. Fuck. I’m sorry. That wasn’t supposed to come out. Shit. Sorry.”

You continue to ramble out apologies for a few more seconds before he moves forward, putting one of his hands behind your head to pull your lips back to his, his other arm wrapping tightly around your waist.

The kiss is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, soft but tender, loving but forceful, and it went on and on and on and on and on. Neither of you wanted to pull away but when you’d lungs screamed for air, you had too.

“That was,” you whisper when you were finally able to talk again, your arms still wrapped tightly around his neck, making sure to keep him close.

“Amazing?” He finishes for you.

“More than amazing,” you respond, smiling shyly before remembering the reason why he was even here in the first place, “but that doesn’t get you off the hook for stitches Spider-Boy.”

“It’s Spider-Man.”

And that’s how you ended up kissing him after each stitch, how you ended up cuddling on the couch once you’d finished patching him up, how he ended up spending the night after you begged him not to leave.

That’s how you ended up dating Spider-Man.

That’s how you ended up dating your best friend.

[specialmoogakii]

Hello! I love your work! Is it possible for a sun x reader x moon? I’d really like to see them fight over the reader (gender neutral pls). The rest is up to you!

[I hope you don't mind that Sun and Moon are two different animatronic!]

I think i took the "fight" a little bit too literally and im so sorry for that. I still hope you enjoy it.

Warning:Grammatical errors,Jealousy,a fight scene,yelling,injuries.

Not fair!

Oh,Sundrop was sooo happy. Absolutely overjoyed.

He spend a lot of time with you today,you visited him in your lunchbreak! Oh! His poor heart when he saw you. His metallic heart was overheated and maybe it melted a little too. But that doesn't matter,you wanted to spend time with him and sacrifice your lunchbreak for HIM.

He wanted to scream so badly and marry you on the spot,you were so cute to resist. Oh,but he had to. Sundrop want to make every single hour worth it for you and couldn't bear the possibility of ruining something in our little dates. He would die if only one single mistake is done.

You deserve the best and he is going to give it to you. Tomorrow he got everything planned to make your visit better then before.

Oh,All kids knew. They know his massive crush on you,it was almost impossible to not notice it. The kids saw him doing different things that only revolves around you; jumping around happily more then usual, he freeze for a second when you touch his hand, he is more distracted when you're around and also leave some drawing with you in like a teenager in love and etc.

The kids weren't oblivious and totally tease him about it. Leaving Sundrop absolutely red and trying to distract the kids from the truth,which, it doesn't work that well. Their teasing only become bigger at every denial from Sundrop.

Sundrop had to run in his room before his heart dies for how much the kids were stubborn about it. He sigh and relax his back on the door, hoping the kids doesn't tell you about his change of attitude when you're around. Oh lord! It would ruin everything!

Sundrop hide his face in his hands,not wanting to think the embarassing situasion that would happen if the kids reveal his crush on you. But,his thoughts were interrupted by an aggressive scoff coming from the other side of the room.

It was dark but Sundrop knew who it was,His little brother Moondrop, the shy and awkward yet recently aggressive Lil' bro. Oh no,it was one of thhose days where Moondrop was angry!

Sundrop smile awkwardly at him and waves,a little scared of what moondrop is upset about. "You forgot that me and Y/n got a special ""date"" tomorrow,hm?" Moondrop says with a monotone voice,already expecting a loudly no from sundrop as he fix his audiobox before he goes in reboot.

"WHAT- YOU TWO GOT A DATE" Sundrop loudly exclaimed,leaving Moondrop surprised for a second,sundrop actually forgot about it, unbelievable. "I-i mean! Of course you don't-! This one of your pranks,isn't it!?"" Sundrop anxiously denied,not believing what moondrop said.

"I know your little special plan for tomorrow,im not going to let you have that,big brother." Moondrop says almost spitting venom out of his mouth,getting closer to him making sundrop a little more anxious. It was useless to deny in front of Moondrop.

"Why not!? Don't tell me you're in love with them too!!" Sundrop yells out of shock. he didn't notice!! He was too busy looking at you to notice he had an rival and its even worse the fact its moondrop.

"Of course i am,wh- how the hell didn't you notice" moondrop says confused,you both are acting very clearly in love for y/n, this disappoint moondrop even more. He thought that maybe Sundrop was teasing moondrop over stealing y/n but nope,the truth its even worse.

"I definitely notice you acting all adorable around y/n! I can't let you win them all over just for your silly little childish crush" moondrop continues,not letting sundrop speak and run away to this argument. But,surprisingly, Sundrop was getting more angry with no intention of letting moondrop win this little argument.

"It's not CHILDISH! STOP THINKING OF ME AS A CHILD!" Sundrop loudly exclaimed again. He was having a tantrum in front of moondrop. Sundrop wanted this to stop and tries to calm himself down,while Moondrop was trying to find a common ground and failing to calm his aggressive mind.

"And you stop stealing people from me! You already have everything!" Moondrop point out,he had everything moondrop wanted; The kids attention,the spotlight and etc. He won't let him have your attention too.

"You don't have rights over people! That why they want me more then you,possessive boogieman!" Sundrop yells again because of his tantrum and inability of communicate normally when angry, leaving moondrop speechless and more aggressive at his remark.

"Why you-!' Moondrop jump on sundrop out of control, the "vanny" glitch is still stuck in his code and uncontrollably throwing hands at Sundrop while Sundrop was defending himself, not feeling the gusts to punch him back.

Sundrop was able to get free and run away from his room,absolutely scared and in panic mode. "You can't own y/n,moondrop! That's not how love works!" Sundrop trying to reason with moondrop but the vanny glitch stuck in his code doesn't want to hear it, still attacking him in every way possible.

"I don't want to own y/n! I want someone special in my life for once!" Moondrop yell while his eyes start lighting up in a intense red eyes more then before, it was the end for sundrop. But,he doesn't give up.

"Y-you have me! You have your older brother! Am i not special for you?" Sundrop frown a little after finishing the phrase leaving Moondrop to growls out of guilt and annoyance.

"That's not what i mean!" Moondrop punch the wall so hard that it could literally destroy it but by miracle,its didn't fall down. Moondrop's hand doesn't seem so well after the punch,you could literally see the wires out.

"I want someone in my life to actually see me behind the usual freaky monstrous "sidekick" of sundrop! Every kids avoid me or scream when i get close with no malicious intentions!" Moondrop stop for a moment due to the big injury in his hand, he growls in pain but continues

"you don't know what it feels like to be ignored. all children love you, adore you and praise you while I receive the exact opposite. I hate this,i hate being used as a emontional punchbag from everyone.." sundrop doesn't say anything and get slowly close to moondrop. Once he is close enough, sundrop hold moondrop's injuried hand very gently.

"I just want som-someone..to love me,sundrop" Moondrop finally break down and start crying oil,sundrop hug him very tightly and start crying with him too. Sundrop feel so bad for his brother but he can't leave his love for y/n. Maybe they can find a compromise?

"Im so sorry,moon. I..i didn't notice the difference. I thought the kids treat you nicely like me.." sundrop whisper and keep hugging moon, moon reciprocate the hug after calming himself down,sundrop's shoulder was covered in oil but that doesn't matter for now.

"Hey,how about this?" Sundrop free moon from the hug and let moondrop look at him so he understands what kind of answer moondrop would give without saying anything. "We could share y/n together! Giivng then more love with certainly make them more happy,right!?" Sundrop's eyes shine while still being nervous in the inside,but thankfully moondrop smirk and nods.

"Alright,fine. If that mean i can have couch cuddles for myself" moondrop says jokingly. Obviously wanting sundrop to have an exaggerated reaction which it happens. Sundrop gasp in offense and gently punches his arms like a little kid.

Moondrop laugh and drag sundrop out of there,reaching the door with his injured hand since the other one is too busy dragging sundrop away only to be interrupted by Y/n looking pretty exhausted.

"I hear a loud sound coming from here. Please,tell me it wasn't monty!" Y/n tries to say while breathing heavenly,you must had run miles to get there which make moondrop a little nervous. He is trying to hide his injuried hand behind his back.

Y/n definitely notice it the sudden movement and ready to let him spit whatever he is hiding from his mouth. "What did you do moondrop" you put your hands on your hips, waiting for moondrop to start speaking only to sundrop to interrupt before moon could say anything.

"O-OH! MX. Y/N! We're just.. uuuh finding more toys for the kids. You know how kids want new things everyday! Ahahah,let's go moon-" Sundrop take moondrop's arm and tries to walk away awkwardly, Y/n stop them from walking any futher with an face that make them understand they are fucked no matter what excuse.

"Spit it out" y/n simply says,looking terrifying to both sundrop and moondrop and immediately let a "Yes,y/n..." following with all the things that happen.

I don't think i need to say who needed up with two clingy robots for the rest of your life.

[yesimwriting]

The Needs of Pain (part 2)

A/n since y’all liked part one!!

... i think i could make a part 3?? we’ll see lol 

This is the LONGEST thing i’ve written on here wow,, and the smuttiest 

Warnings: teasing, oral, unprotected sex (pls this is my first time writing full smut be gentle lol)

-- 

Exhaustion is an odd result of pain. I didn’t think I was that tired after the burn. I certainly didn’t feel sleepy while Kirigan cleaned my shoulder and brushed his soft lips and sharp teeth along my neck to distract me from the pain. Why am I even thinking of that? Of the way his breath felt against my skin, the way his tongue soothed any bites he left against my skin. I breathe out flatly. 

Stop thinking of him. Stop thinking of him in that context--that’s why he did it. He enjoys getting under people’s skin, that’s why he’s always insulting the way I see the world. My hand reaches to my neck, touching my skin where I can still feel his lips on my skin, tracing the faint marks I had seen in the bathroom mirror.

I should have asked the healer to get rid of them before they fully formed, but the thought of showing them to anyone was too embarrassing to bear. I force my hand away, dropping it onto my pillow. 

He had acted so strange today, he had been so blunt. It was a tactic. He wants to be in my head and I’m giving him what he wants. I sigh, rolling over and pulling my duvet further up my body. It’s too hot for this. Ugh. I kick the duvet off of my legs, letting my nightgown wrinkle up my body. Strong hands could pull the fabric up in a similar, yet much more euphoric way. 

No. Who’s thoughts are these? The fact that I picture the same hands that dabbed at my burn earlier today has me questioning my sanity. I can’t sleep like this. Kirigan wanted to be in my head and now he is. Damn him. I can’t stand him which means I can never have him.

Desire has nothing to do with tolerance. The thought leaves my face warm and stomach twisted. 

I sit up sharply, sliding out of bed tiredly. I’ll get some air and everything will be fine. The moon will clear my mind.

The Little Palace is strangely twisting at night, all long shadows and yellow lantern light. I slip out of my room quickly, but my thoughts are not immediately banished with the change of scenery. I must be ill. Infection must have set in regardless of my efforts and the healer sealed it beneath my skin and now it’s impacting me. Fever. I’m delusional with fever. 

“I didn’t take you the kind for a late night trist.” 

His voice leaves the hairs on the back of my neck standing like soldiers at attention. I manifested him the same way people manifest the devil. “Air.” My defense is childish. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get some air.” 

The sound of even footsteps leaves me frozen in place. “What keeps someone like you awake?” It’s like he can read through me. “Thoughts of me?” 

He can never know. “Obviously.” 

My sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed, he lets out an almost humored breath. “Or perhaps it’s pain.” 

The comment is so confusing I almost don’t realize he’s bringing up my shoulder injury. How had I let him see me so vulnerable? Why did he seem somewhat concerned in his own way? 

“My shoulder’s perfectly fine.” Good. A normal direction for this conversation to head. “It took the Healer all of two minutes.” 

The touch on my shoulder is so sudden I almost jump. Kirigan doesn’t shy away at that, fingers firmly brushing down the skin. “It feels the same.” 

I could scream. His strange observation means nothing to me, but the implication is enough to drive me mad. The implication that he knows my skin well enough to be able to judge whether the healed skin feels different is sickening. I’m tired of this. 

I turn on my heels, all of my tiredness and irritation twisting in me. “Even if it didn’t, it’s none of your concern.” 

“I didn’t realize you were extra irritable when you’re tired.”

Every conversation with him leaves me feeling petulant. “I’m not tired.” I cross my arms, keep my expression set. “I just--I wanted to get some air.” 

“Hm.” He takes a step forward, preparing to close the small distance I’d managed to create between us. “And why is that?” 

The question leaves me irritated in an odd way. A flat way. There’s a narcissistic entitlement in that question. An entitlement to my thoughts. I shrug. “I hoped it’d make me tired.” 

Kirigan draws his eyebrows together, curiosity and something resembling amusement playing at his expression. “If you’d like to be tired, I think I know a few ways to be of assistance.”

A faint, aggravating warmth comes to my face. Not only did my lie earn me a ridiculous innuendo, it’s also trapped me in a corner I cannot escape. Healing from the burn had left me pathetically drowsy. There’s no way he can’t see through me, a tired haze has to be visible on my face. My eyelids feel weighted and I’m too distracted by my deep longing for sleep to hold onto irritation. 

“I’m sure I’ll manage on my own.” The words are not meant to be a challenge, just a way to dismiss him. I don’t think he takes them that way. 

He draws his eyebrows together, eyes threatening to lose that curious quality. Kirigan steps forward, I step back blankly, desperate to keep enough distance to keep what’s left of my wits about me. He ignores my reaction, taking another step forward. I take another step back. My back touches the wall. I am a mouse and he’s an excited cat. 

“You don’t have to,” his voice is too low, too intimate, “I’m not sure that’s something you want to understand.” 

My chin raises just slightly, a silent protest. “Dependency is a fatal flaw.” 

“So is desire,” his reply is much too quick. “Desire is worse, because one can resist dependency based on pride...but desire, that is something that one sacrifices for.” 

Maybe if I was less tired I’d bother to interpret his words a little more. But all I can focus on is his tone--the quality of it. “You sound heavy.” My voice is as light as the night breeze I was craving moments ago. “But you always sound heavy.” It’s the wistful observation of someone slowly disappearing. “At least you’re pretty,” I muse, falling more and more distant by the second.

Something soft breaks across his features, his lips quirking. “Pretty?” 

I rest my back against the wall comfortably, eyes shutting without permission. “I’m sure I’ll regret that comment in a moment.” 

He stays silent, but his presence does not disappear. I can’t tell if I’m glad for it. The warm touch on my shoulder startles me out of my drowsy trance. Panic has me ready to jump off the wall, but Kirigan brushes his thumb up and down my shoulder. His touch sets any skin that comes in contact with him aflame. I shouldn’t find the gesture so comforting. My eyes flutter shut again, my body relaxing against the wall. When my protest dies out before it begins, Kirigan shifts closer. I’m confused, but too at peace to answer. Something velvety and warm brushes against my collar. Soft and warm and electric. He’s kissing my skin again. 

My lips part in hopes of arguing, but when his teeth graze the skin he already marked earlier I’m gone. My eyes shut again, but this time it’s different. Pleasure and drowsiness clear me of all inhibitions as his touch becomes more and more assured. I let him test me, his mouth moving against any and all exposed skin. I don’t even stop him when I feel his hands graze the hem of my nightgown, wrinkling it the way I imagined earlier. 

“Kirigan.” I need to find my strength, but what’s the point of strength when his touch leaves me so warm? The only acknowledgement of my protest he offers me is the lingering squeeze of my thigh before his long fingers begin to graze towards the inside of my thighs. I have no choice but to let his lips brush up my neck, his teeth grazing my skin the way they did earlier today. “Kirigan.” I try to sound firmer, but he destroys the rest of my sentence before I have the chance to get it out. His teeth nip the base of my neck, ruining my protest for a second time.

 Maybe if I was less tired I’d be able to fight him off a little better, but I’m so drowsy I had trouble thinking before he started touching me. My eyes shut in both bliss and exhaustion. His thumb presses into my hip. Something in me stalls as his fingers brush the hem of my underwear--testing me, challenging me. I open my eyes on instinct, but he remains unbothered, slipping his thumb beneath the only fabric that divides us in order to better grip my hip.

I stiffen because of how badly I want to melt. This is bad. This is insane. We’re in a hallway in the middle of the night and he’s General Kirigan. Whatever attraction I feel is another tactic to manipulate me. 

“We need to stop.” The command is weak, my voice as dry as my resolve. 

He angles his head in order to regard me a little better. His expression is one of mock confusion as he smirks. Actually smirks. “Stop what?” False innocence drips from his voice as he leans towards me, expression amused as his lips near my own. “I haven’t even started yet.” My eyes widen, something that amuses him. “Y/n?”

I’m left on edge. I’m left wanting. My lips part flatly, but words feel so distant. “Yes?” 

“What happened earlier?” His voice is the kind of sinful that’s meant to coax. Kirigan brushes his thumb across my shoulder, eyes watching mine cautiously. “How did you get burned?” 

I push against the sultry quality of his voice. “I told you--an accident.” 

“Hm.” His eyebrows draw together in a surprisingly soft way. I stare at him freely, but he ignores my gaze, eyes locked on my newly healed skin. Is he truly that concerned? “Whose accident?” 

I swallow once. “My own.” He still isn’t looking at me. “I’m not exactly the most coordinated person, you’ve witnessed my clumsiness yourself.” 

Kirigan is not convinced. Perhaps he will never fully buy my partial lie. His grip on me hardens. Restraint. I may not be able to win against his paranoia, but I might be able to distract him. Cautiously, I move one hand forward, touching the hand that’s on my shoulder. I hesitate. Touching him without prompting almost feels too intimate. I’m being ridiculous. I brush my fingers against the back of his palm, letting my touch trail up his forearm. 

“Y/n.” My name borders on a warning. 

I suppress a smile, playing into my sleepiness as I tilt my head to the side. “Yes?” 

He doesn’t reply, expression tightening as my hand snares around his wrist, pulling it off my shoulder with more care than I thought myself capable of. The intensity of his gaze is enough to burn me. I turn my full attention to his hand. I’d never admit this out loud, but this isn’t the first time I’ve thought about how objectively attractive his hands are. I kiss each of his knuckles slowly, brushing my lips against his skin tentatively. 

To my surprise, he allows my indulgence. I glance at him through my lashes. Kirigan’s eyes are shut, expression bordering on pained. “Kirigan?” 

He opens his eyes but his expression does not ease. His other hand leaves my thigh, grabbing the low collar of my nightgown with such a fierce speed it takes me a second to realize what’s happening. He pulls me away from the wall in a way that borders on violent. 

“I don’t know who you’re protecting, but I guarantee you they’re not worth it.” The words are acidic. He’s seething. “I grow tired of your resistance.” 

If he hadn’t transformed into something so untamed, I might have had enough gall to tell him I grow tired of being toyed with. I say nothing, instead I take in the abrasiveness of his anger, the tension of his grip on the thin fabric that clothes me. I am unflinching in my assessment in the most tired way possible, eyes struggling not to shut and body desperate to rest, but even more desperate for him. His eyes stare into mine, searching for something I am too far gone to offer. He must realize my sleepiness is genuine because he soon drops his gaze, taking his time in analyzing the even rise and fall of my chest as well as the hint of cleavage his grip on my nightgown is exposing. Pure heat finds itself in my face, chest, and worst of all---core. His staring lacks any shame. 

Kirigan parts his lips as if to speak but then instead takes a moment to lick them. The thought of his tongue in relation to lips only makes the burning in me worse. It’s practically an ache. A needy one. 

“I grow weary of your lack of understanding.” 

Understanding? “What is there to understand?” 

His head angles itself to one side but he doesn’t meet my gaze. The hold he has on me loosens just enough so that his hold on me is no longer taut. That should not disappoint me the way it does. I wait patiently, ignoring the bundle of unexplained nerves in my stomach as best as I can. Something strange colors his features when he finally looks at me again, something almost vulnerable. 

“I brought you here.” He sounds farther from me than ever. “I…” His exhale is gentle, but his expression is quick to harden. “Who are you so willing to protect?”

I must be really tired because his voice sounds like it borders on heart ache. If I didn’t fear Arthur’s safety I’d tell Kirigan everything if it meant his pain would dissipate. I never thought Kirigan’s potential pain would bother me, but now that I’ve seen him look stricken by something so weighted--now that I’ve seen the way he wears pain--I don’t want to be the one to give him that. I want to be the one to give him some kind of sanctuary. The thought leaves me with a desire to flea. 

“Will you just believe me when I say it’s no one?” In a way that’s the truth. Arthur is not particularly significant unless you’re a young Grisha female with a desire for heart ache. “No one worth mentioning at least.” 

He’s quick to retighten his hold on my nightgown, leaving the fabric taut and more of me exposed. “You being desperate to protect them makes them worth interest.” A different response than I expected. 

My lips thin. “Only because it was a small accident. They don’t deserve to be punished over the briefest loss of focus.” 

I take his silence as an indicator that he is considering my words. His free hand finds my shoulder as he pulls me even closer to him by the fabric he’s gripping. “And if I were to revoke the threat of punishment?” His voice is the definition of temptation, low and promising and coddling me with its sinfulness. I still as Kirigan leans forward so that his lips are practically on my ear. “Then would you tell me? If I released you from the binds of your nobility?” My lips part but I have no words prepared. Before I can think of what to say, his lips graze the side of my jaw before his teeth nip at the end of my ear. “Tell me just to humor me.” 

The command doesn’t make sense to me, but from his lips it feels important. “You won’t hurt them for what happened?” 

His voice seems rougher than before, “Would that make a difference?” 

“It would make all the difference.” I don’t like the honesty of my words. 

Kirigan allows one hand to trail down my waist--a gesture I consider obscenely intimate when paired with the soft brush of his lips on my collar. “I already know who.” His voice is a dark hum. “I was always going to know one way or another--but it’s good to know you would have told me.”

My stomach lurches, dread pouring into me like tar. Before fear can force me to take action, Kirigan begins to leave open mouth kisses from the top of my jaw to the bottom of my neck, taking his time to assault any spot of skin with his tongue that he wants. This reminds me too much of earlier--touches meant to distract from pain with the use of pleasure. 

“Are you--” His mouth is now on my collar, threatening to destroy my question. “Are you going to hurt him?”

At that Kirigan straightens. The sudden lack of contact leaves me cold. I shouldn't be thinking of him. Of his touch. “I’m curious,” he draws out each syllable, delighting in my nerves, “Would you bear his punishment?” 

I’m not sure. I hate that. I haven’t known Arthur for that long, and while he’s kind, he also seems to see all women as replaceable. That isn’t reason for him to endure Kirigan’s punishment but I don’t know him well enough to just blindly agree to that. I loathe myself for not being noble enough to take Arthur’s punishment instantly. 

“What kind of punishment?” 

Kirigan’s expression twists into a greedy smile. He pushes me back easily, pressing me into the wall with more confidence than ever. I’m silent in my confusion until he presses himself against me and I feel something hard and bulging press into where I’m neediest. I stifle a gasp of surprise and something similar to pleasure. “I’m sure I could think of something for you.” I’d care more about my confusion if hot need wasn’t flooding my thoughts and my body with undeniable desperation. “I haven’t even spoken to him.” I exhale, untrusting relief desperate to escape me. Kirigan is quick to lean forward, lips brushing my ear as he prepares to whisper. “I’m more likely to harm him because he has your favor than anything else.”

Warmth burns my face. “He doesn’t--he’s not exactly the one that holds my favor.”

The heat of his breath adds to my burning as he presses his bulge into my core again. “And who does?” 

I’m not sure what he considers favor, but if it has anything to do with wanting he wins. But he can never know that. “There are some contenders, but no one yet.” 

His hand moves off my hip and nears my throat. “Would it be too bold to assume I’m on the short list?”

He’s two steps away from taking me in an open hallway, I doubt he finds much bold. “Do you want to be?” 

Kirigan’s hand tightens on my throat. “I’ve made it clear from the beginning what I want.” His words are lethal and each syllable has him restricting my airflow a little more. Something in me must be broken because my neediness only worsens. “I brought you here because I see all that you could be. Forget being a Saint, we could be gods.” The sentiment is so raw it’s almost harder to bear than his tight grip on my neck. He leans close again, his scent only adding to my budding lightheadedness. “Say the word, and I could have you praising me like I’m already a god.” My stomach knots in both nerves and insatiable hunger. “Though I’m the one that would be doing the worshipping.” 

My resolve is shattered, leaving me broken and twisting. He releases his hold on my neck in order to move his hand beneath my chin. There is nothing gentle about the way he jerks my head forward, forcing me to look into his eyes. Something about the look he gives me has me melting. His eyes are searching for something in me.

He must find whatever he’s looking for because I feel his touch against my heat, fingers pressing against fabric. I bite my lip on instinct, suppressing the sound of my undoing. Kirigan’s eyes never leave mine as the hand on my chin moves to brush against my bottom lip. 

“I can only give you what you want if you tell me what that is.” 

He exhales slowly, pressing his thumb against my lip downwards. My mouth parts on instinct, something that he takes well. His thumb enters my mouth slowly, taking in my reaction as I taste his skin on my tongue. Kirigan pulls his thumb away from my tongue slowly, a thin string of saliva connecting him to my mouth. With one swift tug, his free hand pulls the only fabric separating him from where I want him most down my thighs. His expression reveals nothing as his thumb, still wet with my saliva, is pressed against my core. His touch teases my clit, just barely brushing where I need him most. The whine that escapes me is so desperate I’m ashamed I can’t help it. 

“So wet already,” his appraisal is gentle, the praise whispered against my throat as his lips brush against my neck. “So wet, so needy that you’d let me take you in this hallway and I’ve hardly touched you.” His finger presses further into me. I let out another pathetic breath. “A pity, someone like you--so painfully under cared for.” I’m reduced to nothing by his words and touch. “What I’d give to undue you here, against the wall--I’d have you crying so loudly everyone would know that I’ve claimed you, that I’ve made you mine.” Before I can reflect on his words, he steps back, pulling my underwear back up as quickly as he yanked it down. 

I let out an instinctual whine. My hand moves to his arm, grabbing him like he’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth. “What--” 

Kirigan squeezes my hand, a predator’s smile on his lips. “I want to feel all of you,” his hand squeezes my hip, “I can’t exactly do that against a wall, dove of mine,” he leans forward, lips brushing against my jaw in a way that leaves me chilled and melting at the same time, “At least not the first time.” 

His whisper forces my breathing to hitch, a fact that he notices with an amused look as his thumb brushes against my collar. Kirigan pulls me away from the wall easily. Even the causal touch feels electric against my skin. 

The walk towards my room is tense, his hands never leaving me as if he’s aware of how necessary it is to keep me distracted to ward off my better sense. When we reach my door, Kirigan opens it like it’s his. Entitled. Typical. 

I step into the room, his touch lingering on my arm. A brief shyness pushes itself into my chest. I had let Kirigan touch me in a public space and lead me back to my room. The door closes. I don’t turn. 

Kirigan’s hand squeezes my shoulder. “Shy, now?” His question is teasing, rekindling the fire beneath my skin as he places an open mouth kiss on my neck. He plays with the thin strap of my nightgown, pushing it off my shoulder. He kisses down my neck, collarbone, and shoulder. My inhibitions are melted away again. “When your breathing stalls like that,” his whisper is enough to elicit a desperate shudder, “I am left desperate.” 

He leans forward, mouth trailing down my chest, coming dangerously close to my breasts. The electric current of his touch is all consuming and addicting. I press my back into his chest. His hands are the opposite of shy, touching me everywhere except where I’m most desperate. Kirigan’s hand places itself between my thighs, using his thumb to tease my entrance. I let out a needy sound. And then he retracts his hand, grabbing my shoulders and turning me in one swift motion. 

“Kirigan.” 

His eyes are dark, clouded by something I don’t understand but am too aware that I reciprocate. “Tell me that I have your favor.” His words are taut, bordering on snapping. Kirigan’s grip on me tightens hard enough to bruise, an assertive need taking over him. “That you want me.”

Desire, pride, and rationality twist in my stomach, leaving me too distracted to form words. My gaze drops to the ground on instinct, something Kirigan clearly finds unacceptable because he’s quick to grab my chin and force my eyes to meet his. 

I swallow once, courage withering beneath the look in his eyes. It’s as twisted as a spindling shadow, but the look is fierce admirational, appreciation so deep I could drown in it. It scares and consols me all at once. “I want you.” There’s something pained about such powerful emotion. I loathe and am empowered by it all at once. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.” The words leave my throat scorching with their sincerity. 

As soon as the words leave me, he’s closing the distance between us, the slightest exhale of tension leaving his lips before they meet mine, prepared to devour me. I reciprocate his actions on instinct alone. There is no hesitation, no space, and yet it is not enough. Not enough and yet I don’t know how to be closer. But Kirigan does. One of his hands cup my cheek, coaxing me towards him as if I could possibly have the will to leave him. He steps forward, guiding me to step back. I obey fluidly until I feel something hit the back of my legs. It’d startle me if I wasn’t so consumed by his touch.

His mouth begins to move away from my skin. I chase after him, desperate to keep him touching me. He stops me by placing a hand on my shoulder, a warning about my neediness. I pout, but as he studies me I pant. Maybe the excuse for air was a good idea. I don’t fight the uneasiness of my breathing as I hold Kirigan’s gaze. He regards me with a patience I consider unbearable, taking in the determined look in his eyes, my swollen lips, disheveled hair, and the top of my night gown that’s half falling off. 

It’s in this moment I realize how much more vulnerable than him I am. 

If Kirigan notices any shift in me, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he adjusts his hand on my cheek, his thumb brushing the hot skin gently. “You are everything.” His voice is cracking glass. “Everything that’s good, at least.” 

Maybe he did notice my initial reaction because I am no longer certain that I am the one that’s most vulnerable. “You’re better than you think.” I only say this because it would only weigh on me more to stay silent. “I see it and you don’t want me to.” 

His hand continues to stroke my cheek. “I want you to see all of me.” The heavy beating of my heart seems to stall in my chest. Kirigan drops his hand before grasping the hem of my nightgown. He pulls the fabric upwards easily, bundling the fabric above my hip. “I want you to…” He exhales flatly, pulling the fabric upwards even more. Nerves flood my stomach as he leans towards me, kissing down my jaw. “To know me,” he whispers against my throat.

I am nothing but uneven breaths as he mouth moves down my chest, stalling only once he’s reached my breasts. He pushes me forward easily, guiding me so that I’m laying on my bed. He’s quick to move over me, kissing up my neck as he adjusts so that I’m against the headboard.

When he pulls away again, I’m left pouting. He grins, fueled by my disappointment. “Don’t worry,” he breathes, fingers hooking around the waistband of my underwear before tugging it down my legs easily, “I’m nowhere near done with you yet.” 

Being so exposed has my doubts flooding back, but Kirigan is quick to fight against my instincts in a way only he seems capable of. He squeezes the inside of my upper thigh before leaning down, pressing his mouth onto the skin his fingers just touched. His kisses here are meant to leave me even more desperate, each nip and fleeting pass of his tongue is lazy yet intentional. I am incapable of doing else besides letting out pathetic whines. 

He ignores where I need him most, kissing up my thigh, across my lower stomach, and then down my other thigh. Kirigan continues the pattern across my skin, ignoring any pleas I swallow my pride to give. He is not rushed by my words or cries or the occasional desperate adjustment of my hips. 

Kirigan lifts his head slightly, releasing my inner thigh with an obscene ‘pop’. “Patience.” His fingers trail up my thigh and over my core, teasing my entrance with his lithe fingers. “Unless you’re ready to beg?” 

It’s a challenge, like everything else. The urge to give him my pride to satisfy the electric desire I’m not sure I’m capable of bearing. But then I note his tense hold on my thigh. A sign of restraint, of want. 

“And if I want you to beg for me?” I don’t know where the words come from, but they charge the room with potential. 

Something strange crosses his fingers before his lips tilt upwards in a dark way. “Would you like the strength of that? To have someone like me powerless before you?” My face warms. Kirigan leaves a lingering kiss on my thigh before he moves off the bed. I sigh at the loss of contact, but my tired neediness stalls at the sound of his belt coming undone. “I want to see you on your knees.” I sit up carelessly, desperate to obey him. I’m kneeling in front of him in an instant, taking in his length. The size of it has me gaping. “Open your mouth.” 

I take the order more eagerly than I should, but I make no move to take him. This is just another challenge. I keep my eyes on his as I stick my tongue out before licking the bottom of his member all the way up to his tip. The sound he lets out is pure sin. I lick his tip slowly, each motion of my tongue is strategic as I finally place him in my mouth. I hollow my cheeks, moving up and down slowly. 

The pace is not enough for him, he grips my hair from my scalp as he thrusts into my mouth. The motion is more powerful than I expected and I am left unable to breathe. My slight gag does the opposite of discourage him, he repeats the motion again and again, pushing himself into me until I can feel him in my throat. 

The sounds he lets out are a chorus to me, but it’s not enough. I need more control, I need a way to make him beg. I raise a hand, wrapping it around the base that I cannot fit into my mouth. I stroke him once slowly, making a point as I try to push myself back in order to make him want me more. 

He groans again. I make a point of pushing myself off of him. Precum protrudes his tip. I lick it off of him slowly. I lick up and down his member in the smallest way possible. 

“Y/n,” the restraint in his voice fuels my teasing, “Tease me and you’ll still be overwhelmed by want when the sun rises.” 

A pout tugs at my lips before I open my mouth again, taking Kirigan to my limit. He lets me set the pace of my bobs at first, but then he becomes desperate, holding me in place by the roots of my hair as he moans and thrusts into me without restraint. He ignores my choking as he continues until he throws his head back, letting out a quick praise of my name.

He finishes in my mouth and I swallow all he offers me greedly. I back off my knees slowly, throat burning as his member leaves my mouth. “On the bed.” He’s turned into something insatiable. “Now.” 

I move back to my bed, laying in the same position as before. He takes his time approaching me. When he finally gets to me, he kisses my thighs easily. I let out a small breath before something that’s pure pleasure meets my core. His tongue laps upwards lazily, grazing my clit but not quite touching it.  My hips thrust towards his face, but with hand he holds me down. A coil in my stomach continues to build as he angles himself more purposefully, tongue finally taking care of my clit. My gasps become less and less reasonable as he continues to lap at all that my body has to offer. The coil tightens, I see stars--and then, like cruelty personified, he pulls away. His absence leaves me ready to cry out. 

My desperation only fuels Kirigan as he lines himself with my entrance. Concern twists my stomach as I consider how full my mouth felt when he was in me. I expect some level of warning, but he thrusts into me with no warning. I let out a pathetic cry, but that means nothing to him as he pulls out just to thrust into me with full force again.

“Only I can hurt you,” he demands, thrusting into me as I call out his name. My eyes water at the sensation of such fullness, pleasure and pain combining themselves in a way that leaves me incapable of thought. “Your tears,” he muses, one hand moving to wipe at a tear rolling down my cheek, “Are mine.” 

His thrusts become more and more brutal, less and less even. Each movement of his body in mine leaves me begging for more and less at the same time. He continues until the coil in my stomach tenses to the point of breaking. 

“Kirigan,” I manage, voice far away, “I’m going t--”

“I know,” he offers, “finish with me, dove.” His hand finds my throat, adding the slightest bit of restrained pressure. “And do not hold in your cries.” 

Two more sharp thrusts have us both finishing, calling out for each other as we try to draw out the high of our orgasms together. 

We stay intertwined like that for longer than we should, but then Kirigan stands. I envy his ability to do so. I don’t call for him even though I still don’t want to be alone here. A moment later, I hear him approach. I’m too drowsy to ask what he’s doing as a damp towel is wiped against my forehead and inner thighs. 

When he’s finished cleaning me, some raw emotion settles in my chest. “Are you leaving?” 

Kirigan hesitates. “Not if you don’t want me to.” 

I roll over, the motion leaves my body aching. Kirigan accepts my invitation, crawling beneath my sheets and adjusting our bodies so that he can rest his hand on my back. 

--

Tags: @luminous-99 @voyevoda-thejoy @voidmalfoy 

@i-padfootblack-things

 @all-art-is-quite-useless @buckverse @mandowh0re @benbarnes-supremacy

@we-love-our-bandz @fire-in-her-veinz @weirdowithnobeardo @bvudzsoo @kaque @ponyboys-sunsets @coldlilheart @granillx @dreamohlittledreamofme @sanna2020 @zaynzierulez 

@ive-died-everday-waiting-for-you @xxaerynxx @ralesera @tea-effect 

@tranquillitymoon

[itadorisgf]

Hello! I dont know if your event is already full or not because your last update was a few hours ago. If it still has a slot for one more, may i please request megumi touching you (not in a sexual way, just like platonically / romantically) to get your attention? I think this was from the first promt. Thankyou!

— fushiguro megumi + touching you to get your attention

⤷ anonymous asked: Hello! I don't know if your event is already full or not because your last update was a few hours ago. If it still has a slot for one more, may i please request megumi touching you (not in a sexual way, just like platonically / romantically) to get your attention? I think this was from the first prompt. Thank you!

note: this turned into a whole fic…the part where gumi touches you to grab your attention is rather brief, but i still hope u like this!!

ft. fushiguro megumi

warning: gn!reader, second-year!reader, fluff, blood, pre-relationship so pining!reader

⤷ the flower shop

You are going to kill Gojo-Sensei.

Your mouth flattens into a tight line, brows pinching together to form a deep crease, as your grip on your phone tightens. The bright image pulled up on the screen of your handheld device is the cause for your ire. It’s one of a series of images that Gojo-Sensei has sent to your group chat with your fellow Second-Years of Fushiguro Megumi looking worse for wear. Though the images are all rather blurry, you can clearly make out the injured state Fushiguro’s in: his uniform is dirtied and his face is scraped up with what looks like fresh blood streaming down from his hairline. You’re sure Maki will get a kick of Fushiguro getting his ass handed to him, but you’re more concerned about Fushiguro’s current physical state.

He must not be too severely injured if Gojo-Sensei is texting you Second-Years pictures of Fushiguro all beaten up. This should help alleviate your stress, but it doesn’t. Your gut still churns uncomfortably at the thought, at the image, of Fushiguro injured, seriously or not.

You exit the images to view the chat. You roll your eyes at Gojo’s text message, which accompanies the many pictures he sent of Fushiguro.

Gojo-Sensei: Look who got beat up!!!

As a teacher, he really shouldn’t sound so thrilled at the prospect of his student getting injured, but then again, Gojo-Sensei’s not exactly a respectable teacher in your eyes. Your eyes scan the rest of the messages from your classmates. Given the time difference, you would guess that Yūta is most likely busy with his day right now all the way on the other side of the world, hence his lack of response. You make a mental note to shoot him a text soon and check in on him. You know Yūta well enough to know that he’s probably running himself ragged. Toge’s in the middle of a mission right now, which only leaves Panda and Maki available to reply to Gojo-Sensei’s message.

You were correct in your assumption that Maki would be pleased with the pictures, her text asking if Gojo-Sensei managed to get a video of Fushiguro getting beat up. Panda echoes that sentiment by responding with arrows pointing upward underneath Maki’s text. Your thumbs hover over your keyboard, contemplating if you should reply or ignore the chat.

“Is Fushiguro alright?” You hit send before you can overthink and toss your phone onto your nightstand. When your phone loudly pings, you scramble in the dark to grab it, unlocking your phone to view the response. You flip onto your stomach, burying your face into your pillow with a loud muffled groan.

Maki: Aw, are you worried about your lover boy?

You should’ve never confided in Maki about your small crush on Fushiguro. Well, it’s not like you were the one to bring it up. When Maki had casually slipped into your conversation that it’s gross how much you resemble a lovesick puppy around Fushiguro, you were taken aback and attempted to refute her observation. However, your best friend knows you like the back of her hand and bluntly stated that it’s obvious you’re pining for Fushiguro. You winced when she told you that. Was it really that obvious? The pointed look she gave you in return confirmed that yes, it was that obvious. Luckily for you, Fushiguro is one of the densest people you know when it comes to the realm of romance so to your knowledge, he’s still completely clueless to your feelings.

Your classmates all know of your feelings for the First-Year, but they don’t meddle in your love life. The most they do is tease you or give you knowing looks, which you brush off as quickly as you can while you try to rein in the resulting heat that floods your face. No, it’s not your classmates you have to worry about. It’s your idiot of a Sensei who has nothing better to do with his life than to concern himself with his students’ love lives despite being the strongest Sorcerer there is. If you could, you’d sock him right in the gut for the number of times he’s attempted to push you and Fushiguro together. The awkwardness that came from those experiences still makes you want to crawl into a hole whenever you think about it for too long.

The vibration of your phone in your hand draws you out of your thoughts. You grimace when you read the text message.

Gojo-Sensei: Don’t worry!!!! Your lover boy is alright, but I bet he’d feel better if you checked in on him. ;)

You can clearly envision Gojo-Sensei’s glee on the other end of the phone. The man feeds off of embarrassing his students. You opt not to respond anymore, clicking out of the application and turning off your phone. Gently placing your phone onto your night stand, you tug your comforter up to your chin and close your eyes for the night.

Perhaps, you will check in on Fushiguro later.

“Oi, quit zoning out.”

You groan in pain when Maki sharply jabs you in the stomach with the end of her wooden bo staff. She gives you an unamused look when you toss a harsh glare her way.

“I’m not zoning out,” you mutter, readjusting your grip on your respective staff to continue the light sparring session you and Maki are engaging in. She doesn’t bother to restrain herself from rolling her eyes as she counters your strike, easily knocking your staff out of your hands. You’re quick in your attempt to grab your staff again, but Maki cleanly sweeps your legs out from under you, sending you crashing face first in the dirt.

“Right, and Mai and I have a wonderful relationship,” She sarcastically says, digging one end of her bo staff into the ground and leaning her weight against it. “He’s fine, you know? You shouldn’t worry so much about him. You should be more worried about me kicking your ass.”

You loudly whine when Maki brings him up and flop onto your back to gaze up at her. “Who said I’m worried about Fushiguro?” You childishly huff, propping yourself up and leaning back onto your forearms. Your expression scrunches up in distaste as dirt uncomfortably sticks to your sweaty skin.

Though you’re attempting to deny it, of course, you’re worried about Fushiguro. Although Maki already knows how you feel about the First-Year, you’d rather skirt around the subject and pretend that you’re much better at hiding your emotions than you actually are.

“Who said anything about Fushiguro?” Maki innocently cocks a brow, but smirks to herself as you murmur a low fuck underneath your breath. Damn, you walked right into that one.

“I hate you, you know that?” You deadpan, staring straight into Maki’s eyes.

“Yeah, I hate you too.”

The corner of your lips twitch up into a hint of grin as Maki offers you a hand, pulling you up onto your feet.

You wrap up your training session not long after that since Maki claimed that she didn’t see the point in continuing to spar if you’re not going to give it your all. “There’s no fun in beating someone over and over again,” she sighed as you were knocked to the ground for what felt like the hundredth time that day. You gave her a half-hearted glare in response to that comment.

Freshly showered, you’re now lounging on one of the benches placed near the dorms, occupying your time by scrolling through social media. You try to convince yourself that you’re hanging around outside because you want to enjoy how nice the day is, but you, and everyone else, know better. Fushiguro, and presumably Gojo-Sensei, should be coming back from their mission soon. Although you know that Fushiguro wasn’t seriously injured, you also know that the tight coil of worry in your stomach won’t go away until you see it with your own eyes that Fushiguro is, indeed, okay.

“Senpai?” The sudden noise startles you and you scramble to sit up straight. You unconsciously smooth out the creases in your clothing as you meet the eyes of the person who called you.

“Fushiguro,” you breathe out, relief heavily laced in your voice. You push yourself off the bench to stand on your feet and quickly scan his form for injuries, brows furrowing when you see the numerous bandages littering his face. It’s only when Fushiguro shifts underneath your intense gaze that you realize how long you must have spent staring at his face. Great, now he’s going to think you’re some sort of creep, you think to yourself. “H-how are you feeling?”

You internally wince at your slight fumbling over your words. You’re just glad nobody else is around to witness this encounter, Gojo-Sensei and Maki would find way too much delight in your distress.

Fushiguro brings a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. A hint of redness seeps out from underneath his bandages, staining his cheeks, as he reflects on how badly his simple retrieval mission turned out. He’ll leave it up to Gojo-Sensei to explain to your class about Itadori and how he’s Sukuna’s new vessel. He wonders how you all will take it.

“I’m fine, Senpai,” he replies, grimacing as the pads of his fingertips run along the gauzy material of the bandage firmly wrapped around his head. Heat floods his cheeks when he looks up to see the genuine concern in your expression. Fushiguro’s thankful that the bandage on his cheek manages to partially conceal the flush of his skin. “Really.” He adds on for extra emphasis. You still look unconvinced, but you nod along as if you actually believe Fushiguro’s words.

“Well, that’s a relief. I was worried about you when Gojo-Sensei sent us those pictures of you all bloodied up,” you say with a sheepish grin.

“You were worried about me?” Fushiguro questions with a slight raise of his brow.

Oh fuck. For a moment, you say nothing: frozen completely still as your brain attempts to process the fact that you just told Fushiguro, to his face, that you were concerned about his well-being. Maybe, he’d interpret your words in a friendly way. Perhaps, he would think that you were just being a good upperclassman and looking out for him. If you were lucky, Fushiguro would think nothing of your comment.

“Senpai?” A sudden weight on your shoulder pulls you out of your internal panicking. Fushiguro’s hand lightly rests on your shoulder as a concerned expression lies on his face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Fushiguro,” you assure him. There’s still a slight frown in place, crinkling the bandage stuck on the corner of Fushiguro’s mouth. You inhale deeply in order to muster up as much courage as you can for what you’re going to do next. “I promise.” Your voice softens as you gently place your palm over the back of Fushiguro’s hand.

Fushiguro stills underneath your touch and you have to restrain yourself from giggling at the intense redness that floods his cheeks. His flush deepens even more when you find yourself unable to completely suppress your amusement, your quiet laughter filling the air. He’s quick to draw his hand off of your shoulder to rest by his side.

“Good. I’m going to go rest in my dorm now. See you later, Senpai.” His words nearly slur together with how fast Fushiguro spits them out. You don’t even have the opportunity to say goodbye in return as Fushiguro swiftly turns around and rushes inside of the dorm building.

He’s awfully cute when he’s flustered, you muse. A silly grin crosses your face unconsciously as you attempt to sear the image of Fushiguro blushing into your memory. Maybe, your feelings aren’t as unrequited as you think.

“Ah, young love.”

You jolt, spinning around to face the owner of the voice. Your grin falls as soon as you make eye contact with the individual.

“Gojo-Sensei,” you deadpan. Your brow twitches in annoyance at his elated expression. Knowing him, he probably eavesdropped on your entire conversation with Fushiguro. “If you took any pictures or videos, I am going to kill you.”

His grin only widens at that.

“Too late.”

[lieutenant-simp]

Protecting You Is All I know How To Do

Shield Powered Reader x Wanda Maximoff

Warning: Mentions of childhood trauma, beatings, injuries. Angst. Little fluff at end. 

Request: YES :))))

Summary: Protecting Wanda was all you knew, she was your rock and you were hers. 

Not my Gif

A/N: This is my first request, so this is a big deal! This was not proofread but I really enjoyed writing this. 

Words: 1,508

Your powers were the cause of all your problems, the damage to your health, to your head, the trauma they caused you never wanted to use them. When you first got to HYDRA, you were taken, no given. Your parents trusted some men in suits because they were too messed up to care about anyone but themselves. They wanted money, power and the men promised everything and more to them. You don't know what happened to them after you left, but you hope whatever it was, was worse than anything you'd been subjected to. 

Every day, like clockwork, you were taken to a small dark room, had serum after serum injected into you. Test after test to see what happened to you, nothing worked, until it did. You were upset, you were tired of them beating you, they blamed you for their serums not working, and you just put your hands out. They were blasted to the other side of the room, the force from your shield launching them back. Once again, they blamed you for not finding out your powers sooner. All your tests came back normal, and they didn't know which serum made you this way. The beatings only got worse from there. 

Now that you had powers, you were bound, you didn't want to cooperate. You became numb, numb from the pain. They beat you no matter what. No matter if you cooperated or not. All you could do than pass the time was to be in your head. It was your safe place. When you were subjected to their beatings, you went inside your head to distract yourself. You never felt alone there. You had imagined a new life, one with your parents, what might've happened if they weren't such deadbeats. You imagined love. You imagined anything and everything. Your head was the place that made you sane. 

"Hey, I hear your thoughts are you there?” You hear a voice in your head, you look around your room. The men had already left, where was it coming from. You laugh, you're finally going crazy from being alone. “I am your cellmate, I can hear you, you're not crazy”

“You can hear me? How?” You were definitely crazy now. There was no one here. 

“I have powers, I can read and communicate with others in my mind.” Ah, that makes sense, you were alone in the corridor, clearly, it was made for those with powers, and you were the first successful one and now they had found another. 

“How long have you been here?” You heard her sigh inside your mind, “I just got here, my parents, they uh, they passed away recently and well turns out twin orphans with powers travels around,” You sympathize with her, you want her to not feel alone anymore. She was the only one you had anymore. 

“You have a twin?” You hear her laugh, “Yeah, he’s like me, he has powers too, but he can’t read minds. Do you have powers?” You hesitate to open up to her, afraid of everyone but she seems comfortable, at least in your head, you are relaxed, you’re not afraid. 

Quickly you became friends, her name was Wanda, and she told you about her family. Her twin brother, you could talk to through Wanda, he was nice, witty, and he also became your friend. She would tell you often about her life before HYDRA. You both had created plans, plans to escape, plans for what you'd do after you got out, but you never followed through. Sometimes it was nice to wonder. Wanda was your age, young, and she was new. You once heard her cry about the same men that tortured you. To escape the beatings from them, you'd create a shield surrounding her. She told you when they came in, and you had shared the world inside your head with her to go to, it kept her distracted. When they saw the shield, it would distract them from her as they would march over to you and hurt you instead. You needed Wanda, she was your friend, your closest friend. After some time you would do the same with her brother.

You still despised using your powers, you could've easily used them to shield yourself instead, but you couldn't. You were scared of them, but Wanda and her brother needed you, they needed you to protect them. 

After Ultron, when Pietro died, you were crushed. Your job was to protect the twins. Thankfully Wanda was okay, You felt as if your purpose was to protect them, and you failed. Wanda leaned on you, and you leaned on her. His death wasn't easy on either of you. 

You join the Avengers the same time Wanda did, you didn't want to leave her side and she didn't want you to leave hers. You both still communicated inside your head, it was a comfort you both could only get from each other. When you went on missions you both were paired together, you protected her. You didn't give a damn about what happened to you, but the first time you were injured, changed your perspective. 

Wanda was in the waiting room, waiting for you to come out of surgery, the bullet was lodged in your stomach. Wanda needed you, as much as you need her. She loved you, she always had. She had a crush on you the moment she talked to you. You, on the other hand, had never really got to experience those emotions, you had pushed them down but you did love Wanda too. You were her rock, her protector. A tough egg to crack to everyone else, but to her, you were soft. You held her when she cried, and she would hold you. Your rooms were next to each other, but you usually ended up sleeping in the same room.

When you were ready to receive visitors, she was there in an instant. She held your hand and waited, prayed for you to wake up. And you did. You woke up to her hand in yours. You opened your eyes to see a scratch on her head. You reached over a brushed your hand against it. She looked at you softly, a small smile on her face, her eyes full of tears. You could tell by the look on her face, the injury took a toll on her, it caused her pain. The pain you tried every day to avoid, to help her with.

You realized, to protect her you had to protect yourself. How were you supposed to help her if you were dead or unconscious or just unable to. You didn't want to lose her, she's already lost so much. You knew she could probably hear you because squeezed your hand softly, before you hear her soft voice inside your head. 

"I need you moya lyubov, I need you here with me" You smile at her softly, your hand reaching up to hold her face, your thumb drawing lazy circles across her skin. Your actions say all the words you can’t say. "Can I ask you a question printsessa," you nod your head, "Why me?" You obviously look confused because she continues, "Every time on missions, I am the only one unharmed, the others, they have bruises and black eyes. We both know how many gunshot wounds have been had between all of them. I don't get that experience, you only use your powers to protect me." You think for a minute pondering, you didn't protect the others. They chalked it up to you both knowing each other longer. But you look at your interlocked hands, you thought of the way your heart raced with Wanda. You loved her, the realization hit you like a truck. 

"Because I love you Wands, I always have. I can't stand seeing you hurt if I could do something about it." You look up at her, no words had to be spoken as she leaned in and kissed you. Your hand stayed at her face as she pulled you closer. The kiss said a lot of words between you two, years of love that has been saved between you. 

-

Its been two years since that day, you and Wanda have decided to move in together a few months after that. But today is your anniversary. This day 2 years ago, you asked Wanda to be your girlfriend. You had asked Nat for help then, and you're asking Nat now. 

“Please Nat, you know her so well, do I get this ring,” You paused to show her a picture before showing her another one a moment later, “or this one?” You heard her sigh.

“Y/N, you have been dating for a couple years, and have known each other countless before that, you know her better than me!” You sigh, she's right but that didn't make your decision easier. 

“I just want this to be perfect Nat, it's not every day you ask the love of your life to marry you.”

[spectral-musette]

Hey! I hope you’re feeling better :) Could you do some older Obi Wan and Satine in an AU where they both live, The Emperor doesn’t get away with his craziness and we just have a happy Obitine living out the rest of their lives? :’)

Hey Anon, we all love some happiness AU now and then.<3 I wasn't sure if you meant fic or art, so I did a little bit of both? (And by "older" i wasn't sure if you meant like "transforming into Alec Guinness" older, but the ficlet (~1500 words) ended up set just a few years after the end of the war.)

. . . . .

“So early?”

The sun hadn’t yet risen above the jagged Coruscant skyline, and the pink morning light softly illuminated the room as the city lights began to wink off. Satine pushed her hair out of her face to better observe the lovely man sitting up next to her in her bed, bare-chested and lightly freckled, his own hair charmingly disarrayed as well.

He bent, kissing her temple, his beard soft against her cheek.

“I promised Cin I’d lead a saber workshop this morning.”

Satine rolled onto her back, reaching up to smooth his hair as he straightened. “Then I shan’t try to entice you to stay. Since you gave your word.”

“Your very existence entices me to stay,” he countered, smiling a little. “Always.”

“Oh, very nice. Early morning flattery.”

“Genuine,” he protested, making a show of looking wounded.

“Always?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow at him. “That’s a bit difficult to swallow in light of your 15 year absence from my company.”

“Believe me, I was very enticed,” he promised, kissing her again.

“You might have to convince me. But later, I suppose.” She heaved a sigh.

“I can probably get away in time for a late brunch,” he offered.

She shook her head slightly, pushing herself up reluctantly from her comfortable nest of pillows. “Padme wants me in a meeting at midday.”

“And the Chancellor must be obeyed.”

“Well. This one, anyway,” Satine said, with a twist of a wry smile. She meant no offense to Padme’s direct predecessor in the office, the Prince of Alderaan, but, even all these years later, they all still lived in the shadow of what Palpatine had nearly done to the Republic.

“I’ll see you this evening, then.” He pulled his undertunic on over his head, and Satine smoothed his hair again.

“I suppose, compared to 15 years, that’s not so long to wait.”

“It will feel like an eternity, I assure you.” He gathered her into his arms.

“If you keep that up, you’re going to be late. And what will you tell all those impressionable padawans if they ask what kept you?”

“They wouldn’t dare. My dear Satine, our relationship is the absolute worst kept secret in the Jedi Temple.”

“Worse than Padme and Anakin’s?”

“At this point, I think so. The arrival of the twins rather disqualified them from ‘secret’ status.”

“How is the new training system working out?”

“What, letting the Skywalkers go home with their father at the end of the day? It certainly hasn’t seemed to impede their progress compared to their peers. A few other families are trying it as well. A couple from Lothal just brought their son to us on a similar schedule and will be living on Coruscant for a few years at least.”

“I’m looking forward to learning about the process in great and personal detail when we are also no longer able to maintain the pretense of secrecy.”

He hitched up her chemise, resting a hand against the large scar below her sternum, pale even in comparison to her fair skin. If it hadn’t been for her long recovery from the damage to her spine, the Skywalker twins might already have a playmate. As it was, it was only about a year since she’d been healthy enough to consider trying to conceive.

“As am I,” he promised, his touch tender as he settled his hands on her waist and kissed her forehead.

“It does seem strange to watch the Jedi Order bend,” she pointed out when he picked up his outer tunic from the floor. She wasn’t above goading him a little, now and then.

He shook his head, taking it serenely, as usual. “We do change. It usually takes a bit more time, but with our ranks so thinned by the casualties of the war, relaxing the requirements for initiates only makes sense.”

“And ignoring the amorous exploits of Jedi Knights so that they make more initiates?” She ran her fingertips lightly over his face, leaving a lingering touch on his mouth.

“We more or less always did that.” He kissed her hand.

“I recall being a bit more discreet in the past.”

“That was for your sake, not mine,” he pointed out. “I might’ve had some official censure for being indiscreet, but I expect most of my cohorts were more likely to congratulate me on having the good fortune of catching your eye.”

“Well, the Mandalorians couldn’t deny that you’re handsome and a fine warrior, but, indeed, the situation would’ve been rather disagreeable at home if we’d been exposed, at the time,” she agreed.

“Do you miss it?” he asked softly.

“What, the ugly, hateful rhetoric and death threats from Mandalorian extremists?”

He shook his head. “Home. Sundari. Mandalore.”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “Bo is doing well, though. She’s wiser than she used to be. Sometimes I wonder if it shouldn’t have always been her on the throne.”

“She’s ruling what you rebuilt. Do you think there would’ve been anything left if it had always been her?”

“More flattery.”

“Also genuine.”

“I like that you think that, anyway,” she admitted. “Hadn’t you better go?” she asked, regretful.

“I could skip breakfast,” he offered, leaning in to kiss her neck.

“And go to teach while you’re hungry and cross? I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she countered, giggling a little.

“I would not be cross,” he denied.

“Well, not at first. Anyway, I like that you suggested it, but you’d better not.”

“Actually,” he said, drawing back and giving her a twist of a smile. “There’s plenty of time. Workshop’s not till midmorning.”

“Then why all this pretense of getting dressed?” she demanded, indignant.

“One doesn’t like to assume. You might’ve wanted to go back to sleep.”

“My dear Obi-Wan, when have I ever preferred to go to back to sleep rather than…”

She didn’t have time to finish her sentence before he kissed her deeply.

. . . . .

(Evening...)

. . . . .

Satine wrapped her arms around his chest, nuzzling against him until he suddenly winced, breath hissing between his teeth.

“Old injury or new?” she asked, stepping back and looking him over critically.

“New. Nothing serious, I just think I overdid it at the saber workshop today.”

She circled him, running her hands over his shoulders.

“You’re all in knots,” she scolded. “Get your tunics off. Do you think you pulled something?”

He moved to oblige, flinching again. "I hope it's just a muscle cramp."

“Oh, let me.” She nudged his shoulder so that he turned to face her again, then ran her hands along the familiar lines of his tabard down to his waist, working at the fastening of his belt. “I don’t see why you didn’t go see the Healers.”

“It only just started to really trouble me.”

“Is that entirely honest?”

“You mean, I didn’t want to give some young upstart the satisfaction of saying he’d sent Master Kenobi to see the Healers? You think I’m that vain?” he asked, as she proceeded with divesting him of his tunics. He could afford a little vanity, she reflected, admiring the graceful lines of musculature of his lean form and leaning to plant a light kiss between his collar bones.

“I think you are… mindful of your reputation.” She couldn’t help smiling a little.

He snorted softly. “Perhaps I am … a little vain.”

“So who can I blame for this injury?”

“Me. Showing off,” he confessed. “I could’ve just held my ground, but I gave it a little flourish to make it a good show. I ought to have known I was getting too old for that sort of thing.”

“And did you win?”

“This time.”

“I understand that you enjoy teaching these workshops, but I don’t see why it has end up in an all out duel against opponents half your age.” She pulled him down to the bed with her, running her hands over his back carefully to gauge the sore spots.

“Is that meant to suggest that they have the unfair advantage or I do?” He rolled his shoulders under her touch as she started the massage.

“I’m sure both are true, in different ways.”

“Very diplomatic,” he assured her. “I suppose they want to test their mettle. I know I did, at their age.”

“And did you challenge the reigning swordmasters?”

“Certainly. And got soundly trounced for my trouble.”

“And now it is your duty to do the trouncing?"

“It is.”

“Can’t you leave it to Anakin?”

“Anakin does his share.”

“So who was it that almost beat you?”

“Young Dume. Depa’s apprentice.”

“Yes, I met him when he escorted Senator Syndulla’s daughter to the Chancellor’s office. He seemed like a sweet boy, I suppose I can forgive him.”

“Don’t be so quick to pardon. One of these days, he’ll win. Or Suduri will, or half a dozen others.”

“And then will you go see the Healers?”

“Why would I need to, when I can get such fine care here?”

She shook her head even as she smiled, leaning down to kiss the back of his neck.

[ura-writes]

Trampolinist

Summary - You’re a player who jumps from server to server, often revisiting several and always trying to find access to new ones. When a victorious game of duos Skywars on Hypixel wins you an invitation to one of the most famous yet exclusive servers in the community, you find a world you never knew existed, allies you’re not certain you can trust, and enemies that may not be just that. Oh, yeah, and an anarchist piglin hybrid.

(c!technoblade/server jumper!reader)

Basic warnings: minor blood, swearing, light threats

A/N - hello! I decided to start this series as a result of a sporadic idea at midnight after quite an odd dream. Some information you might need:

A few select people can jump servers without using portals, and you (the reader) are one of them.

Some servers are public and some require invites. Hypixel and a lot of the other bigger servers are public, while SMPs such as the Dream SMP are private and require an invite.

Jumpers, as they are commonly referred to throughout the series, still require an invite to private servers, though some have figured out loopholes to this process and actively exploit it, earning the title of “Crashers”. You have figured it out but don’t use the ability.

The rating for this series is 14-15+, most likely including minor to graphic descriptions of blood/injuries, violence, swearing, minor manipulation and death.

There are select groups of people who hate Jumpers and actively try to perma-kill them or get them source-banned from servers, leaving them stuck in single player and isolation.

From the author:

This will be in second person.

There will be no use of Y/N or (Y/N) or anything along those lines. I understand some people use them as a descriptor, but in my opinion, it looks a bit messy/choppy.

Feel free to criticize, though don’t be super harsh.

Also gl free to point out spelling mistakes.

I love love LOVE feedback! Gimme it! Please! /lh /gen

Anyway, those are the basics that you need to know! For now, at least… hehe.

Enjoy the first part!

-ura

——

The familiar particles signalling a personal portal opening in the lobby sends a few people scattering, but most just move to the side, though there are a fair few that stay to watch the person step out of the rip in reality.

The person stumbles out, cursing the deities to high heaven, brushing dirt and sweat and even a bug off of their face, certainly looking a bit worse for wear.

This was certainly not what the audience was expecting. They were expecting a prim, proper or at least somewhat distinguished person to step out of the actively sparking spiral, as most Jumpers are that way, even just a bit.

Nope.

“What are you looking at?”

The people step back a bit, noticing the sword the person clutches in their hand.

That person is you.

“Fuck off, would you? You probably see Jumpers on the daily! Fuckin’ annoying.” you grumble, sheathing the sword at your side. “Fuck… is this Hypixel?”

With a cursory sweep of the attire of the people surrounding you and buildings towering over everyone, you determine that yes, it is, in fact, Hypixel.

Of course, that may have also been the big-ass sign in the sky with the server’s name on it. That too.

With a sigh and a wave of your hand, you pull your inventory up. The typical “please place your personal belongings in a safe place before playing a match, otherwise they may be wiped.” message pops up when you do. You huff, wave your fingers to dismiss the text. Not like you’ve been here a hundred thousand times or anything like that.

The Netherite blade at your side, your armor and any sentimental belongings you have on you go straight into your enderchest, categorized in one of the shulker boxes designated specifically for this purpose.

As you walk along, trying to sort your inventory out (fortunately the server provides a free repair and replace to anyone’s clothing, as yours are beaten pretty much beyond self-help), deciding what match you might want to play, the crowd that was surrounding you quickly scurries off with a few screams.

A quick glance upwards catches your gaze on a red and white nametag.

Huh. Don’t see those often.

Whispers of the name you can’t quite see from where you stand rapidly reach your ears, ringing with slight familiarity.

Dream.

Odd. The masked man doesn’t often come onto public servers, mainly sticking to his own private server, named after him. The Dream SMP. How egotistical.

Without another glance towards the fan-people, you select a game idly. The blue text pops up in front of you, confirming your want to play the match.

Skywars Duos.

Before you know it, you’re whisked off to the arena, a bit dizzy from your landing, but fine nonetheless. The timer for the start slowly counts down, ticking slowly as people pop into existence with increasing frequency.

A presence behind you alerts you to your teammate. You nod at them just as the beeping of the final ten seconds counts down.

After a few repeated sessions, most being losses, you decide on one more match before you head to a tavern for the night, preferably one with a view.

This time you’re the second one to arrive. And for once, you take a longer look at your teammate.

He’s the guy everyone was freaking out about a few hours earlier… what was his name again? Dr-something. Or was it a Tr-something? Ah, who knows. It doesn’t matter as long as he’s good. You don’t bother to look at his nametag; he’s probably just some hotshot who thinks he’s all that.

“Not going to freak out?” he asks you. You snort at the question, shaking your head with a glance at the timer.

“Just here to kick ass.”

“Fair enough,” he replies. “You any good?”

A laugh from you echoes as the beeping of the countdown starts.

“We’ll see.”

The barrier below you drops, sending you hurtling to the floating island below. You quickly hit the ground, rolling into a crouch while your teammate raids the chest beside you, tossing a few bits of armor and a stone axe as well as a golden apple, which you catch and nod gratefully.

The hood on his head drops when another player attempts to take him out of the game. He ducks, barely avoiding the glimmer of the enchanted sword, sweeping her legs out from under her. The enemy player narrowly rolls out of the way with her shield being knocked out of her hands into the dark blue void below the floating island.

She curses loudly as his axe lands beside her head, kicking it to the side.

In that moment, you shove her hard off of the crumbling stone, jabbing your axe in her shoulder for final measure. Her falling figure flashes red with the loss of hearts, and eventually, she disintegrates into dust, the announcement of her tag being eliminated in the chat making you smirk.

“Well, you are good.”

You send him a smirk and collect the spoils of your kill, mostly a few potions and the iron blade, tossing a few of the former to your teammate and splashing a speed potion on yourself.

With practiced movements you begin to build to the middle islands, your teammate throwing the occasional snowball at any approaching enemy players, even knocking one off their bridge. The message of their death rings in the chat, being the fifth elimination.

The chests there contain better loot, even a diamond sword and chestplate, a strength II potion and a Power I bow with fifteen arrows. You take the bow and chestplate (with permission from your teammate, who gladly takes the sword and potion) and book it to the center chests, almost laughing at the amount of snowballs and arrows lying there.

“Well, I’m not complaining,” you muse.

You hear a yell of your tag, quickly spinning around to block the swing of an enchanted axe, their teammate quickly turning to gang up on you after finishing off another person.

Great. You’re fighting two people now.

Swing, duck, dodge, swipe, duck, swipe, block—shit, you got stabbed! Two hearts disappear from your health bar, sending a flurry of curses flying from your lips.

But luckily, your teammate is fast enough to eliminate the weaker of the two.

The tables turn.

The clash of blades, splash of potions and grunts of pain quickly move to the edge of the center island. It’s two verses one now, and the three of you are the last competitors in the match.

Block the swing, return the blow, duck, block, dodge—

A sudden stab in your shoulder alerts you to an arrow stuck in the skin there, slowly depleting your health.

It’s merely a distraction.

The enemy player barrels into you, sending you stumbling backwards right at the edge of crumbling gravel.

Poison becomes your downfall.

The smack of another half heart.

As one last resort, you grip onto the block with one hand, the other dangling with your bow into the void. Gritting your teeth, you do your damndest to drag yourself up, the poison wreaking havoc through your body and strength.

Shit. I’m not going to survive this, am I?

The one-handed grip on your bow tightens, nocked arrow slipping between your dirt-covered fingers.

You make a decision.

Just as the enemy player comes over, smirking but low on health, you let go of the block, drawing your arrow back as you fall into the void.

The broadhead meets its mark just in time, signalling a victory with a dragon appearing underneath you right before you hit the death line. A sigh of relief escapes your lips; you direct the dragon upwards with a rush of gratefulness soaring through your body. Respawning isn’t a pleasant process.

Twenty or so seconds later, you appear back in the lobby with your teammate at your side. The lobby is nearly empty, only a few people milling around, most having traveled elsewhere or checked into a tavern or hotel.

“You’re good. We could use you on our side.”

“ ‘We’?”

Two other figures appear out of seemingly nowhere, one wearing white-rimmed black sunglasses with a blue hoodie, the other a bandana and a white hoodie with flames on the front of it.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, calling up a portal in your mind, ready to dash through it at the slightest hint of a threat. Sparks form by your palms, their signature color drawing the leader’s attention.

“Calm down. I have no interest in killing you.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” you retort. “Three versus one isn’t exactly fair y’know.” The sparks grow brighter; though they are primarily used to call up portals, they can deal quite a blow to anyone who forcefully comes into contact with them.

Dream (you now read off his nametag, getting sick of referring to him by random aliases) extends a hand in front of his body. Something hovers in it, glowing a soft white and reading something you can’t quite make out.

“It’s not going to kill you.”

Bandanna laughs at that.

“Reassuring,” you snap, taking a closer look at it.

Invitation: Dream SMP

Active?: Yes

Expires: Never

Taken aback, you sputter out a few jumbled sentences before asking why they’d invite you of all people. Sure, you may be okay at Skywars, but that doesn’t warrant an invitation to literally the most exclusive server in the network.

“Uh—what?”

You take a quick glance at the two others, noting their tags are red and white as well, reading Sapnap and Georgenotfound.

“You don’t have to accept.” Dream steps forward to set the glowing orb in your hands. “Just know that we picked you for a very good reason.

How… interesting.

“Is it ‘cause I’m an inactive Crasher?”

The three stiffen at the moniker used for the infamous Jumpers, the ones who figure out ways around the system, the lines of fate that make up the different servers, finding loopholes that not even the best Mender can. They exploit them, gaining almost god-like abilities on the server only to wreak absolute anarchy on the infrastructure until the admin can step in, if they haven’t been eliminated from the system or perma-killed already.

From what little you know about the Dream SMP, you know the admin is a god of sorts, mostly staying out of the way but occasionally fixing matters that need it. Otherwise they stay… wherever gods stay.

“No,” George pipes up. You note his accent, odd and slightly out of place, but not unpleasant. “You being a Jumper does help, however.”

You’ve heard of elusive servers where Jumpers have access to a lot of power and near-unlimited resources, though no one can quite figure out why. Those servers are typically entirely anarchy.

“Yeah, sure.” But you clutch the invitation closer to your person anyway. It glows a bit brighter at the increased contact.

“Think on it.”

Those words echo through your mind throughout the rest of the night, in your bed, subconsciously in your dreams and into the next morning.

It’s no easy decision. You know you’ll be dragged into all sorts of politics, conflict and battles unlike the Skywars ones you usually find yourself dealing with.

Your hand grips the glowing ball a bit tighter, reading the same three statements engraved on it repeatedly until the words are branded into your mind.

And then it disappears.

“Invitation accepted.”