#- August Offer

[themarsbar]

Let me tell you how - as clumsy and awkward as it was - Wille's first conversation with Simon went like it was specifically designed to make Simon fall for him. Like straight to the heart and deadly. Non-survivable event.

Simon is eating alone, no-one's sitting next to him to his right, to his left and in front of him, like people are at best not acknowledging him and at worst actively avoiding him, which they probably are. Wille comes in, sees him and purposefully seeks him out. He wants to sit close to him and talk to him. This is new to Simon and not at all something he'd have expected from "Ers Majestät".

W: "[you don't belong with Forest Ridge] but you're eating with us?" S: "We non-residents have to eat somewhere". Oh, you know Simon was just waiting to sink his teeth into Wille (metaphorically ...for now) and he savors Wille's faux-pas. You can just tell how much he enjoys delivering that comeback.

Wille's counterattack? Deadly. He introduces himself. He's like "I haven't introduced myself, I'm Wilhelm." He's humble, he doesn't assume people know him just because he's a member of the royal family and had a whole welcome party organized just for him like, yesterday. He's just a newcomer and his name is Wilhelm.

"I liked what you said in there, Simon." Simon had the whole class against him right then, teacher included, but Wille appreciates his opinion, he likes that Simon spoke up, even and especially against him. Bonus point, he adds Simon's name at the end of the compliment, because it matters. See, we know Wille was being sincere but Simon regains his footing here because this could potentially sound like a dig, and he's prepared for those so he remarks along the lines of "Oh yeah? So why didn't you say anything?", which brings us to:

"I'm not allowed to talk politics." And it's the way Wille says this, hesitantly, like he's painfully aware of the hypocrisy and he's ashamed of it. It rearranges Simon's view of him because it seems like Wille knows he's part of a bullshit establishment and he's not blissfully partaking of its privileges with no awareness or care. Wille is very much not like Simon had imagined he would be.

And then! Wille goes to leave and he almost drops his fork. Final dart, straight to the heart, Simon's fate is sealed: this guy's goofy.

And that, my friends, is how you go from Simon's mortal enemy to Simon's crush in the span of less than 2 minutes.

[loguetowns]

love drunk

eustass kid x reader

kid is (extra) annoying when he's drunk

“say you love me” + kid for @saidbysae

1.2k words

a/n: i can't take credit for the ending bc i think it was a cliche post that was floating around here or twitter when i saw it a billion years ago. anyways i think kid is really soft and i luv him for that

if there's one thing you've learned about the kid pirates, it's that they definitely know how to party. and of all the rowdy, noisy, rambunctious pirates, the captain is the worst of them.

"heat, get me another!" kid yells from across the room.

"another glass?"

"no," he downs his jug and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. "another barrel!"

across the room, he spots you and when you shake your head, his mischievous grin gets even bigger and brighter. you're crazy, you mouth. he just laughs and winks in your direction, raising his empty glass in your direction.

it's going to be a long night.

and sure enough, it's in the wee hours of the morning that you're dragging him across the deck towards his room. somehow, he's managed to lose both his jacket and his shirt, but in the autumn air, his body is still running hot. you're practically sweating with his body pressed against yours.

"baaaby, i know i don't look'it but 'm drunk," kid slurs.

usually so clever when he's (mostly) sober, it's silly of him to state the obvious — so much so that you can't help but smile. "i know."

you plant a quick kiss on the arm slung around your shoulders. "let's call it a night, hm?"

kid whines, "nuh uh, no way. tonight, we party like kings!"

he pumps a fist in the air, but with the sheer amount of alcohol running through his veins, his arm goes a little limp in the air before unceremoniously falling like a wet noodle.

you can't help the guffaw that slips out of you — a laugh at how silly he looks — and he can't help but laugh at how silly you sound. in drunken stupor, laughter is exceptionally contagious, and before you know it, the two of you are doubled over, howling in laughter.

you fall into each other, one lover supporting the other, until you make eye contact with each other and the giggles start again. the sound of love fills the chilly night, easing from laughter to (mostly) steady breaths. sitting on the deck now, kid looks at you with a lovedrunk grin.

he looks up at you, "hey."

you winkle your nose at him, "what?"

"c'mere," he points to the spot next to him. "i have a secret t' tell ya."

you roll your eyes but crouch down anyway. "what?"

kid looks at you with excitement that can only be described as child-like. he's a brute with a bounty higher than children can count and yet, here he is, practically giddy with what he's about to tell you.

he pauses for dramatic effect.

"i love you."

he stares at you like this is the most ground-breaking revelation you'll hear in your entire life and — god dammit, if he isn't the most adorable thing in the world right now.

you take his face into your hands, squishing his cheeks in the way he hates when he's sober. "i know."

he pouts. "you have to say it back."

you smirk. "no."

"but i love you!"

"i know."

"why won't you say it back?"

kid looks so wonderfully confused, and you take a moment to commit this expression to memory. if you were a little nicer, you might put him out of his misery.

but you're not and you won't.

"because you're being annoying," you smile.

"but you love me!" kid points a finger at you. "say you love me!"

"don't wanna," you chuckle.

"say it," he deadpans. "or i'll jump ship right now."

you gawk at him.

"you wouldn't."

"i wouldn't? are you sure?" suddenly, kid springs up and starts walking to the edge of the boat. honestly, it's impressive how fast he's moving.

when the crew drinks, kid has done worse things under the influence of alcohol — but the difference between then and now is that there are no burly crewmates to rescue their captain. compared to kid, you are a tiny little thing and you don't stand a chance.

you look around for killer or heat or thatch — or anyone, really. kid cackles and you whirl around. with a raised eyebrow, he swings a leg over and straddles the railing.

you panic — one wrong move and the kid pirates are down a captain. you rush towards him.

"okay, okay, fine! i love you too!" you tug his arm, "now will you please come back here?"

"okay," he beams in victory. adrenaline dissipating, kid climbs down all clumsy with a goofy grin plastered on his face.

"'kay," his voice comes out happy and ditzy. "s'cold out here, take me somewhere warm now.

hand in yours, you lead him towards his bedroom and, thankfully, kid follows without any more shenanigans.

kid trails behind you and yawns, "'m tired."

a gentle smile graces your lips, "wanna go to bed?"

you turn back and kid almost trips over his feet. you're so pretty in the moonlight, and kid is overcome with an urge to kiss you. he catches up to you and snuggles against you (or as much as a 6ft man can cuddle someone your size).

"only if you're coming with," he declares.

"if i say no, are you going to fight me?"

"yuuuuup."

you've eventually made it to his room and it only takes you two seconds to make a decision. one wrong answer and you risk undoing all the work it took to get him here.

you open his door, "fine, i'll sleep with you tonight."

"ya hear that, boys?" he booms, and you gape at him. "i get to sleep with my baby tonight, bitches!"

you're moritified. you hiss at him as you quickly usher him inside, closing the door as fast as you can, all the while kid grins to himself. a smile stays etched on his red lips — a smile so hopelessly, stupidly, irrevocably, spellbound by love — as you struggle to strip him his stained clothes ("come on, let's just stay naked!") and into fresh pajamas ("do i have to put these on? can't we just stay na-" "no.")

finally, the two of you are tucked into bed, in clean clothes that smell like linen and lavender, cuddled under cozy covers. all is quiet in the captain's bedroom and it's not long before the exhaustion catches up to you. kid's chest is warm against you, and you let yourself fall aslee-

"hey."

you groan, "what?"

"i love you."

having already learned your lesson, you sigh.

"i love you too."

you pause, waiting for the follow-up mischief that will plague your attempts to sleep. but the only things that come are steady breathing and silence. satisfied, you return to your journey into dreamland.

until kid whispers, "hey."

you look up at him, so tired that you can barely manage to say, "what now?"

"will you marry me?"

he asks it so gently, so innocently, that you can't help but fall in love with him a little more than you already have. in the comfort of your solitude, in these quiet moments where it's just the two of you, this is when kid's love is the loudest.

he wraps an arm around you, pulls you closer to his heart, and you press your lips against his burning skin, right where his heart beats so fervently for you.

"idiot, i already did."

[shiroganeryo]

Dazatsu Week, day 7: Free Day

I've always wanted to draw genderbent dazatsu + something for the afterwork gatherings hcs I have, so why not both? 💞 The neon kisses is a version I made for fun that ended up liking a lot, so posting it as well!

I'm a sucker for lipstick kiss stains... 🥰

Extra because while I don't think they would casually wear lipstick as men, if it were to happen, that would be 100% Dazai Shenanigan™'s fault.

This was the idea that made me want to draw the gb version 😂

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blind Offer 7

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a leak causes you to evacuate your apartment, your landlord offers a vacant unit that’s too good to be true. (short!plus!reader)

Character: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Lloyd Hansen, and August Walker

Note: Welcome back yall

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love turning intended one shots into series. Take care. 💖

Steve lets out a long breath and shuts the book. He lays it on the bath desk and nods. You stay where you, mashing your palms together by the door, longing to run away.  

“Take this away,” he demands curtly without looking at you. 

“Yes, sir,” you trip forward and clack your heels on the tile before you can steady yourself. 

You remove the empty glass, streaked with moisture, and put it on the counter. Then you lift the lap desk, balancing the book atop it, and rest it further back on the marble. The water shifts noisily behind you and reluctantly, you face him again. 

“I prefer the sage and peppermint soap,” he says as he leans back against the side of the tub, his head tilted back with a sigh, “ugh, long day...” 

You let his words hang. Is he mocking you? Yes. This is all at your expense. 

You near the tub again and look at the bath shelf. There’s several bottles that weren’t there before. You bend to reach over him as he waits expectantly. You take the black silicon body scrubber along with the sage soap and stand straight. You squeeze out a dollop onto the soft bristles and dare to look down on Steve. 

Oh. You try not to see, only try to do what he wants. You set the soap aside and dip the scrubber into the water then lather. You grip the edge of the tub as you lean over him. Your hand shakes as you reach to touch his broad chest. The tension eases as you drag across his firm muscle. 

He’s watching you. You feel his gaze and are caught glancing up by his crystal blue eyes. You blanch and he smirks. 

“When you use that toy, do you think of me?” He growls. 

You flinch but don’t recoil. You look down as you focus on washing his chest and shoulders. You swallow and bite down on your humiliation.  

“Honey, I know you’re not blind. Neither am I. You’re a gorgeous girl and well, look at me...” he purrs and brings his hand above the surface to tickle your other hand. “You wanna play with that toy tonight? Want someone to play with?” 

You quiver and dip your hand in the water again. He snickers and sits up, bracing the sides of the tub, and stands. The water slakes off of his thick form. 

“Why am I asking?” He faces you, “you’ll do whatever I want, honey.” He stands before you staunchly, “continue.” 

You continue to wash him. You push the suds down his stomach and he sucks it in as his muscles contract. You gets his sides then his back as he turns. The lower you get, the less diligent you are.  

When he faces you again, he catches your hand, and you let out a squeak. He’s hard. He slips the scrubber from your hand and replaces it with a cloth. He closes your grasp around his rigid length. 

“Gotta get it all,” he purrs. 

You tremble and he pumps your hand once, up, then down. 

“Be thorough, honey.” 

You stare at the lines of his torso, just above your hand. You move mechanically, stroking him firmly, gripping tighter just to keep from disassembling. He chuffs and shakes, grunting through his nose as he latches onto your chest. 

“Little more,” he grits between his teeth. 

You close your eyes and keep the motion. This is disgusting. He’s disgusting. And you have no choice. As he squeezes your tit, kneading it, you can only think of that woman in her smeared make up. Is she still around or are you merely a replacement? 

“Ah, god,” he spasms and warmth spurts up your forearm and down the washcloth’s edge. You open your eyes with immediate regret. His cum strings in glistening ribbons, the smell cutting through the scent of sage. “Mmm,” he fondles you a little more before he pulls away, “bad girls make messes, good girls clean them up.” 

You open your hand and let go of him. Before you can use it to wipe clean your arm, he snatches it. He holds it above you, dripping onto the tile in front of you. 

“No,” he sneers “not like that.” 

You frown in confusion. 

“Clean it up,” he repeats with punctuation and taps your mouth with his thick finger. 

His meaning sinks into your stomach and churns. You shudder and lift your arm. Your lip curls as you bring it up and poke out your tongue. The taste nearly makes your wretch. Your body racks as you make yourself lick up his cup. 

He hums as he watches you, “such a good girl, keeping me clean.” 

Your eyes sting with tears as your stomach and chest contract. You’re repulsed by yourself as much as him. How fucking weak are you just going along with it. What else can you do? The flashes of the woman’s pretty face streaked with tears and fear keep you from letting out the surge of self-hatred and rage. 

“Yes, sir,” you whisper. 

“Finish.” He demands. 

You swallow down the order and the taste of him. Humiliation roils around you, adding to the heat fed into the air by the bath water. He takes the washcloth and tosses it, returning the scrubber to your hand. You continue on the task, pretending as if you were merely washing a counter or a tabletop. 

When at last he’s content, he lowers himself back into the water. You cling to the scrubbie, unsure. He growls. You go rigid. 

“Hair.” 

The order is clear. You put the soap back on the shelf, trading it for shampoo in a similar scent. You use the small plastic jug to wet his hair, using your hand to block the pour from his face. You lather, scrubbing his scalp, the act made awkward as your thoughts race. You’ve never had to wash another person’s hair.  

His groans taint the innocent deed as he leans his head back. You try not to show your uncertainty. Your bottom continues to pulse each time you think of resisting. You can even recall exactly how the table felt against you with each heartless strike. 

You rinse out the soap, dragging your fingers through his hair, pouring until the water is clear and free of bubbles. You set the thing back as you found them and Steve stretches his neck with a choked grunt. He Pushes himself to his feet again, careless of the water that drips onto the floor. 

He steps over the edge and you back up. You search and grab the towel. The little things are your last attempt at appeasing him. You might just make it through the night. Does it matter? What about tomorrow? 

You dry him off as he drips onto the bath mat and around it. He lets you, bending for you to get his hair. Even naked, his size and strength is stark against your own. You don’t miss the twitching lower down either. 

“Did you lay my pajamas out for me?” He asks. 

You cringe. Of course, you’re missing something. You let him claim the towel as he wraps it around his waist.  

“Sorry, sir, I didn’t have the chance--” 

“Go, do it,” he commands. 

“Yes, sir.” 

You are happy enough to get some space. As demeaning as his tone is, it’s better than lingering. You turn and flit off to figure out the pajamas. 

You head down the hall and slow. Steve clears his throat from behind you and you turn back to find him peeking around the door frame. 

“The main bedroom. At the end,” he instructs. 

You nod and carry on. You’d almost gone into the room you’d been occupying. You deign to call it your own room. This place is not your home. It’s a prison and you hate yourself for not realising it sooner. Every single red flag waves in your memory and makes you want to tear your own eyes out. 

You go into the larger bedroom. You flick the light on and peer around. The overhead light has a simplistic white glass shade that casts over the space brightly. There are sconces on either side of the king bed, a switch beside each for their control, and nightstands that match the sleek black bed frame. Beneath the grand bed, a plush white rug across the dark hardwood. Like the rest of the house, it’s pristine. 

There’s a large closet nearly the expanse of a whole wall and two tall dressers, one to either corner as if to bookend the door you’ve come through. Another door stands opposite the closet through which you can only see shadows and the glean of the overhead light. It must be another bathroom. 

You step further inside and stop short as movement catches your eye. You didn’t notice your reflection before, there above the headboard of the bed. Your heart drops and you look up. The bed is mirrored perfectly by the reflective panel above. You shiver and turn to the dresser. 

You put your hand around the knob and pause. You squint as you bend to read the label and notice one on every drawer; each a single letter. You notice only four variations in initials; S, B, L, and A. That’s what they must be; S is Steve. Your blood simmers to a boil. There are more of them. That man on the speaker must be one of them. 

You pull open the top drawer marked S. You pull out a pair of pajamas; plain blue cotton, a tee and matching pants. You shut the drawer with your hip and carry the armful to the bed. 

You hear him coming down the hall. You lay the pajamas on the mattress and back up. He marches through and stops at the foot of the bed. He swipes the towel from around his waist and hurls it at you. You catch it with a gasp. 

“There’s a mess in there.” 

“Yes, sir,” you force out and keep the towel in hand. 

“Towel goes in the laundry tomorrow. With my clothes. Hamper at the end of the hall.” 

You repeat your acquiescence and carry on. The heels click incessantly beneath your strained arches. You enter the bathroom and gather up his disposed clothing. You ball it all up with the towel and dump it all in the standing hamper.  

You drain the tub and wipe down the sides. You take the washcloth from the sink and add it to the laundry. You’d rather burn it. You wash your hand before you finish sopping up the little puddles of water on the tile. You hang the bathmat over the edge of the tub to dry out. You even flush the yellow piss he left in the toilet. That feels especially deliberate of him. 

You return to him, click, click, click. You stop in the doorway as he pulls back the bedcovers. He glances over and narrows his eyes. Great, what cryptic order have you missed. 

“You don’t look ready for bed.” 

“Sorry, sir--” 

“Get changed,” he interrupts you, “come back here.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Off again. You’re irked by how he orders you around. You feel like a dog. 

The room is barren of your things. It isn’t yours, that’s why. It’s made for the doll they’re trying to make you into. You go to the dresser and pull it open. It’s full of lace and silk and sheer fabrics. None of it meant for practicality. 

You pull out a jade green nightly and shake your head. You retreat to the bed and sit, clutching the silk. This isn’t right. For once in your life, you’d rather be stocking shelves amidst the greedy customers and crow-like managers. You hate this all. You hate yourself for not being strong enough to get out. 

“Never keep your man waiting,” the woman’s voice returns and makes you wince. You look around and find one of the picture frames has dissolved its usual image of a bicycle wheel and bucket. Her eyes is swollen and bruised despite her efforts to cover it with makeup, “men do not like to wait. You not only disrespect their time but them—Ah!” 

She throws her hand up to shield herself before the screen goes black. You whimper and slump your shoulders. Your lip trembles as tears threaten to spill over. You can’t do this. Eventually, you’ll slip up again. You don’t want to be like her. A hollow shell of fear and yet what else can you do? 

“Doll,” the man’s voice ripples through the air, “don’t make me repeat myself.” 

You look up at the ceiling defiantly. You scowl and the bodiless voice laughs.  

“Keep on,” he goads, “I’ll remember every single one.” 

You stand and put your chin down. His threat is clear. Tonight, it’s Steve, one night, it will be him. You strip down and as you pull the silk over your head, the man’s low timbre roll in the air. 

“Can’t wait, doll,” he taunts and the microphone clicks decisively. 

You collect the clothes and put those in the hamper as well. You come back down the hall and make certain the lights are all off. You make your death walk towards the main room and peek inside as you approach. Steve lays across the bed, his pants tented without shame. He has one light on at his side of the bed. 

“Turn that off,” he demands as you enter. 

You flick off the overhead and come forward. He lifts his head to watch you. You approach the side of the bed and he stretches his arm across to rub the space beside him. He flips back the covers and winks. 

“You look good but... green’s not my colour.” 

You furrow your brows as you warily touch the mattress, pressing one knee to the edge, “sorry, sir, should I change?” 

“No,” he rolls onto his side and grabs your arm, hauling you up impatiently, “I like the way your tits look in that.” 

You clamp your lips tight to keep form showing your repulsion. He forces you against him so you feel his need against you. He growls in his throat as his hand trails up your arm. He frames your chin and forces you to look at him. His nose brushes yours. 

“I knew you were perfect the day you signed the lease, honey,” he snarls as he rubs the tip of his nose against yours. “So sweet and soft--” 

You press your hand to his chest and whimper. The idea that he’s been planning this, that it was all manufactured, a trap, is worse than the reality itself. Was the washer made to break or was it just a perfect opportunity? 

“It’s really too bad no one’s seen you around the building in days...” he purrs, “and once you fail to turn up for work... well... they’ll replace you but who will really think to look. Another missing girl in the city. Forgotten with yesterday’s headlines.” 

“Please, stop,” you beg as you curl your fingers against the light cotton across his chest. 

“You should be thanking me, baby,” he pulls you with him as he falls onto his back, keeping you nestled in his thick arm, “a girl like you shouldn’t be stocking shelves and smiling at strange men.” He reaches with his other hand to flip off the light, “you should know your place. You need a good man, maybe more, to show you.” 

The darkness sets in with the ominous tilt of his words. There is no way out of it. And even if someone were to look for you, how could they even know you would be here? You never mentioned it to your coworkers, never thought to say anything to your mother’s sparse texts. She never answered anyhow. 

You were stupid. You trusted him. A fucking landlord. You should know better than that. 

[auguste-marmonts-only-fan]

[triaelf9]

The Special Offer is active! All new & upgrading monthly supporters, as well as one-time supporters (who give at least 1 tea), will get a printable file & websize for wallpapers/icons etc. of this month's dragon!

✨ http://patreon.com/TriaElf9 ✨ http://ko-fi.com/triaelf9

[fictionadventurer]

August: Day 19

Adventures

Tried a mochi donut for the first time. It was okay.

Accomplishments

Completed a CPR/first aid refresher course

[mizzyislost]

ultrakill doodle dump because none of these were good enough to warrant their own post. and also some of them are like months old and im never finishing them so

[stylesrecord]

HARRY STYLES + duets

"You’re Still the One” / Kacey Musgraves “Landslide” / Stevie Nicks “Vossi Bop” / Stormzy “Man! I Feel Like a Woman” / Shania Twain “What Makes You Beautiful” / Lizzo “No Hard Feelings” / Ellie Rowsell “Boyfriends” / Ben Harper

[kiruvry]

obsessed with the thought of august saving pav when you don't ((im .so fucking normal dear god pl))

+ extra 🤨

[hirasawaschoiceass]

Guys….. I don’t think I’m gonna be unemployed for much longer :)

[augentrust]

awaiting the nein in eiselcross

Laura Bailey, Critical Role transcript, Campaign 2 Episode 117 // Between Heaven and Earth, #72 by Conrad Jon Godly // The Carnivorous Lamb by Agustín Gómez Arcos, translated by William Rodarmor // Detail of An Arctic Winter Day by Bob Ross, Season 26 Episode 6 // Matthew Mercer, Critical Role transcript, Campaign 2 Episode 117

[mofffun]

King-Ohger ep30 behind-the-scenes:

Sound Design

During on-site filming for the showdown, the cicadas were too noisy, almost the whole sequence was dubbed over later. (Taisei cast blog)

(05:45, Rita choked complaining too fast about scalpers) Sound of tea spilling is added at Director Nakazawa's request to show more of Rita's anxiety. (tw.sd, same below)

(11:04) Aiming to increase the impact of Glodi's debut, with the close-up shot of Himeno before his face is revealed to the audience, the fountains of Ishabana castle is amplified. It is in junction with Himeno's rising tension as well.

(20:42) As Rita activates the secret seal from their right eye, you can hear a little of the same diamond dust sound effect from the court of Gokkan.

(21:05) As the ice in Rita's heart melts, in order to represent that warmth with sound, the sound of the howling snowstorm stopped.

Glodi Leucodium

Glodi's power is not "control" of the dead by its "revival". The revived follows a survival instinct and fight. (pn)

Glodi's design motif is the snail parasite genus Leucochloridium. The spiral in the dead's eyes is the distinctive pattern when the parasite took hold. (pn)

Kousei Amano (Kamen Rider Garren, Fourze's Principal) was chosen for the role early in casting. Takano pretty much wrote the character's dialogue tailored to the actor. He took reference from his past works and his Twitter. (pn/tw.tm)

Kousei Amano's wife, Akiko Hinagata, played Iroki, Toufu's ruler before Kaguragi, in King-Ohger's summer movie. Amano did a self-initiated daily countdown to "Mama Iroki"'s debut, among other wife-hyping hijinks. This time, his wife named his character "Glodi Amano" (tw)

Amano's comment: Hello, friends new and old. I am Kousei Amano, playing Glodi. You may be surprised, but I myself am the most surprised. Still remebering a fondness to the red stag beetle, I am fascinated by King-Ohger's world. Since episode 1, I've been enjoying the show as a viewer. I never imagined myself could become a part of it.

I was thrilled when my partner, Akiko Hinagata, participated as Iroki in the summer movie, but I was also a little jealous. Iroki knew that, and was very happy for my turn this time.

Returning to Nitiasa after a long time, filming technology has progressed to my bewilderment. A little nervous at first, but the cast and crew welcomed me warmly. My time on set was very enjoyable. Glodi might not be a character you'll root for, but please lend me your support.

Others

Because the story calls for Ishabana to be frozen, the advantage of 3D assets/live composition, where weather and time can be changed at will, is put to good use. (pn)

In Ishabana where beauty is above all, even foul words are unforgivable. The phrase taserus millia da pango is used instead. (tw.tm)

The little bit of warmth Rita felt is actually Himeno. Rita stilled themself to unwavering neutrality, yet they are afraid inside. (asahi story)

Erica has been quiet about King-Ohger on Twitter the past week because she was afraid she would accidentally give away spoilers. Glodi might be her favourite villain in King-Ohger. He looks weak but he's the most powerful of the jesters. She loves that idleness in him where he finds the world too boring because he's too powerful.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blind Offer 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a leak causes you to evacuate your apartment, your landlord offers a vacant unit that’s too good to be true. (short!plus!reader)

Character: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Lloyd Hansen, and August Walker

Note: I wish this week would be over.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love turning intended one shots into series. Take care. 💖

The checkered fabric beckons you forward. Your fear smothers all doubts. You're in no place to question any of this. What will they do if you don't listen? Who are they? The voice that comes from thin air. Certainly Steve too.

You touch the dress and move it aside to unveil the small lumps beneath. A set of red lace lingerie to match the shade of the checkers. You swallow tightly and pull your hand back. You look at your fingertips as if they've been singed. 

You tremble and touch the hem of your shirt. They're watching. You shudder and slowly raise the cotton. You try not to think about what's happening. Just get through it.

You drop your shirt on the bed them quickly push down your sweatpants. You heap them atop the tee and close your eyes as you peel off your underwear. You sniffle as you don the red lingerie and figure out how to tie the little string at the waist of the dress.

Your eye is caught by the shiny red shape at the foot of the bed. A pair of heels. It's not hard to guess you're supposed to put them on.

There's a chime, the same jingle as before. You spin as you search around and tinkles again. It's coming from downstairs. You clamour out into the hall and cling to the banister as you descend. You go back to the kitchen and read the screen.

'Check your phone.'

Your heart leaps. You trip over your toes but keep upright as you run into the front room. You go to your phone but deflate in an instant. There's a video pulled up on it and nothing else. No status bar, no time. What the heck?

A message pops up over the paused video thumbnail, a woman's eye up close. You read the font in the bubble before it disappears.

'Upstairs bathroom. Press play. You'll know what to do.'

You lower the phone. Right. Not cryptic at all. You teeter on your heels before you can gain your balance again. You clop out and to the stairs. You take off the shoes before your climb and keep them in hand as you skirt down to the bathroom.

As you enter, there's a sparkly pink case on the counter. That wasn't there before either. You put the shoes on the tile and lean your phone against the mirror, leaning it just so before you tap play. You twine your fingers through each other as a beaming woman smiles at you from the screen. She welcomes you to her video with her cherry red lips and expertly lined eyes.

"Today, we're going to learn how to get the perfect look!" She chimes and frames her face, "so first, lets go over our tools."

She smiles so big, her cheeks are round, almost twitching as her eyes bulge just slightly. She lifts up a small bottle. 

"Let's go over our base..."

She lists off the items, showing each to the camera. You reach to open the case as you listen, revealing a collection of cosmetics. Wow. You keep a few essentials, tinted moisturizer, some mascara, a touch of gloss, but nothing too substantial.

She presses on, going through everything you'll need for eye, lip, and cheek. When she finishes, she smiles even wider and stares. The camera lingers a bit too long and the hollowness in her eyes unsettles you.

"But first, we have to start with a naked face. Let's go!"

She claps her hands in front of her and the shot transitions. Suddenly, her face is barren of makeup. You notice the fatigue under her eyes and the vibrancy missing in her skin. She looks above the lens and her lips quiver. She gives a small nod and clears her throat, as if distracted by someone else.

"Alright, let's begin," her voice creaks at first but she quickly steadies it, "are you ready?"

You feel icky watching the video. You're not ready. This is demented. This cannot be real. It's a horror movie come to life.

"Find your primer," she presents a tube proudly, waiting. 

You look down and search for a similar tube. You shake your head as you take it out and look back to the screen. She starts by showing you where exactly to apply the primer. You hesitate. The video on your phone pauses and another message pops up.

'I can wait, doll.'

You inhale and lean in. You focus on the screen and the video skips back ten seconds. You uncap the primer and follow along with the application. The longer you look at the woman, the more you notice. That mark on her neck, a patch darker than the rest of her skin.

She moves on to foundation. The video pauses again as you struggle to find the right bottle and a clean sponge. Then concealer, and some blush, bronzer, and highlighter. You're starting to sweat.

"And that's the base," she preens, tilting her head back and forth to show the effect of her contouring, "isn't that pretty?"

She stops, smiling, staring. The shot cuts again. She pulls her hand away from her chest and bats her lashes.

"N-now," she stutters, "now, we have to do our eyes." She leans closer to the lens and you notice the slightly puffiness in the brims of her eyelids, "remember, we don't want to mess this up. We have some nice waterproof products to make sure we stay perfect, from morning to night." She looks up, above the frame, "we don't want to be crying it all off because we had one bad day, right?

"Now, I'm going to try a nice shade of gold for today's look but you can really be creative. Go wild and choose whatever you like. But nothing too loud, we don't want to scare him away."

She winks at the camera in a theatrical manner. You take out a palette and lower your head. You can't move. You're frozen. This is too much. There's something just off about all of this.

"What kind of Stepford bullshit--"

The video stops. Another pop up. You peek up at it. There's only two big red exes in the bubble. Alright, fine. You open the palette and pick out a brush. The video resumes. You really hope this stuff is waterproof because you're about to have a goddamn breakdown.

You get closer to the mirror as you work on applying the shadow. You go with a subtle caramel and amber combination. You're not very good at it but the instructions are easy enough. Nothing too difficult as long as you keep up.

You finish the eye after fighting the liner. You're starting to get the hang of it. Wait. No. That's not a victory. You don't want this.

Eyebrows. Do you really need to do all this? Right, now lips. You take out the candy apple red and delicate trace the shape of your mouth. Finally, a setting spray that nearly makes you sneeze.

"And that's it. You're all done," the woman announces, "you're ready to--"

The screen cuts. The image of the woman with her makeup smeared covers the screen for a split second then disappears to a credit screen, congratulating you on completing the the look. You gape, stunned, and take a step back. Alright, this is twisted.

The video exits out and you're left only with a blank screen. The next message takes over the expanse; kitchen. You grab the phone and take it with you, swiping up the shoes as you go.

Downstairs, you plop the shoes down and face the Echo as it chimes again. Your next directive is on the screen. A timer that reads 'Dinner, t-minus 2 hours'. You hear the television mounted in the corner flick on and you turn to see the same woman as before.

"Hello. Welcome. It's good to see you." She puts her hands on the counter, staring again. She flinches. "Please, don't make--" The video cuts. "Today!" She points at the camera, "we're going to make a classic; meatloaf."

You walk closer to the screen. There's something wrong with this woman. This isn't Rachel Ray or Martha Stewart. This is horrifying. She pauses, nodding, her smile getting bigger, than falling, and spreading again. It's as if she's glitching.

Another jarring switch. She's by the fridge, speaking intimately as the camera is angled down at her.

"So, let's get our ingredients, ladies," she announces, "now, we can go with lean turkey if we're being mindful or we can go with a classic beef." She reaches inside and takes out a paper packet, "nice and fresh."

The screen pauses on her hands. There's a broken nail among her perfectly manicured hands. You back up and drop your shoulders. You drag your feet to the fridge and pull out the ground beef in the same brownish red paper. The video starts again.

You put the beef on the counter and wait for the next ingredient. One buy one you get everything out. Then you get your tools, bowls, pans, knives. You admire the long silver blade as it slides free of the block.

"It's important," the woman chirps from the screen, "not to play with knives..  you could get hurt."

You look up as she holds up a knife and shakes her head. You frown as she grabs the blade and slides her palms down it, leaving a red sheen on the silver.

"See? Always be safe," she grips the knife by the handle as her blood drips onto the counter. "Lets prepare our veggies first–"

The blip is less than subtle. Her hand is suddenly wrapped in cause thought the drops of blood remain on the cutting board. You put the onion on the wooden surface and dice along with the happy host.

The step-by-step directions keep you occupied enough to ignore the tremor of fear inside you. Your thoughts fade to background as you pull the lid off the breadcrumbs. You work through the recipe mindlessly until you have the meat neatly in the loaf pan.

As you open the oven door, that small voice of logic breaks through. Who are you cooking this for? It's an awful lot of food for just you.

"Now we can work on our sides," the woman sings, "roasted potatoes and charred asparagus."

🖤

You stand before the table. It’s set precisely to the standard set by the woman on the screen. Cutlery, cloth napkins, tall glasses, and a jug of iced lemon water. 

The timer counts down and dings. You rush over to hit clear and grab the oven gloves. You take out the pan of meatloaf, then the roast potatoes. You place them carefully on the stove. It smells delicious but your appetite is scant. You’re not very concerned with food at the moment.

You wince as the television flicks on again and the woman holds a spatula and talks to the camera, almost as if she’s talking directly to you. 

“Now, it’s time to plate dinner,” she explains, “now I know, it’s just meatloaf, but it doesn’t mean we can’t spruce it up. Let’s begin by slicing the loaf.”

You huff and push your head back. This is a chore. You don’t think you’ve ever put this much effort into a meal. 

“We want to make our romantic dinner for two perfect,” she chimes as she sets out two plates, “for our very special someone. The most handsome man…”

She bats her lashes as she gives another tense smile. Forced and frightening. The camera slowly pans in before suddenly pulling back. You blow off the unease and open the cupboard.

You once more follow along with the knock off Julia Child. You get two plates set, the meat placed just so, the potatoes scooped out in delicate measurements, the asparagus lines up neatly. You put each plate on a table mat and take a step back. 

So, what next?

Ding dong.

The loud chime makes you jump. You don’t move. You wait and listen until it comes again. The doorbell?

You turn on your heel and pass into the entryway. As you do, the door opens from the other side. Your lips part in shock as Steve steps inside, greeting you with a smile as the security system alerts you to the open door and secures again as he lets it fall shut behind him. You clasp your hands together, questions racing but no words coming.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he smiles, “you look…” his eyes fall to your feet. “Adequate.”

You follow his gaze and curl one foot behind the other. You left the heels off. You suppose that was wrong. Wait, no, this is wrong. What he’s doing is wrong.

“Excuse me?” You scoff.

“Dinner smells good,” he smooths his golden hair. 

He wears a crisp white button-up and gray pin-striped slacks. You grimace at him and cross your arms. He comes closer, stopping before you as he reaches to touch your cheek. You wince and lean away from him.

“You shouldn’t scowl. You’ll get wrinkles,” he says.

“Wha– Steve. What is going on?”

He presses his index finger to your lips, “ah ah. I came for dinner. Let’s not chatter and let it get cold.”

You step back and glare at him, “Steve, what are you doing? Please, let me go.”

“Honey, let’s not argue,” he comes close and grabs your upper arms, pulling them apart, “you won’t like how it ends.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“Meatloaf,” he turns his head and looks towards the kitchen, “it’s my favourite.”

You’re upended by his sudden change in topic. It’s frustrating how he just ignores you. You want to know why he’s doing this. How can he even think of something like this. He can’t. Someone will come looking for you.

No one knows where you are. You didn’t tell them.

“Don’t keep me waiting, sweetheart,” he lowers his voice as he leans in, “I’ve waited long enough.”

You look up at him, shaken by his tone. You’ve never heard him sound like that. You feel his grip tighten on you. 

“Go get your shoes and we’ll sit down and have a nice dinner.”

“Steve,” you croak.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. He smirks and lifts his lashes, blue eyes gleaming like crystals, “don’t you remember what I said. How I like order. How things should be in their place. How everyone has their role.”

You scrunch your nose. You remember. It was weird then, now it’s terrifying.

“Yes,” you rasp, “I remember.”

“You don’t want me to be unhappy, do you?” He challenges, his thumbs rubbing your arms.

You shake your head stiffly, ready to wilt beneath his gaze. “No, I don’t.”

“Good girl,” he slides his hands down your arms and slowly retracts his touch, “so, let’s eat.”

[empress-poochiekins]

PERCY JACKSON AND RACHEL DARE ARE BESTIE GOALS, OKAY?!?

they have matching blue friendship bracelets. they blast alt rock from her cave at 3am. and they practically own the skatepark at this point.

annabeth is completely chill with it, because percy loves her. they’re in a mature relationship. and she trusts him. wholeheartedly.

and percy has to put up with piper only half ironically flirting with his gf daily, so it’s the least annabeth can do

i am politely evicting you from your you belong with me era to gently push my rachel supremacy on you. that will be all, thank you.

[jemandtherobots]

having to take back most of what i've said about linkedin bcos last month i went to a meeting with some folks who do basically what i do but Slightly Different and their offices are also much nicer and i joked about applying to work with them instead. and one of the people is one of those adds everyone they meet on linkedin people. and today i get a random linkedin email and i'm like ugh whatever i'll go see what's on there. and what's on there is this colleague sharing a job listing that i might genuinely apply for. hashtag networking.