#A Complete Unknown is a terrible name

[autonoes]

ugh havent really processed the fact that timothy chalamet is playing bob in that new biopic… i dont trust that boy.. whats the point of making a bob biopic anyway when I’m Not There exists like that’s the only good biopic ever made. what’s the point of anyone playing bob ever again after cate blanchett did it

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC x DP: Magic Older Brother

It happens the day of his high school graduation because Casper High is cursed, and the curse personally targets Danny. Danny doesn't care what anyone says. He will die on that hill.

The school is cursed, which is why he turned into a halfa in his freshmen year, throwing his life into chaos all throughout sophomore and junior year, and now that he was finally leaving it, this happens.

An attack by a ghost he has never seen or met before. She calls herself "Lady Gotham," and her name doesn't hint at her power or obsession, unlike other ghosts.

He finds it rather rude of her to burst the graduation ceremony just as they called his name.

Danny knew he could take her- she felt more like a city spirit than a ghost, which means she was terribly weak against Phantom- but with so many witnesses, he hadn't been able to transform. Instead, he was blasted with black tar paste that reverted him to the age of ten, and while he stumbled on tiny legs, she took him and threw him into a portal.

He had attempted to shift into his ghost side as soon as he landed, but something was anchoring his core. It felt like he had been hit with the Plasmius Maximus- his powers were out of reach.

He would not be able to take her in a fight after all.

Thankfully, she had been distracted by his parents attempting to rescue him, so she got trapped on the other side of the portal. Still, he felt it would be safer to get as far away from the random field she kidnapped him to before she could return.

So he was running in an unknown storm, to an unknown location from an unknown city spirit instead of having his graduation party with his friends and eating cake.

"Casper High just couldn't give up even on the last day," Danny grumbles while running through the pouring rain of a terrible storm, trying to see through the water and the howling wind. He was drenched head to toe in the water, and he could feel even his bones shaking. He hasn't been this cold since the day his Ice core materialized.

Up ahead, he spots a building. Praying they will take pity on him, he pushes himself to go faster until he's at the door, banging on it with his tiny fists.

"Is someone there? I need help!" He yells as the wind picks up again, almost throwing Danny off balance. "Open the door, please!"

The door cracks open, and one tiny blue eye peeks up at him briefly before it swings open. "Come in! Hurry!"

Danny doesn't need to be told twice as he all but throws himself into the giant building, away from what he is starting to suspect is a hurricane. He turns around to find a little boy- he couldn't be older than nine- struggling with closing the garage door. Danny is quick to help him, and together, after tucking and grunting, they get it shut.

"Thanks," Danny says trying to gather his breath. He glances around, startled to see he's in a big fancy house that reeks of money, maybe more than Vlad or Sam. It is also deadly silent and bare as if someone only attempted to make it look lived-in but forgot to get humans.

"Don't mention it." The kid says almost under his breath. Danny would think of him as shy if the boy wasn't staring at him without so much as blinking.

Kind of creepy.

"Are you here because of my poster?" The kid asks, and Danny has no idea what he's talking about, but he's not about to make the creepy kid angry.

"Sure am."

The boy beams. "This is the first time anyone has responded! Come this way. I have everything in the main ballroom!"

Danny follows eyes taking in all the tasteful decor of various cultures and the complete lack of any other person present. After getting stranded, he found a mansion tucked away from human contact in search of shelter. Strange how that has happened to him twice

The boy leads him to two large double doors which he proudly opens up with a loud "Ta-da!"

Inside the ballroom are rows and rows of bed cots, blankets, and pillows. On one side of the room are tables with water bottles, bowls of snacks, and even little goodie bags. There are board games on a nearby table and clothes folded neatly in various sizes. Next to the tables are piles of teddy bears.

It looks like a movie set of a makeshift shelter that could easily fit a hundred people. Again there is no one else but them. Double creepy.

The boy skips between the first two cots, gesturing to the room. "You're the first one here, so you can first pick! I have board games, food, and clothes for you to burrow at the front if you want! I'm sure we'll have more people soon if you come!"

Danny offers the kids a weak smile. "Thanks."

"You're welcome! I'll go wait for everyone at the door. You make yourself comfortable."

While Danny cautiously explores, the kid races back to wait at the door for who knows who. The first thing he does is change into a warm set of clothes- picking a grey set of sweat pants and long sleeve that fits his tiny limbs. He grabs a water bottle and a bag of chips before his eyes land on a pile of brightly colored posters, likely forgotten on the table.

Strom Shelter for free at Drak Mansion

Everyone Welcome!

Sleeping, clothes, food and entertainment are provided!

Kids are invited to Tim Drake's birthday party on the same night!

Doors open at 5pm.

Oh gosh. Oh no.

He looks around the completely empty room and, for the first time, notices a small corner with a very sad "Happy Birthday" banner and a few party hats. At the edge of the table sits a folded half-sheet cake with a lopsided candle in the shape of a nine.

Above that little corner is a large clock that reads ten o'clock.

He puts his things down on a random cot, carefully returning to the front door where the little boy- he assumes Tim Drake- is waiting. He's leaning back and forth on his feet, and Danny can barely pick up his soft words.

"It's okay; they're all just really late. One person came this time so more could be on their way! Don't be sad, Tim. Things are looking up!"

Bless his heart.

Danny tries to reach for his ghost powers and grins when his ice core responds. He glances back at the little boy before he slips into the ballroom. He quickly re-decorates the party corner using his ice, making it look like actual decorations.

He even goes out of his way to open bottles of colored juices- he doubts anyone would drink them- and freezes the liquid so it adds a bit of color to the room. He's left with a winter wonderland with ice sculptures of animals- kids like animals, right?- and he gathers a birthday boy.

"Hey, Tim?"

The kid hurries to his side. "Yes? Did you need something?"

"Yeah, I need the birthday boy to cut his cake!"

Danny strong-arms the kid into the room and is delighted by the absolute happiness that blooms over the boy's face once he sees the room. "Wow! Did you do this?"

"Sure did, kid."

"Are you a wizard like Harry Potter?" The boy asks, and Danny has no idea who that is, but he nods anyway. Maybe it's this world's version of Santa Claus? Who is he to deny the kid's sense of wonder.

"Don't tell anyone." He says with a wink.

"But-But- but I'm a muggle!" The boy cries, suddenly horrified. Danny wonders if that's a slur, and if so, he won't allow him to use it to describe himself with it. "You'll get in trouble for using magic before me!"

"Why?"

"Cause muggles can't know about magic unless they are family! They'll throw you in Azkaban!"

Ugh, okay, he can work with that. "Well, I guess this makes us brothers, doesn't it?"

Tim's eyes practically pop right out of his skull. "Really?!

"Yeah, I'll be your big brother. My name is Danny and we can do something you always wanted to do for your birthday. How does that sound?"

"We can do....anything?"

"It depends on what you want to do, as long as it's legal and safe."

"Will.....you read me a bedtime story? I always wanted to know what that's like."

Danny's heart shatters. "Sure of course. What book do you want to read?"

Tim's face goes slightly pink. "The new Harry Potter book just came out. The goblet of fire? Can we read that?"

Oh, so Harry Potter is a book series! "Sure, Tim. Let's cut the cake and then we can pick a cot to pile blankets on to snuggle down and read."

Danny had never seen a kid look so happy in his life "Okay!"

Later, as Tim is tucked into the crook of his neck and shoulder, fast asleep after the exciting chapter of Harry Potter outflying a dragon Danny is visited by Lady Gotham.

It is only because Tim is too comfortable that he doesn't start swinging at her. She explains Tim's life and the obvious neglect before she bends down until her forehead touches the ground and begs Danny to care for him in her stead.

By morning, the Drakes suddenly acquire a new family member, and no one notices how he appeared overnight, but he's in the system, and no one can fault the documents. Lady Gotham made them herself.

[ultimateloserboy]

Bill Cipher Analysis Post ‼️

(I could be wrong about some things since the book is fresh, feel free to expand this post or correct me! May be a little edited as well!)

To start things off: William Mischief Cipher, (yes thats his actual name) is a dream demon from another dimension. To be specific, the second dimension.

Despite Bill being a literal shape— and also a demigod— it’s implied that Bill had a human-like childhood. He had a normal mother and father, he went to school, and overall seemed to have a normal life. The problem, however, was that he was born with powers completely unknown to his dimension.

Bills world was 2D, meaning there was no up or down. It’s hard for us to grasp the concept of his world, and its implied Bills dimension felt the same way about us. They couldn’t grasp the idea of other, less flat dimensions— but Bill could. Not only did he understand the concept, he could physically SEE the other dimensions— which drove him crazy with confusion and frustration.

It’s also implied that Bill was born with physical powers others in his dimension didn’t have— for example, there’s a line in the book where he remembers being bullied in school for having the ability to conjure fire.

It’s implied that Bill tried to tell everyone about the other dimensions, but they didn’t understand. The other people of his homeworld considered him troubled and insane. There’s a poem written in code on the silly straw page of his book detailing how he was fed medicine to keep his “visions” away, but would only drink it out of a silly straw. This poem implies he was a baby at the time of taking his medicine, implying further that his powers were terrifyingly strong even from an early age. This— paired with the fact he could shoot fire from his fuckin hands— made him dangerous as a child, because (at least from what it seems) any childish outburst or tantrum could accidentally turn dangerous from his lack of understanding or being able to control the powers he was born with. He was a walking time bomb.

“Eye doctor of a different kind who wants to make his patient blind / The doctor says three sips a day will make the visions go away / Fussy eater, baby billy, wouldn’t drink unless its silly.”

(((The doctor was taking away Bills ability to see the other dimensions, rendering him somewhat blind. Bill fussed about his medicine as a child and would only drink it out of a silly straw.)))

Eventually, Bill tried to bring his world into the third dimension— or at the very least, show them it exists to prove that he wasn’t insane. It’s unclear what exactly he did to try and accomplish this— but it went wrong and started a terrible fire that left only him alive.

It’s unclear whether or not he started the fire itself on purpose or on accident, but either way its implied that he absolutely didn’t understand the permanent consequences. It’s something that deeply traumatized him. It’s blurred out of his memory, and in denial, he pretends everyone is still alive. It’s up to the reader to determine whether or not he can be forgiven for this, but out of everything Bill has done on purpose and out of malice, this doesn’t seem to be one of those things. It seems he genuinely wanted to free his family from the confinements of his dimension and to this day he still pretends that’s what he did, even if that’s not the case. The regret of his actions is something that goes on to shape his character today.

“Twisted out of shape after the kill— the ghost of his family haunting him still” (((Silly straw page)))

Bill has lied about this day on multiple occasions, and has also lied about how he feels towards it. He’s terrified to face the guilt— so he either pretends he did it on purpose and doesn’t care, pretends something or someone else did it, or pretends it didn’t happen all together.

While talking to Stanford, he calls himself a monster. This is what he truly thinks of himself. However, he pretends to be a different person than himself. His entire life past the day of his dimensions burning has been a lie of pure denial.

On top of denial, he refused and still refuses to grow up. After running off into a crumbling dimension with his “henchmaniac” friends, he started acting like a rebellious teenager. Unlike most villains with a specific intent to hurt, he went throughout the universe with the sole intention of having as much fun as possible. However, with his terrifying power and uncaring nature many casualties happened on the side. He’s guilty for them, and even finds some of them funny, but hurting people wasn’t and isn’t his MAIN intent. (At least not most of the time. He IS known to hold grudges, or dismantle someone’s face for fun, but those things aren’t part of his overall goal. Not saying they aren’t shitty, but his main intent is important to understanding his character and complexity.)

His main goal is to distract himself from his past with as much chaos as possible while also seeking attention from anyone he can get it from. He talks about Stanford and says he needs Bill to boost his ego, but really it’s the other way around. Bill considers himself a product to sell, he caters to people by using false charisma, pretending they’re the ones that need him when in reality he’s starving for their praise. He is desperate for someone to speak highly of him because his mind has nothing good to say, all the words he says out loud are compensation. He believes deep down that nobody will love him if they know who he truly is and what he’s done— and he’s not really wrong. And look! He couldn’t even admit that’s how he feels about himself so he pretends he’s giving advice! (He does this SO MANY fuckin times in the book..)

It appears in the book that the more he regrets or suffers from his past actions and traumas— the more he hurts and destroys the things and people around him as a distraction— all under the ruse of “partying”. So, in an immature attempt to absolve himself of guilt, he stacks more guilt onto his endless cycle by continuing to hurt those he loves again and again— pretending not to care but truthfully caring so much that he’d do ANYTHING to drown out the feeling. Ironically, his way of drowning out his feelings is by causing more harm. He is an endless, pitiful paradox.

It’s often misunderstood that he is a uncaring, but that’s what he WANTS you to think. That’s what he WISHES he was. His guilt and remorse doesn’t absolve him from the things he’s done, but the fact that it’s there is a GIANT and IMPORTANT part of his character. He CAN feel empathy, sympathy, sentimentality, and ESPECIALLY regret. He may be a considered a sociopath, but this doesn’t mean he’s not a person with feelings as well.

He’s so distraught over losing Stanford that he drinks himself into a state of temporary amnesia that made him fall into a ptsd episode— his memory is so bad he ends up thinking he’s talking to his mother who’s been dead for probably millions of years.

This doesn’t excuse what he did to Ford AT ALL (I felt a little sick looking at the knuckles page..) but you can’t truly understand his character without understanding that he is LYING when he is cruel to Ford. And no, just because it’s a lie/front doesn’t mean he’s absolved from saying or doing something horrible, but it DOES mean he is unique and complex.

It’s perfectly reasonable to not forgive Bill for what he did to Ford, because it’s not really forgivable— but I also think it’s fair to explore the complexities of “evil” characters. SAYING A CHARACTER REGRETS THEIR ACTIONS DOESN’T MEAN I THINK THEY DESERVE FORGIVENESS!!! Especially in Bill’s case, considering that he PRETENDS to not be sorry, which makes him terrible even if he doesn’t mean what he’s saying. He might as well not be sorry at all HOWEVER!! It’s still important to distinguish him from a sociopathic stereotype— so I have to acknowledge that he’s a little sorry anyway, even if that regret is hidden away and doesn’t help literally anyone.

He values his own comfortability over the people he loves. Meaning he’ll always be cruel instead of apologizing because even if he’s truly sorry, he can’t handle the fact that he did something wrong in the first place— He’ll just play dumb.

At the end of the day, though— Bill is much more complicated than “Guy that just wants to explode people with his mind and take over the world”— I mean yes, he’s also that— but he also has hella bad ptsd and possible other mental issues that I’m not qualified to diagnose. He has a mother who he misses and a pain he carries with him.

None of the pain he harbors will ever justify the pain he’s caused— So no, I don’t think he’s ACTUALLY forgivable (though I may joke). However, in my opinion, I do think he’s redeemable! He’s going to live (or at least be in purgatory?) for millions of more years. He already got a punishment of literal death and has the empathy (somewhere) to continue forward and start fresh. He has thousands of years to heal from his trauma and wallow in what he’s done.

The Pines family may never forgive him, but out of the child-cartoony love in their hearts they offer him not forgiveness— but live and let live. (Well, at least Mabel does.. love you sweet girl.) If he goes around them they’ll beat his ass like in weirdmaggedon, but if he stays away, they will too. At the end of the day, he’s been stopped and they’re happy. If he is alive, (((or is going to be??))) he might as well heal.

And, well.. even if you think he doesn’t deserve that somewhat happy(?) ending, a redemption arc for him has been hinted at for years. Sorry, man. Respect to you and all but like… friendship is magic and the evil demigod is gonna start working at your local wendys once he’s outa space arkham. It’s just the way kids shows go, man.

(((Edited note: I apologize for my original wording when it came to “sociopath”— I wasn’t aware of its actual medical use and I should’ve done my research on that! I’ve changed this post to be more accurate in that regard, so if old reblogs look different it’s because they’re the original version.)))

[abnerkrill]

fantastic rebuttal to "writers don't deserve better pay because the stuff they write is terrible/unoriginal", full thread here

(to explain, the "Unknown" under his name is from a add-on bot detector; it usually can assign a percentage likelihood that a user is a human being and not a bot, but I think the blue check system disrupted the add-on so it says "Unknown" underneath his name now.)

[image id under the read more:

May 7, 2023 tweet thread from Tom Vaughan @/storyandplot

With #WGAStrong rightfully in the spotlight this week, I've seen some less-than-sympathetic comments focusing on the lack of originality in our projects. This is a fair criticism of the system, but not the writers. A quick history of how we got here (thread emoji)

The first thing to understand is that Hollywood has NOT run out of new ideas. The studio’s preference for I.P. has nothing to do with regurgitating ideas and everything to do with MARKETING.

The late 60s-70s is generally considered the artistic high of the studio system. Ironically, many contribute this to corporations buying up the studios! The corporations knew they had no idea how to run a movie studio, so... they put creative people in charge.

This is how you got the run of so many great films the studios would never make today. They also took bigger chances on young, promising talent (the first "film school generation" of filmmakers.)

But with the success of JAWS and STAR WARS, the corporations demanded more of those kinds of hits. The creative folks insisted such things were unpredictable, and the business folks said let's make them less so.

(Sidenote: This was also the same time a completely different phenomenon was happening. A/C was becoming the norm for theatres, making summer movie-going much more attractive.)

Over the next decade, more and more MBAs and marketing people gained influence in the studio system. Being business folks, huge hits were not a creative problem as much as a product/marketing problem.

The 80s is when the “high concept” became pre-eminent because it narrowed a sales pitch to one sentence, a trailer, and a poster. This made everyone a marketing agent for a movie because everyone could explain what it was about!

In the 90s, marketing became just as important as the film itself (reflected in their respective budgets) when Hollywood discovered they could profit from fifty years of pre-existing awareness for old TV shows and movies.

This allowed the marketing department to move away from pitching a movie and convincing you to go see it (lower success rate), to simple “audience awareness” and building anticipation. (higher success rate.)

The audience knew what THE FLINSTONES the movie was. They just needed to know the casting and when it opened. No one needed to have the remake of GODZILLA explained to them. They just needed to know when it opened.

The marketing department prefers AWARNESS over SELLING because awareness is something you can throw money at. Selling is harder, and it’s less predictable. This is why franchises are so valuable.

Whenever someone says, “That’s something I can sell!” It’s usually something that can sell itself. What they mean is, "I just have to let people know about this!"

Hollywoods's reliance on property the audience is already familiar with is 100% because... the audience is already familiar with it. It is easier to market the product and this increases its chances of success.

This focus on I.P. has become so pervasive, many, including executives themselves, have forgotten WHY it's valuable. They'll option an unknown comic BECAUSE it's I.P., forgetting that it's unknown and lacks the main asset of I.P.

Writers do love writing on an I.P. that means something to them. Every Star Wars fan who became a filmmaker would love to work in that universe. But we do not love it more than our own original work. We would always rather work on that.

So when you see another remake, or reboot, or adaptation, and think, "Can't they come up with something new?"

Remember, the answer is yes. Yes, we can. And we want to. You can blame the market or the marketing, but either way, the widespread production of truly original content is just not the studio business model we're in right now. #WGAStrong

end ID.]

[tales-of-wocdes]

Tales of Wocdes: The Silver Protector

A WIP Twine game! The demo is now available (demo updated 20.9.2024):

Tales of Wocdes: The Silver Protector is a high fantasy interactive fiction made in Twine. During the story, your protagonist will change from a helpless child to a Silver Protector, an elite warrior and protector. In time, you may wield powerful magic, or be a master of the blade.  

The game is in early development. All content is subject to change.

There is also now a kofi page.

Premise

Wocdes is a world full of magic, monsters, and secrets. No beings in this world embody all three better than the Ancients,  godlike in power and unbeatable in battle. Incredibly wise and compassionate. Incredibly terrible and cruel. Immortal and glorious. Petty and vengeful. Or so the stories go. 

Not that you know the stories. Why would you? You are a child kidnapped for unknown purposes.  You barely know anything about yourself. Your life is one of pain and suffering at the hands of people you do not know. 

In a moment of desperation, a plea leaves your lips. Or perhaps it is only in your mind. Unexpectedly something hears you and will never ignore a broken child alone in the dark asking for help. You are saved but you are permanently scarred by your experiences. Given into the care of the newly created Orphanage of Firgrat, here is where your journey truly begins. How will you cope with your past and current reality?  Can survive the cruel world of Wocdes, the weight of your trauma? Can you help others survive?  Can you grow up, make friends, learn to love, and become a real person again?

What to look forward to

In this game, you will (eventually) be able to:

Customize your character, from their appearance and gender (male, female, non-binary) to their abilities and personality.

Admittedly, your characters emotional development has taken a bit of a hit due to recent events, leaving them a bit confused in general about... everything. 

Discover why you were kidnapped, eventually.

Protect those you feel deserve it, become stronger for yourself or to protect others.

Grow up alongside other orphans and kids from the city, journey through childhood at the orphanage and the surrounding city, to adulthood with responsibilities. 

Develop your relationships with your fellow orphans and other companions, maybe even get into a romance. 

Speaking of romance, the author aims to offer an option to be completely and utterly dense about romance, like completely oblivious to the degree people worry about you. Or maybe you will be a smoother operator.

Go on adventures and missions, both innocent and not, in an original fantasy world full of magic, wonder and cruelty.

Characters

Primary

The twins Atru (m) and Azha (f): The original inhabitants of the orphanage and the only children already there when you arrive. Both twins have short blond hair and green eyes. Atru is a seemingly silent emotionless boy who clings to his sister Azha. Azha is a little girl shaped ray of sunshine and well-meaning mischief. And chatter!

More characters will be filled out later.

Secondary

Havard (m): The head custodian of the Orphanage. A father figure to all the children. His duty is to guide the children, and it is a duty he takes very seriously.

Lexia (f): The Silver Protector in charge of you. Young, excitable and strong. One of the first to be chosen for the new elite order called the Silver Protectors.

Alessa (f): The custodian in charge of the twins. A sweet young somewhat shy woman who the twins adore, both in their own ways. 

Sandor (m): The Silver Protector in charge of the twins. A good-natured and somewhat shy young man often trailing after the twins with a fond look. 

The Ancients

RAFO (Read And Find Out). You might meet some. 

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction! Any potential resemblance of appearances, names, or personalities of characters with people in real life, living or dead, is coincidental.

This story is meant for adults. The game contains depictions of violence, blood, gore, sexually suggestive content, black humor, explicit language etc. A more complete list can be found in game. Like everything else, this list is subject to change. 

The game contains dealing with traumatic events. The author is not a qualified medical professional, and the in game responses to trauma are not in any way encouraged.  If you are uncomfortable with what you are reading, please refrain from continuing until you feel better. Or drop the story entirely. None of this is worth your health.

[harvatat]

i love you || jing yuan, blade, dan heng, gepard

jing yuan doesn't really quite hear you whisper i love you into his shoulder immediately, too focused on completing the task in front of him to provide you any attention. when he does hear it, however, he whips around to look at you waiting for him to finish nearby, scrolling through your phone with a bored look on your face. "love you too, [name]," he says with a grin, as if it was the simplest sentence in the world.

blade, unknown to you, has worked up his courage to tell you a very simple 3-word sentence. kafka and silver wolf would be laughing their heads off, he sighs as he makes his way to you with a small bouquet of lilies. he rings your doorbell as he waits, resisting the sudden urge to chew on his lip. "you're here!" you smile as you let him in, marvelling at the tiny bouquet, immediately putting the lilies in a vase filled with water. "[name]." "hmm?" you call back. "i love you."

dan heng, you note, is an attentive but nervous lover, unused to open affection, often preferring to relax alone in his room. of course, you're the only one he lets in on the days he feels low on social energy, because talking to you doesn't need energy. hanging out with march 7th and stelle? no. "you alright? feel any better?" you whisper as you pass him a mug of hot chocolate, the warmth making his fingers tingle. "mm, not yet," he responds honestly, and he stiffens as he seems to mull something over. "hey, it's okay. take your time," you smile as you make a motion of tucking his hair behind his ears. "love you."

gepard is largely an absent lover- he spends most of his days on the front lines, serving belobog, and even on the days he's in the city, he's too exhausted to go outside. you don't resent him for it- soldiers are far and few in between, and the ice outside the city walls is a terrible curse. "[name]." you hear your lover groan from the couch, his leg supported by several pillows, neatly bandaged. "coming! how're you feeling? still groggy? that's the medicine, i think," you murmur, pressing a hand gently on his forehead. "mhm, love you," gepards whispers, and your whole world stills.

ugh my cuties i'm gonna die from the fluff </333

© leichor 2024.

[sorrowsofsilence]

the crow oneshot - noah!draven x fem!reader

words: 6.7k

warnings: 18+ (implied smut, death, graphic violence, mentions of murder, implied suicide, angst, heartbreak and grief)

summary: "People Once Believed That When Someone Dies, A Crow Carries Their Soul To The Land Of The Dead. But sometimes something so terrible happens, the crow can bring that soul back to put the wrong things right."

note: ok i know its late but i somehow got the writing worm to complete this at 4am and i am so happy with it, i hope you enjoy. this is my take on a mash of the comic and the new movie but with noah playing eric draven. enjoy lovelies. also yes i edited the photo above and gave him a nose piercing hehe oops.

"People Once Believed That When Someone Dies, A Crow Carries Their Soul To The Land Of The Dead."

"But sometimes, something so terrible happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can't rest. And sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to put the wrong things right.”

Noah had never known a love that burned as fiercely as his love for you.

Every beat of his heart was consumed by thoughts of your image, pounding deeper with every inhale. His body was sworn in devotion to your being; your name was a prayer on his lips.

Even in his final moments, as he struggled for breath while the wound in his stomach stole his time from this earth, Noah’s eyes never left yours; his love for you transcended even death.

When his last breath escaped him, he watched your fingers fall limp, still reaching for him in desperate agony; a silent scream etched upon your graying lips.

Your eyes had glazed over, forever mourning the love for him that could never be replaced- and your bodies grew cold against the pavement, your murderers staining the concrete with the memories of your story.

A crow was there, its evanescent body cloaked in the darkness of twilight, with gleaming eyes reflecting your love's memories as it watched. It knew that it was time.

With a narrow gaze, it eyed Noah carefully as life drained from his body, his once vibrant soul that entwined with yours, diminishing to nothing.

His spirit was a current of emotions - pain, regret, sorrow - but above all, love. A love that clung onto him as he faded away. A love that refused to let go.

As he passed, Noah's being mingled in the air, leaving his lifeless form behind, unknown to him.

With a disheartening caw, the crow took flight and reached for his soul, grasping it with its talons before navigating the obsidian sky toward the Land of the Dead.

When it arrived, the barrier between life and death halted the crow’s arrival, its being unable to cross to the other side with his next life.

The heartache of Noah’s agony penetrated the crow’s body, causing its feathers to hesitate.

The crow knew of his pain. It was common amongst mortals, something it saw many times over in countless souls.

Yet, something about Noah’s struck a chord deep within its being; for on his dying breath his wish was not for himself - but for you.

“A twisted soul, a mortar…despair the bricks…to build a temple to sadness.”

The brunette had wished, in desperate yearning, for nothing but you to live. To be in a world that cherished you. To be loved by him forever.

At that moment, in defiance of countless centuries of duty, the crow turned back with Noah’s soul still clutched within its talons. Its purpose had changed- to bring Noah back from the precipice of finality and reunite him with you.

His spirit soared, lifted by the mournful song of the crow as it carried him through a veil of mist, vessel awaiting.

As Noah's body jolted awake when his soul clung to his skin once again, he grasped for air and clutched his chest, unaware that this nightmare was far from over.

The crow knew that in the land of the dead, Noah would have found no peace. He would have wandered, lost to the abyss of reflection and torment, your tears reaching him like distant echoes within the realm of sorrow.

When he came to and sat up against the damp ground, his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit street as rain fell from the sky. His heart raced in anguish as pain spread across his body, his hands reaching for his stomach to cradle his wounds.

But despite the blood that stained his fingers, your name raced in his mind, his world-shattering once he turned.

Perhaps it was all a dream he thought, perhaps he couldn’t wake up.

But there you were, void of this earth- your lifeless body lying against the cement as he screamed, your soul unaware as the wails of agony ripped from his throat. He screamed and screamed, unable to control the pure terror of your limp body lying beside him, gone.

His hands, raw and tainted with crimson, crawled toward you as he dragged himself across the wet pavement. Each moment felt like a century until his fingers grazed your cold skin, every thunderous pound of his heart growing louder within his ears.

“Don’t look don’t look” the shadows breathe Whispering me away from you “Don’t wake at night to watch her sleep You know that you will always lose This trembling, Adored, Tousled bird mad girl… ”

Noah’s chest ached and mourned, the pain within his heart transcending to his limbs in newfound desolation. The pain from the bullet sinking into his flesh couldn’t be compared to the anguish he felt as he pulled your limp body onto his lap; his tears mingled with the rain, falling onto your still face.

The crow watched silently from a distance as Noah cradled your body against his chest. He held you close, clinging to the memory of you as his sobs filled the empty street, echoing off the brick walls of the buildings that surrounded him. His cries went unanswered as the cold rain continued to fall, washing away any bit of warmth left within his shattered heart.

“All he wants is pain. Pain and hate. Yes, hate. But never fear. Fear is for the enemy. Fear and bullets.”

Noah’s breath quickened, chest heaving in grief and misery as he turned to look above, watching the crow stand motionless, letting out a mimicked cry.

A strange understanding glimmered in its soulful black eyes as it released an eerie melody that danced through the air in a ballad.

With furrowed brows, Noah watched the bird, rocking back and forth with your body as his mind raced with despair. He leaned forward, placing a reverent kiss against your frigid forehead, and with trembling hands, swept strands of damp hair from your face, whispering words of longing into your skin.

“I love thee with thee breath, smiles tears and all my life. And if god chose I shall but love thee better after death.”

The crow cawed again, startling Noah from his mourning- and as he looked up at it with tear-streaked eyes, the bird spread its wings, rocketing into the sky before soaring downwards.

The crow crashed into Noah’s chest, its body disintegrating on impact as a crack of lightning ripped through the twilight sky.

Noah felt his body grow stiff, convulsing as he screamed again in pain before the crow began to pulsate inside, rhythmically timing with Noah's heartbeat as they became one.

His chest filled with a burning sting, the essence of the crow sinking into his skin, coursing through his veins. He gasped for breath, his lungs straining against the sudden intrusion within him.

And then- it was over. Only his ears filled with the heavy drumming of the rain against the desolate street.

But every night I burn But every night I call your name Every night I burn Every night I fall again

Noah’s limbs strengthened, the weariness and sorrow washing away in the torrent of newfound power surging through his veins. Anger replaced his anguish as he staggered to his feet, clutching at his chest where the crow had infiltrated him.

The thunder echoed once again through the empty streets as the rain slowly eased into a drizzle. His eyes were no longer clouded with tears but instead held a fierce determination that reflected the waning storm.

Slowly, he lowered your lifeless body onto the wet pavement, kissing your forehead one last time.

His heart raced inside his chest, this newfound rage taking over as he screamed once again.

He was ready to exact revenge on those bastards. He would chase them down, tearing apart their bodies until they knew the same agony that he did. The same agony that you felt.

And so, with every tick of the clock that rang ominously through the deserted streets, Noah converted his sorrow into an insatiable thirst for revenge.

He looked down at your face one last time, still peaceful in demise, your lashes glistened with the remnants of fearful tears, oblivious to the storm that raged within Noah's heart.

His boots echoed through the narrow alleys, a grim soundtrack to the night's unfolding tale. With every step, he felt a surge of power coursing through him.

His senses had heightened; he could hear whispers from houses away, taste the fear in the air, smell the blood yet to be spilled. An unholy resilience now lined his muscles, protecting him from harm with supernatural armour.

His rage burned within him. He was no longer Noah; he had become something more – an avenging force, filled with wrath.

As he made his way home, he couldn’t help but laugh; the pain and fucked up humor of it all etched within him.

He was supposed to marry you.

He was supposed to start a family with you.

He was supposed to grow old with you, decades of lust and love combined into a story of pure devotion.

But that was stolen from him. Your life was stolen.

He stepped inside your shared apartment, the scent of your perfume still lingering there, a cruel reminder of your absence.

Closing the door with his foot, he noticed the untouched dinner for two on the table, candles having burned down to their wicks.

The apartment was just as you left it, your essence imprinted in every corner, every object. The book you were reading lay open on the coffee table, the sweater you always wore draped carelessly over the couch.

Noah sank into your armchair, your favourite spot, letting himself drown in the memory of you.

He glanced at the wedding invitations stacked neatly on the desk, their beautifully intricate designs mocking him now with their untouched optimism. With a swift movement, he swept them off the table, and they fluttered in the air like a flock of terrified birds before scattering on the floor.

He closed his eyes, sucking in a breath.

“Marry me,” He said, breathing into your skin with every kiss as he held your arms above your head.

His tongue slid up your neck, teeth grazing the lobe of your ear as he whispered the plea again.

“Marry me, Y/N.”

You moaned into his mouth as he attached his lips to yours, breathing live into your body as his hips rutted against your own.

Hands gripped each other’s hair as he held you close, your fingers entangled in his brown strands as you devoured him.

“Are you sure?” You whispered, pulling away as Noah pulled your underwear down your thighs, nails grazing the skin.

“I’ve never been more sure in my life,” He laughed, resting his forehead against yours, his brown eyes dancing with elation.

“How many have you loved? Really loved,” You said, raking your fingers down his back as Noah’s fingers slid along your core, pressing into your desire.

As you gasped in awe he smiled, peppering kisses on the sides of your cheeks.

“No one,” He breathed, kissing toward your lips, “I have never loved anybody as much as I love you.”

A bitter laugh escaped his lips.

It was too cruel, too ironic. An idyllic future replaced by this terrible nightmare.

His eyes moved to the framed photograph on the mantelpiece - to a time when happiness was not just a distant memory, but a reality.

In it, you both were laughing at some joke, unabashed joy illuminating your faces. He could still hear your laughter, resonating in his ears like the sweetest melody, and he could still feel the warmth of your touch on his skin.

The ache was sharp, cutting deep into his chest. He picked up the picture frame delicately as if handling a sacred relic, his fingers tracing the curves of your face.

Those days were gone – swept away by the cruel hands of fate.

Now, there was only vengeance left.

Darkness unfurled around him like an ominous shroud as he stormed into the bathroom, clenching his fists. His eyes grew dark as he stared at his reflection, unrecognizable to him.

Another wave of savage rage swept through him, obliterating his thoughts.

He clenched his fists tighter, knuckles turning pale under the pressure.

With an animalistic roar, he drove his fist into the mirror, glass shattering around him in an explosion of reflective fragments.

Among the shards littering the floor was his distorted reflection. The sight of it consumed him completely and he sank to his knees amid the debris of once flawless reality.

He cried again, clenching his fist in pain, the cuts deep within his skin. But then he watched as his knuckles closed the wounds, absorbing them back within his skin- healing themselves.

For a moment, he stared at his hand in disbelief.

He was momentarily stunned as he spread his fingers, turning his hand over to inspect the palm and back. Not a single cut, not a droplet of blood. An eerie calm settled over him as he looked at his flawless hand.

A bitter smile crawled across his face. It seemed life had one more irony to offer - even in the throes of his profound grief and rage, he couldn't even carry the physical scars of it.

A sound bellowed from the hall, and when he rose from the bathroom floor, leaving behind the shattered mirror as it was - he noticed a shadow dance across the window.

A crow was perched on the window ledge, its loud caw disturbing. It watched Noah with beady black eyes, then took flight to land on a nearby building. From there, it turned back to face the window where Noah stood, and let out another scream.

As if heeding some silent call, Noah opened the glass and stepped out onto the ledge. The cold wind buffeted against him, ruffling his unkempt hair and stinging his brown eyes. But he didn’t flinch, didn’t step back.

Instead, he cast a glance downwards, at the yawning abyss below – then turned his gaze towards the crow.

The crow just stared back at him, its beady eyes reflecting a strange understanding.

Quirking its head to one side as if studying him anew, it leapt into flight again. This time, it went further, before turning back again.

With a furrowed brow, Noah followed, racing down the fire escape.

‘The crow leads us back,’ a whisper rang between his ears, causing Noah to pause against the cement.

Unsure of where the voice came from, Noah shook his head, walking again.

‘They’re over here.’

The voice echoed in his mind again, causing him to whip his head around.

“Who are you?” Noah called out into the emptiness, his voice resurgent against the quietude of the late night.

There was no response, just the haunting sound of his voice reverberating through the narrow alleys. Feeling an odd sensation prickle his skin, he turned around to see the crow had returned. It rested on a signpost ahead, its black feathers shimmering under the weak light of the lamp overhead.

‘Follow.’

This time he was sure. The voice came from within, yet without - a paradox that gnawed at his sanity.

With a deep breath, Noah moved forward, following the crow once more as it took flight again. The streets began to widen as Noah reached the town square, where laughter and music echoed forth from a bar overfilled with revelers.

The crow perched atop it, cawing loudly as if beckoning him closer.

‘Enter.’

A gory stage was set, unbeknownst to them all. He kicked open the door, causing an abrupt silence to descend upon the room as he walked in. The blaring music had faltered, replaced with the sound of his heavy footsteps on the old wooden floor.

All eyes turned in unison, sizing up the newcomer. His trench coat billowed around his ankles as he stood, bathed in the light from a flickering neon sign that read 'Joe's Joint'.

The voice within Noah whispered again. 'Speak.'

Noah cleared his throat, for it had suddenly become dry.

“I am looking for them," he announced, his voice carrying across the room. He was met with puzzled glances and raised eyebrows.

"Who might 'them' be?" asked a man with a gruff voice and dishevelled beard.

"I'm not sure," replied Noah honestly, feeling the crow’s gaze bore into him from outside.

A bout of laughter echoed through the bar followed by murmurs of ridicule. But Noah didn't flinch.

“Then how will you know when you find them?” A woman from the back of the room quipped, her voice laced with sarcasm, yet her eyes held a glint of curiosity.

“I’ll feel it,” he replied, his gaze steady on her. His hands were clenched at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking under the strain.

Laughter filled the room again, but this time there was a hint of unease too. People exchanged glances, whispering amongst themselves.

The crow outside cawed once more – a single, sharp note that echoed like a gunshot in the night.

Noah eyed the strangers, and his gaze narrowed before ascending further into the bar, sliding into a stool at the counter.

“Well hun, as much as I want to help ya, I don’t know who you’re looking for,” The bartender shared a sullen smile, her greying hair tied back in a thin braid, “But I can get you a drink. On the house.”

Noah tried to smile, but all he could muster was an unperturbed gaze.

“Jack Daniels. Straight.”

The bartender nodded and put her back to him, fetching the bottle from the top shelf. As she poured it into a glass, the liquid made a soft sound.

Noah looked at the amber drink with sombre eyes before wrapping his fingers around the glass and tossing it back. The whiskey burned down his throat but he didn’t flinch.

“Another,” he commanded, pushing the empty glass towards her.

Before long, a tall man sauntered over from the shadowy corner of the bar, his leather boots thudding against the wooden floorboards. He was burly and had an air of menace about him. His eyes were icy blue, gleaming under the dim bar lights.

“You seem to be looking for trouble,” he said, leaning on the counter across Noah.

“No,” Noah replied simply, receiving his refill. “Just answers.”

The man let out a hearty laugh that echoed around the room. “You’re in the wrong place for answers, friend," he said, his icy eyes twinkling under the dim bar lights.

"No," Noah retorted, sliding a bill onto the counter, his gaze never straying from the stranger's face, "I'm exactly where I need to be.”

The room fell silent once more, save for the crackle of the fire in the corner and the intermittent caw of the crow outside. The burly man's laughter died down, replaced by a considering glance as he took another look at Noah.

"Who are you?" the burly man asked, breaking the petrifying silence. His voice was gravelly and commanding, but Noah remained unimpressed.

"Just a man out of time," Noah replied, his gaze meeting the burly man's without faltering.

"No one's out of time until they're six feet under," he said, leaning closer to Noah, lowering his voice. His breath smelled heavily of whiskey and cigars,

“Something tells me you ain't about to be buried just yet."

The scoff that left Noah’s lips made the man raise a brow. If only he knew.

"Something like that," Noah said, taking another sip of his whiskey.

The sound of the bar door opening caused the conversation to die down again, and as the gust of wind hit Noah’s back, the world around him began to spin.

‘There he is. Your first target.’

Noah’s eyes narrowed as the glass faltered at his lips, before he slowly placed it down onto the wooden counter.

Noah's body bristled with anger as he heard footsteps approaching. When the person stood next to him, his fists tightened even more.

“Rye,” The man’s voice rang in Noah’s ears. He was one of them.

"Rye," Noah repeated, his voice level.

He turned to face the newcomer; a slender man with sharp features, his dark hair slicked back against his scalp. His eyes held a sheen of arrogance that Noah found all too familiar.

The man nodded and slid onto the stool next to Noah, leaning in close so that their shoulders nearly touched. "Good choice," he said, nodding towards Noah's glass of whiskey.

Noah didn't reply, keeping his gaze steady on the newcomer. He reached for his own cup slowly, gripped it tightly and brought it to his lips.

The newcomer watched him with interest, an eyebrow raised, "You don't seem like you're from around here," he said causally, but the underlying threat wasn't lost on Noah.

"Then it seems we have something in common," Noah replied just as calmly. But his teeth began to grind together, the tightening in his chest growing.

‘He helped them. He killed her.’

The voice was quick, ringing in Noah’s head.

Noah's eyes snapped towards the newcomer, a harsh glint in them.

The man blinked, momentarily taken aback by the sudden intensity.

"Is that so?" he asked, still maintaining the casual tone but his eyes now held a hint of wariness.

"Indeed," Noah affirmed, not breaking eye contact. "We both don't belong here."

The newcomer laughed, a short, humourless sound, "Well, isn't that a peculiar coincidence?" he mused, picking up his glass and knocking back a swallow.

Noah watched him, muscles taut and ready for any sudden move.

‘Now' the voice urged him, 'Do it now.'

With a swift move, Noah drew back his fist, turning to ram it into the face of the perpetrator.

The shocked look on the man's face was quickly replaced with pain before anger sunk in. Everyone else in the bar gasped, standing up in defence as the stranger went for a reciprocated punch.

Noah was quick to react, reaching out and grabbing the man by the collar, drawing him back towards him.

"There's something else we have in common," Noah said, his voice devoid of any emotion but wrath, "We both have blood on our hands."

The man gasped again, this time more from shock than pain. He stared up at Noah with wide eyes, his arrogance replaced by fear. "What the hell are you doing?" he gasped out.

"Repaying a debt," Noah replied. His heart pounded in his chest but his grip didn't waver. Noah’s fist smashed into the man’s face again, and again, and again; causing the man to wobble momentarily, before sending a punch to Noah’s jaw.

Noah pushed him to the ground, straddling the man’s waist as his nose dripped with blood.

“Who helped you,” Noah screamed in rage, crimson knuckles pounding into the man’s skull once again.

The perpetrator on the ground huffed, his breath ragged and broken.

"I...I don't know what you're talking about," the man whimpered, a pitiful attempt at defiance. But it was a lie.

Noah could see it in his watery eyes. It wasn’t until they opened wide with shock, and recognized the brunette above him.

“Wait- you-,” He sputtered, liquid running from his mouth, “You were dead.”

A wicked smile slithered onto Noah's face, a sick glint in his eyes that echoed the cruel chuckle springing from his lips, "Guess you were wrong," he said, spitting saliva mixed with blood on the man's terrified face.

He grabbed the man by his collar again, shaking him violently, "Tell me who did it!”, he demanded, "Who helped you kill her."

The man swallowed audibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in fear. His gaze darted around at the onlookers then settled back on Noah.

"I... I can't..." he stammered.

"You'd rather die?" Noah asked, his voice dangerously soft now.

The man whimpered, his eyes darting back and forth as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. But fear had tied it up so tight that he could no longer respond.

Noah tightened his grip on the collar, bringing his adversary's face even closer to his own. The stench of sweat and fear was foul, but it was drowned out by the sweetness of impending triumph.

As Noah stared daggers into the stranger, the man had wiggled a hand into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around a gun.

His hand trembled as he pulled it out, the polished silver gleaming in the neon glow of the bar.

The crowd gasped, those standing taking a collective step back.

"Go ahead," Noah taunted, "You think a gun scares me?"

The man lifted the firearm, his grip unsteady, fingers twitching around the trigger.

Noah's gaze drifted from the terrified face of the man below him to his gun pointed right at his chest.

A slow, mocking grin crept up his face as his hands released their grip on the man's collar, and they moved up into the air, showing his open palms.

The crowd was silent, holding their collective breaths as they watched this game of life and death unfold.

And then he pulled the trigger.

The bullet split through Noah’s chest, causing him to ricochet back in pain as a black liquid oozed from his wound.

The screams of the crowd had Noah gasping for air, a hand clenching his chest.

However, the wound began to close, healing itself with the power of revenge.

As Noah stood, the stranger and patrons of the bar watched in horror, before five more bullets penetrated Noah’s skin.

Each one sunk into his body, but he sprung forward, reaching for the weapon.

He grabbed the man’s wrist with an iron grip, wrenching the gun from his unsteady hand and sending it clattering to the floor.

Noah's chest was a gruesome canvas of black-oozing puncture wounds that closed as swiftly as they were made. The man had almost emptied his gun into Noah, but it seemed to make no difference. With every bullet that pierced Noah's skin, there was a momentary grimace of pain on his face, but then it would fade into something akin to annoyance.

The stranger's terrified gaze was fixed upon the spectacle of Noah’s impossible healing.

He sat up, stumbling backward, "What are you?" he stuttered out in raw fear.

Noah only sneered down at him, silent for a moment while he held the man's gaze.

"'What am I?'" Noah replied, amusement dancing in his eyes as he laughed, reaching for the gun before kneeling before him, "I'm your worst fucking nightmare."

Noah’s hands wrapped around the jaw of the man who helped murder his beloved, fingers clenching so tight that the stranger screamed in agony.

"I'm what happens," he began, his voice gravelly and resonating throughout the room, slowly placing the gun in the man’s mouth, "when you cross a line you shouldn't have."

Everyone watched in silent horror as clicked the gun into place.

Noah's cold eyes didn't waver from the stranger's terrified gaze as he pressed the barrel deeper into the man’s mouth.

"You had a choice," Noah said gently as if offering comfort. The words were a chilling contrast to the violent act being committed, "You chose... poorly."

Noah pulled the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot filled the bar, bouncing off the walls and ceiling before eventually fading into a deafening silence; and the man's body slumped to the floor, his life extinguished in an instant.

Noah rose to his feet, dropping the gun beside the fresh corpse. He turned to face the patrons of the bar, their faces ghostly pale in fear.

His wounds had all but healed now, only small traces of black remained where the bullets had once been.

“When someone you love dies, you know emptiness, you will know what it’s like to be completely, and utterly alone. you will never forget- and you will never, ever, forgive.”

He glanced at the bartender, her face of horror leaving him unphased.

“Thanks for the drink.”

As Noah walked toward the door of the bar, he noticed a silver gleam reflecting off the wall.

The sword glistened in temptation, and he reached over, ripping it from its clasps.

He held it up, admiring its beauty for a moment before he turned it in his hands, feeling the weight of it. The steel was cool against his skin, the grip worn from use but still comfortable. It was a tool of destruction, the quiet partner to the gun that lay beside the dead man.

Noah left the bar, looking up at the crow as it bellowed, taking flight once again.

He hadn’t got a name from the bar, but the crow began leading him to the perpetrator responsible for his sorrow.

As he stepped into the night, the chill of revenge pulsated through his veins, blending seamlessly with the bitter sting of loss. The darkened path ahead swallowed up his silhouette, but the reflection of moonlight off his new weapon traced a silver wake behind him.

He followed the crow as it led him through dark alleys and abandoned streets.

Soon, they arrived at an abandoned warehouse barely visible in the cloak of darkness.

The crow perched itself on a broken window ledge, its beady eyes reflecting Noah's grim resolve. He inspected the katana once more before gripping it tightly and pushing open the warehouse door.

The musty and grimy floor held nothing but wither and age.

‘Over there.’

The crow spoke, its voice a gnarled whisper. Its beady eyes darted towards a doorway shrouded in shadows as it hung above.

Noah moved cautiously, his grip tightening around the hilt of the weapon until he could hear the voices of the warehouse.

He came upon the doorway, somehow darker than the rest of the dimly lit room. Pushing through, the room opened up into a large open space, dotted with crates and discarded machinery—a skeleton of past industry.

At its center sat a man, his back to Noah, seemingly oblivious to his presence.

Noah clutched the sword tighter as he took one step forward, then another.

As he moved closer, he saw the man turn slightly—enough for Noah to see the cruel glint in his eye. This was him—the one who had wreaked havoc on his life.

‘Kill him. Avenge her.’

The man turned fully now - his face a mirror of malice under a sliver of dim light leaking from the creaky old window. His lips curled up into a sinister grin as he stood.

“You survived,” He sounded surprised shaking his head, “I was sure Jiggs had done one on ya.”

Noah’s snarl only grew as the stranger continued to speak.

“You were wrong,” Noah spat, emotion making his voice tremble slightly as he advanced.

The sword in his hand felt heavy, but not too much so, and he could feel the strength coursing through his veins.

The man laughed, a sharp, cruel sound that bounced off the warehouse wall, “Well,” he said with a smirk, “you’re little girlfriend must be dead, then.”

Noah’s breathing grew heavier as his chest screamed, anger seeping through his limbs.

“Why’d you do it!” He blared, taking a step forward.

The man chuckled, his eyes gleaming with a predatory satisfaction, “Why? Because it was fun."

Noah felt his heart hammer in his chest, a rage so potent it nearly choked him.

He forced the words out through gritted teeth. "She didn't deserve it."

"No one ever does." The man replied coolly, shrugging his shoulders with an air of detached indifference.

With a battle cry that rang throughout the abandoned warehouse, Noah charged, brandishing his katana and aiming for the man's chest. Time seemed to slow as he watched the man step aside with ease and swipe at Noah with a sharp, shiny object that came from nowhere.

Suddenly, Noah found himself tumbling to the ground, the pain spreading across his arm like wildfire. Gritting through the pain, he pushed off the ground with his good arm and spun around to face his opponent again.

Noah screamed again as he swung his katana around in a swift arc, and the crow watched from its perch—a final cheerleader in this fatal dance.

The man dodged, and with another swift, unexpected movement, he lunged forward, catching Noah's torso in his grasp. Wrenching him close, the man’s eyes gleamed with savage delight.

"So much fight for a dying boy!"

‘Noah!’ A voice echoed through the warehouse, a mimic that shocked him to the core.

It was your voice.

Ignoring the man's tightening grip on him, Noah turned his head towards the sound, but nobody was there.

‘Noah, my love.’

The music of your voice crawled through his mind as he screamed, heart racing with reprisal.

You were merely a mirage dancing through his memory as he swung the weapon, slicing the murderer’s arm.

The man’s grip loosened as Noah stumbled back, before running toward him again.

His vision blurred with the pain and anger, yet he could still see your face — those beautiful eyes, filled with life and love.

His body gave you everything as his fingers dug into your hips, holding you steadily against him. He pounded into you with so much passion, that he knew he would give up everything to spend eternity with you. Your mouth hung open in devotion as you held onto his arms, screaming his name in all the love he gave you.

“I love you,” you cried, nails clawing at his neck to pull him into a kiss, his tongue encircling your own.

“I love you most,” he moaned, face shoved into the crook of your collarbone as he relished in your body, claiming you as his forever.

The memory was so vivid, so potent.

Noah’s grip on the katana tightened and he lunged forward once more.

"There is nothing for you here," he spat at the man, words laced with venom.

He could see surprise flicker in his opponent's eyes.

Noah used this moment to attack, driving his katana straight for the man's heart.

But like a snake, the man twisted away at the last moment, Noah's blade tearing through his shirt and grazing his skin. Yet it did enough damage.

The man howled in pain, stumbling back with a hand clutching his bleeding side.

Noah pounced again, but this time he wasn't aiming for death.

He kicked out hard and fast, smashing into the man's knee with a crack that echoed through the warehouse. The man howled, collapsing onto the floor as his legs gave way beneath him.

Through a haze of pain and malice, Noah stared down at his fallen adversary. His chest heaved yet there was no room for mercy in his heart.

The memories of you lingered, fueling him, igniting the fire that had been dying since your demise. With every intake of breath, your scent filled his senses and your voice played like a broken symphony in his ears.

He moved over to the fallen man, pressing the katana's edge into his chest. The man squirmed, gasping for breath but Noah only pushed harder.

Your face flashed before him again, a beacon of pure love, forever lost to him.

"You took her from me," Noah continued, his voice shaking with unrestrained anger, “My everything.”

“My valentine has hollow eyes,” the brunette seethed, pushing the blade into the man’s flesh, "No mercy."

Noah twisted the katana as it pierced through his skin, and the man's eyes bulged in pain.

"No mercy," he echoed himself, his voice scarcely audible over the man's agonized screams.

The cold steel slid into his adversary's chest with sickening ease, each centimetre driving home the finality of what Noah was doing. He watched as the life drained from the murderer’s eyes, replaced with the fear of an impending death.

As the man's struggles grew weaker, Noah leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over his enemy's face.

"You will feel every bit of the pain you inflicted upon her," he whispered harshly, "You will know the agony of a soul being ripped apart, just as you did to mine."

The warehouse was filled with an eerie lull now, broken only by desperate whimpers and gasps for air.

Blood stained the concrete ground beneath them; a dark, macabre painting of their dance.

Slowly, Noah extracted his katana, watching as the vacant eyes of his prey stared back, lifeless and bleak as he slumped to the cement.

It was only then Noah let himself fall onto his knees, letting the katana fall onto the floor with a clang.

He let himself cry in anguish once again, a pain so visceral it threatened to swallow him whole.

"Forgive me," he choked out in between sobs, a desperate plea aimed at an unresponsive heaven. He didn't even know who he was asking forgiveness from, you or himself.

The remorse constricted his throat, a cruel mockery of the cathartic release he had envisioned. He'd set out to bring justice to your memory, a fiery knight blinded by grief and revenge.

Yet there he was, kneeling amongst scattered shards of his shattered soul.

The world hadn't changed its course; the stars above hadn't dimmed in acknowledgment of your absence.

"No mercy," he'd said, convinced that by extinguishing the life of your murderer, he'd somehow restore balance.

But now? Nothing felt balanced. Nothing felt right. The emptiness inside him gaped wider, mocking him with its silent echo.

A faint chill blew through the warehouse's broken window, carrying with it the scent of impending winter.

His face felt numb against the bitterness, a physical counterpart to his numbed soul.

The city beneath him remained indifferent to his grief. Cracks of neon lights pierced through the dingy windows, casting their fluorescent glow upon the cold concrete floor of the warehouse. The irony was not lost on him; even in death, the city sought to breathe life into everything it touched.

Noah looked up towards the night sky out one of the windows. Once he’d believed the stars whispered stories of love and heroism, of warriors dancing with celestial beings under their luminous watch.

Those tales now seemed like a cruel mockery, a jester’s tale spun to amuse the lords of fate.

Yet in his heart, he wished they could’ve come true.

His hands were still stained with the lifeblood that had drained away before him. He felt its striking warmth persistently, reminding him of the life force he had extinguished. The hands that held you tenderly, and stroked your hair with love and care, were now instruments of destruction.

For days, he wandered, unsure of where to go or what to become. The crow no longer spoke.

When the day came for your funeral, he sat next to your grave, leaning against the cold stone. Noah could no longer bring himself to cry. His eyes had been left dry and lifeless, lost in eternal drought.

‘It’s not death if you refuse it… it is if you accept it.’

The voice was so clear, for the first time in days.

Noah looked above, staring at the black bird once again.

“I want it to rain,” he spoke slowly, “please.”

The bird watched in understanding as Noah’s fingers held the rope between his fingers.

Giving his soul to the crows of the afterlife, he knew his spirit could finally rest, now that it avenged yours.

Hopefully, you were there, waiting for him on the other side.

tags:

@thefallennightmare @xxkittenkissesxx @deathblacksmoke @nyxisnotok @anameunmusical

@sitkowski @sammyjoeee @cookiesupplier @th4t-em0-k1d @dsireland86

@whenthesummerdies @spicywhenspeaking @veronicaphoenix @lma1986 @calleyx13

@somewhere-diamond @auratheopossumwitch @blackveilomens @skulliecadaver-blog @silentglassbreak

@darkmxgician @sprokat @thatchickwiththecamera @reyadawn @xserenax-13

@philomenie @into-the-grey @amelia-acero @blend-in-with-the-madness @rumoured-whispers

@anything-more-than-human @blacksoul-27 @sweetwombatpizza @bluestdai

[astariontopofme]

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 🍷 (Astarion x F!MC)

Summary: Astarion is on his nightly prowl for an innocent civilian to return to his master. He meets an unexpectedly warm soul, distracting him completely and sending him down a spiral of self deprecating thoughts. Basically if he met Tav in his slave days, it’s quite angsty.

TW ⚠️: Descriptions of panic attacks.

Word count: 2.2k ___ Astarion had been ordered to an entirely different tavern that night, the atmosphere a lot more chaotic than what he was used to.

He wasn’t best pleased by the change of scenery, watching from the door as people of all different races and religions cheered and laughed in the name of alcohol, a common ground for their usually differing views. At least he knew who was easy and who was going to put up a fight in his regular spots.

This unknown territory could present itself as dangerous if he wasn’t careful.

Despite his weariness, he was desperate to please Cazador this time around. The last few innocent souls he had lured back to the palace had put up a fight and caused havoc, which had rather displeased the merciless vampire Astarion feared most. It was the whole reason he was now not allowed back to his usual spot. He was not at all prepared to be on his bad side for another day in the shadows if he did not bring the man what he wanted peacefully.

His crimson eyes rapidly flickered from face to face as he scoped out tonight’s target. As much as he despised this cruel task of leading people to their doom, this was all a game of survival. It was what kept him from irreversible punishment at the hands of Cazador.

He had to do this, just like every other night.

In a rather dark and sadistic sense, he was usually pretty nifty when it came to the art of seduction. He knew all the right things to say, the perfect places to rest his hands and the most irresistibly tempting way to look at his prey. If he wasn’t doing such a terrible thing, he’d likely be more impressed with himself.

His lingering gaze on a man he deemed suitable enough to deliver to Cazador was abruptly interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. Turning almost defensively, he came face to face with a rather attractive woman behind him, smiling at him sweetly.

“Could I just squeeze myself past you please,” she requested kindly, her shimmering eyes flickering across his features before landing back into a lock with his own.

Astarion wasn’t entirely shy or someone who struggled socially, in his own opinion. Yet something about this woman had caused him to hesitate, stopping his train of thought about the fate of the glum looking man sitting at the bar.

The glum ones were always the easiest.

This woman on the other hand smiled so brightly that it almost instantly felt like physical affection. He could feel a warmth within him, something he had never felt in his years as a spawn. The soothing feeling was throwing him off completely, and all he could do was stare at her like he’d never seen a woman before in his life.

Her comforting smile dropped ever so slightly as her brows furrowed a little in concern. “Are you alright?”

Astarion cleared his throat, his conscience giving him a stern telling off for allowing himself to become so distracted by a simple smile. “Yes. Apologies,” he said monotonously, stepping out of her way and into the tavern.

“It’s no bother,” she reassured him, her beautiful smile returning to a full beam once again. “Would you like a drink? You look like you need one.”

There it was again. Hesitation. Almost insecurity in fact. All he had to do was say no and walk away. He didn’t even need to be polite about it, he wasn’t there for niceties, he was there to ruin someone's life. Those two things did not go hand in hand.

And yet he was standing there, staring at her intently once more while his mouth refused to let the simple little word of rejection out. He found himself to be completely drawn to her, and not in a luring her to her death kind of way. Nobody who was completely sober ever spoke to him first, usually put off by his blood red eyes and pasty skin. But she seemed interested in him, and her smile was just too much of a precious sight for sore eyes for him to reject her.

Supposing a quick drink wouldn’t completely ruin his plans, he simply nodded, his tongue stuck firmly to the roof of his mouth. Her eyes lit up at his acceptance before she turned to lead him through the crowd. 

At the bar, Astarion placed himself beside the man he had set his eyes on earlier. He seemed particularly upset upon closer inspection, holding what appeared to be a wedding ring in his hand as he weeped quietly. The man truly couldn’t have been more vampire bait if he tried, and Astarion only hoped he would stick around long enough for him to make his move once he’d shaken off the cute lady ordering him and herself a glass of red.

Once they were perched on bar stools and sipping their wine, the woman spoke up again. “I’ve never seen you around here before.”

“First time,” he responded simply.

“Well, welcome. If you like a rowdy atmosphere, this is the place for you,” she joked, the flickering light from the candelabras above casting a golden hue over her beautiful features.

Astarion merely sipped his wine, trying to keep the main part of his focus on ensuring that the sad sack behind him wasn't going anywhere. And yet his focus couldn’t be shifted from the woman before him. He’d never described another as lovely before, but he could just tell that she had a pure heart.

Another easy target, if he played his cards right.

The nice ones were always his second choice, but he usually led the conversation and bought the drink to charm them. The way this woman had approached him made him wonder if she was trying to lure him somewhere terrible.

“So, what brought you here?”

Astarion snapped himself back into the present, clearing his throat again to slip into his default setting of synthetic confidence. “Oh nothing in particular. The eye candy was becoming a bit…scarce, at my regular,” he responded convincingly.

The woman laughed, a sweet and innocent giggle. Astarion found himself drawn to the way her nose wrinkled up as her cheeks were splayed with a rosy pigment. Her laugh extracted a smile of his own, the only real smile he had managed in a very long time.

What was she doing to him?

“You’re funny,” she assessed, still giggling into her drink. “See anything you like here?”

Her head cocked to the side as she asked this question, her eyes trailing up and down his body subtly. Soft locks of her hair swayed to the side with her head, revealing her collar bone and the smooth curve of her neck. The woman was hitting on him, and he had no idea what to do about it. It had never happened like this before.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he teased quietly with a smirk, his gaze fixated on her glistening eyes.

She laughed again, the sound hitting his ear like an angelic song. The woman was truly refreshing, like a ray of sunshine in the shadowy night. He hadn’t felt something so close to the luxury of the day time for many years, and it instantly made him feel unhappy again.

Here he was again, searching for some poor and innocent soul to rip away from their life and into the hell he’s had no choice but to call home, so they can die at the hands of a sadistic bastard that he cannot escape from. He wanted to live a life. A real life. Going on real dates and enjoying the fresh air in the afternoon sun like everyone in the tavern but himself could do.

A fever dream by all accounts.

“Are you alright?”

He snapped himself out of his thoughts once more, his almost watery gaze meeting her concerned eyes. Clearly he had let his emotions overtake him enough that she had picked up on them, something Cazador would have given him absolute hell for. He was so wrapped up in the terrifying thought of being a slave of the night forever more that he could almost feel himself beginning to panic.

He set down his drink, standing from the stool rather quickly and putting on a fake smile. “I’m fine. Thank you for the drink,” he said sincerely, turning away from her and making his way to the exit.

Air was what he needed in that moment, his sense of hearing tuning out as the woman called out for him to wait. Recklessly elbowing people out of his way, he barged through the exit and back out onto the cobbled road, practically gasping for breath. Even outside, he felt the immense feeling of being trapped. Damned for all eternity.

There was a ringing in his ears and a tingling in his hands as he swallowed every bit of oxygen he could fill his lungs with. He didn’t want to do this anymore, every look of betrayal on every face that he had lied to presenting themselves in his mind, rightfully haunting him for manipulating them so heartlessly. And for what?

For Cazador. Always for Cazador.

When a hand rested on his shoulder from behind, he spun around quickly, ready to defend himself whilst his breathing remained quick and shallow. The same sympathetic and concerned eyes of the beautiful woman widened in shock at his reaction.

“It’s okay,” she said with a slight shake to her voice, holding her hands up. “You’re okay.”

Something about her voice made him believe her for a split second. He most certainly wasn’t okay, but he was by all means going to ensure that she was going to be.

She smiled softly at him, holding out a hand. “I only live a mile away if you need somewhere to calm down. Come back to my-”

He cut her off, grabbing her wrist to pull her towards him a little roughly and clamping his hands on her shoulders. She gasped, the smile dropping from her attractive face immediately and replacing itself with a look of fear. Her larger than life eyes were flickering between his red ones quickly, likely searching for any bad intentions.

“Listen to me,” he warned quietly, almost in a whisper. “If you ever come across another with red eyes and pale skin like myself, promising you an unforgettable night of love and pleasure, do not go anywhere with them. Under any circumstances. Do you understand me?”

The woman froze up for a moment, trying to digest what he was saying to her. Her mouth opened a few times to speak, but nothing came out. He gave her a little shake, his eyes burning into hers to relay the severity of his request.

“Do you understand?”

She nodded quickly, her now frantic breathing matching his. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to do such a thing, but he leant in toward her, pressing his cold lips to her soft warm ones for a feeling of comfort. Surprisingly, she didn’t pull away in sheer panic, and Astarion could feel her relax a little beneath him. When he finally pulled away, he let go of her shoulders, taking a step back.

“Please remember what I said,” he almost begged, not wanting this pure soul to become a victim to Cazador.

He turned to walk away, but was stopped when her melodic voice finally spoke up.

“Tav.”

Turning back, he gave her a funny look, not knowing what she had even said. She cleared her throat, speaking up again.

“My name is Tav,” she repeated quietly, looking at him with an expression that he couldn’t read. She looked down at the ground awkwardly for a moment, before glancing back up at him with a bit of hope in her eyes. “Maybe we’ll meet again?”

Astarion furrowed his brows, utterly perplexed by the woman he had just intensely and cryptically warned about his kind mere minutes after meeting her. He couldn’t help the little curl of his lips. She was cute, and definitely the type of person he would have courted if his life was his own.

“Goodnight, Tav,” he concluded, turning back in the direction of the palace and leaving her there.

He wasn’t up for fake interest and meaningless sex to please his heinous master tonight. Tav had made him feel something he’d never felt before, and he gruesomely thought it best to let Cazador punish him for not doing as ordered to get him back in check. After all, this was all just a game of survival, and he needed a fresh reminder of why he had to do such terrible things.

The faces that flashed into his mind were never happy ones, but her smile was one he was never going to forget.

He truly hoped he would see her again someday.

.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this angsty little AU fic! 🤍

[kingofpopmj]

Can’t Go On Without You By My Side

Summary: You visit your boyfriend of two years on his BAD world tour. The excitement of witnessing him perform live is quickly tainted the moment she walks in.

Pairing: Michael Jackson x Reader

Warnings: SMUT

Requested: no

*Y/N's POV*

Michael and I were finally able to plan for me to visit him on tour. I was lucky enough to get a week and a half off of work and we were determined to make the most of it. Michael had insisted on picking me up from the airport even though he was technically supposed to be at the venue. We arrived about ten minutes after the show was scheduled to begin, but thankfully, no one called us out on it.

I stood off to the side, watching Michael completely own the stage. The way he mastered his onstage persona was breathtaking. His smile was so bright. I took a moment to discreetly admire his outfit, clinging to his body tighter with each passing song.

“He’s sexy, isn’t he?” A breathy voice sounded from beside me, interrupting my silent gawking. I guess I wasn't being as discreet as I thought.

“Um—” I looked to my left, making eye contact with a very tall woman. She was beautiful. A tight black dress clung to her body so tight it almost looked painted on. I know exactly who this is.

“The correct answer is yes. He can do it all, if you know what I mean.” My hands clenched into fists with such force I could feel my rings digging into my skin. “He’s absolutely the sexiest man alive. I’m so exhausted, he kept me up all night this past week. That's not a complaint by the way. He is so worth it.”

I couldn’t put together enough words to form a complete sentence. Quite frankly, all my focus was on holding myself back. I couldn’t catch a case right now. Michael might be cheating on me and this woman is certainly a whore. That was that. I couldn’t change fact. If I went off and beat the living shit out of some groupie it would ruin the rest of my life. I couldn’t let the anger control my behavior. He betrayed me, but I refuse to let him see how much it really broke me.

“I’m so sorry, I get all misty watching him. Don’t we all?” She laughed, squeezing my shoulder, little did she know she was dangerously close to losing those boney little fingers. “My name is Tatiana, and you are?” She held out her hand, batting her eyelashes so hard I thought she’d fly away. At least I hoped she would. Maybe over a large body of water, perhaps shark infested waters.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” She let out an exaggerated gasp, slapping her palm against her mouth.

“You’re the girlfriend! Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry.” She quickly ran off leaving me standing there alone with this feeling in my stomach that I couldn’t describe.

I glanced around the immediate area, seeing no one else near me felt worse somehow. I don't know many people here other than Michael. I became distracted as he sang Rock With You, little did he know he was moments away from getting rocked. Y/N, no, stop. I release the tension in my hands, shaking it off, trying to let go of the violent thoughts swirling in my mind. Besides how therapeutic it was right now, it wasn’t productive. I need some air, a drink, a hitman? No. Air, I need air.

The clicks of my heels echoed through the halls as I headed towards an unknown destination. I'm probably lost, but that’s a problem for future Y/N.

*Michael's POV*

As Rock With You came to an end, I noticed Y/N disappear behind the curtain. Exactly, two songs have gone by since then and still no sign of her. During the brief outfit change after Thriller, before intermission, I notice Greg, my music director mouthing something to me.

"What?" I mouthed back, scratching my forehead. He's terrible at this.

"Your girl." Okay, I got that. I nodded, shrugging slightly as if to say and what about her.

"Mad."

I couldn’t play charades any longer, as the lights dimmed and the band took over the stage I snuck behind the large equipment to get closer to him.

"What happened?"

"I saw Tatiana talking to her. She did not look too happy after that brother."

I nodded slowly, processing his words before walking off. I should be taking advantage of my break, but I couldn’t relax not knowing where my girlfriend was.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. What are you doing all the way back here?”

"Nothing I just needed some air." She said lowly, avoiding my eyes.

"Are you okay?" I moved towards her, cupping her face in my hands. The look in her eyes answering my question, but I wanted to hear it from her.

"Yeah, well, no, but it can wait until after the show."

"Are you sure?" I asked and she nodded in response. "Now, can you please come back with me? I perform better knowing my beautiful woman is watching me."

She accompanied me as I changed into my next outfit. She helped me slip into my coat, but my excitement was short lived, because I could sense her sadness. What is going on?

"I love you, baby." I watched closely as she struggled with her response, she began biting on her bottom lip, her eyes growing glossy. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Her voice cracked and she quickly turned away from me.

"I know you Y/N. You're hurting and I'd like to know what's going on so I can help."

"S—She—" Y/N broke down right, her body was shivering as she tried to compose herself. I felt less than helpless.

"Who?" I tried comforting her, but she brushed me off, moving away from me all together.

A quick knock on the door, signaling that intermission was coming to a close and I needed to get back out there.

"I'll let them know I need more time. I'll be right back."

"No!"

"You're crying. Y/N, baby, I'm not leaving you."

"I'm alright. Please, can we just talk about this later?"

I didn't want to agree, but she wasn't asking, she was practically begging. I intertwined our fingers, keeping her close as I weaved my way through the backstage area.

"Please, stand here and watch the rest of the show. It would mean the world to me." I smiled at her and kissed her temple as I hugged her.

"I'll be right here." She reaffirmed my confidence. Then, she grabbed my collar, pulling me into her lips. Her tongue was pure magic. Normally, I'd be embarrassed about public affection, but with the way I'm feeling, I'd love to feel every inch of her right here, right now. I didn't care who was watching.

She pulled away and I desperately chased her lips as she giggled at my neediness.

"You have to go."

"There is no way I'm leaving your side after that."

"You don't have a choice."

"I will be back. Very, very soon."

*Y/N's POV*

I watched the second half of Michael's concert the way I should've watched the first half. I enjoyed myself dancing and singing along to my man's voice. What Tatiana said hurt me, but I felt so foolish when I thought logically again. Michael isn't that type of person. I didn't need to talk to him about this, because once the anger and hurt wore off I was able to come to a conclusion on my own. She's lying. She has to be.

"You're still here?" This damn witch. "I'd be halfway home by now if I found out my boyfriend stepped out on me."

There was so much I wanted to say, but I chose to let her words go in one ear and out the other. The last thing I want to do is let her know she ever got to me.

"Well, that's my cue. Enjoy the show." She winked, walking pass me and flipping her hair.

I was forced to watch as Tatiana strutted across the stage with my boyfriend chasing after her. This was one of my favorite songs and now I couldn’t even enjoy it. I felt my blood begin to boil as she shamelessly flirted with him in front of the crowd of thousands.

She was getting closer and closer to him. She was doing this on purpose and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Why is this song so long all of the sudden?

"What the hell is she doing?" I heard Frank DiLeo grumble from behind me. I jumped a bit at his tone, but tried to play it off.

"Everything okay?" I asked softy.

"Hey darling, yeah she was supposed— what the hell! Get her off the damn stage! Now!"

I turned my attention back to the stage and I wished more than anything I wouldn’t have done that. I tried to blink as if that would change the view, but it didn’t.

I was stuck in that horrible moment as the worst thing I could imagine was confirmed. I had a front row seat to my own humiliation and I had no idea how to escape.

Before I knew it, she was walking towards me. "So happy you could be here to see what a real power couple looks like." She stopped in front of me, crossing her arms. "Sorry honey, he's moved on to bigger and better things."

I felt my cheeks heat up as I became uncomfortably aware of how many eyes were on us.

"Tatiana, that's enough. Get away from her." Frank shouted, shooing her away like a toddler.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

We stood in silence as Man in the Mirror blasted through the speakers. It wasn't until Michael's long passionate goodbye to his fans, wrapping up the concert that Frank slung his arm around my shoulder.

"Darling, you know she's full of it right?"

"I'm not sure."

"Michael and I have to take care of some business. I won't keep him too long and I'll send him your way after."

I knew that was his way of telling me it was private business that I couldn’t be around for. I hugged him before heading off, I wasn't really sure where I was going, but walking felt better than sitting with my thoughts.

"Baby! I'm so sorry. Frank told me what happened after—"

“I need to get out of here before I do something I regret.” Michael reached out, taking a firm hold of my hand, he pulled me down a short hallway and into his dressing room.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” He finally spoke, shutting the door behind him.

“You’re sorry I had to see it?”

“Yes.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Y/N—”

“Does that mean you do it often?”

“No, that’s not—”

“You go around kissing other people when I’m not around?”

“Y/N, I’ve never—”

“I know they’re everywhere, throwing themselves at you, but I never thought you let them get to you.”

“Stop!”

“What!”

“I’ve never cheated on you!” He shouted in a tone I had never heard before, the look of pain present in his eyes. Shit.

“That’s not what people are saying.” I muttered, suddenly I felt so guilty.

“People? What people?”

“Who do you think! She said you two—”

“That’s a lie! I only see her during performances. That’s it. Y/N, I would never do that to you.”

“How am I supposed to believe you after that? She kissed you and you let her.”

“No, no, no! I didn’t let her! I wasn’t even paying attention to her. When I’m on stage, I’m there to perform. Why would I spend weeks planning for your visit just to betray you?”

“She was so awful to me, the things she said, then, she went out there and—”

“Got herself fired.”

“Michael, I’m pissed, but I’ll get over it. I don’t want this to affect business. You don’t have to fire her.”

“I already did.”

“Michael—”

“I only want to work with people who respect me and my loved ones. She won’t be missed. I don’t care to have people around me that I can’t trust.”

“I’m sorry I yelled. I’m so sorry I accused you of—” Michael shut me up, gripping my hips, pressing my body against his and kissing me sloppily. His hand claiming a possessive hold of the back of my neck, deepening his touch.

"I love you." he spoke into my mouth, his hot breath sent shivers down my spine. I felt myself tremble as his fingers explored my inner thigh, pushing up my skirt to give himself more access.

"I love you." I said, slipping my fingers around his belt buckle. He smiled knowingly, pushing me back, my ass collided with the counter and I felt myself crumble at his roughness. The cold countertop causing me to let out a moan. He pulled away for a moment, reaching behind me and clearing off the counter in one swift movement. "Such a gentleman." I purred in his ear as he picked me up.

"Only for you." A smirk on his face as the sound of nylon tearing filled my ears. "I love how sexy these look on you. I'll have to replace them." His long fingers slipping pass the freshly shredded fabric of my panties and teasing me one finger at a time. He watched as my head leaned back onto the mirrored wall, he chuckled as I struggled to find something to grab onto.

"Michael!" I was fighting to breath feeling him knuckle deep inside of me, hitting the right spot. "Fuck! Deeper!" I begged for more. Contrary to my needy cries, he pulled back, leaving me feeling empty as he unbuckled his belt, letting his pants fall to the ground. I took this opportunity to tear his shirt off, throwing it across the room.

Michael pushed my legs apart, admiring how much I yearned for him, he slowly pulled me towards him with a strong grip on my legs. My bare ass slide across the counter painfully slow until I finally felt his hard tip press against my entrance.

"Always so wet and ready for me." He slammed into me, giving me no time to adjust which threw me further over the edge.

"Harder!" I yelled as he pounded into me with such intensity I swear I could feel him rearranging my guts.

"Baby, I want to cum inside of you." His voice smooth, making me even more wet.

"Please!" The walls were shaking as we continued to devour one another.

"You're fucking perfect." He whispered against the bare skin of my chest, I felt him everywhere. My eyes rolled back as his dick massaged all the right places.

Suddenly, the door swung open violently, causing me to panic and try to cover my exposed chest, but Michael stopped me. He grabbed my wrists trapping them behind my back in on of his hands as he increased his speed again. My moans escaped my throat against my will as tears of pleasure rolled down my cheeks. At this point, my entire body was shaking, Michael's tongue rolling against mine elongating my high further.

"What the fuck are you doing!" A voice shouted, causing my head to snap in the direction of its origin. Tatiana.

"You feel so good wrapped around my dick." He declared as he sucked on my neck. It was impossible to concentrate on anything else but his lips. "I'll never get tired of fucking this perfect pussy." Michael didn’t stop. He spoke clearly and confidently as he fucked me with purpose.

"Get the fuck out of here!" Tatiana yelled.

"Y/N!" Michael whimpered, his seed spreading within me, causing my legs to tingle. He gazed deep into my eyes, beads of sweat trailing down his face. "I fucking love you." His hand gently curled around the side of my neck, pulling me back into his sweet mouth.

"What the fuck!" Another shout from the demon herself. I paid it no mind. Looking back at Michael, his long dick still twitching inside of me.

"I love you baby." I smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck, leaning into his neck to leave my mark. Tatiana stood there staring at us in shock, so naturally I challenged her stare. I waited to see if Michael would break focus, but he didn’t.

“We are busy in here. Close the door on your way out.” Michael said sternly between breaths, not even sparing her a glance.

The door slammed shut seconds later and it was only then that I took the time to look around the dimly lit room. Make-up and personal belongings littered the floor. Various unfamiliar items surrounded us, leading me to believe that I was made apart of one very well thought out, very devious plan and it turned me on.

"Michael?"

"Yes, my love?"

“This isn’t your dressing room, is it?”

“Nope.” He smiled triumphantly, planting tender kisses all over my face.

“You’re so sneaky.”

“You’re my girl. That’s never changing.”

“You quite literally marked your territory.” I giggled as he caressed my collarbone, watching as goosebumps formed.

“Oh, Y/N, baby, I’m just getting started. We’re gonna be here all night.”

“Let’s see what you got rockstar.”

“Baby, don’t make me carry you out on that stage and give those lovely people an encore they’ll never forget.”

“A girl can dream can’t she?”

I winked teasingly as I positioned myself onto my knees, looking up at the man I love, confident I was about to give him the best head of his life.

[fariesoiree]

it’s completely normal to have a disagreement with your boyfriend but hobie cannot understand why you’d resort to the silent treatment.

caution! mdni 4.5k wrdz, angst to smut pipeline, brat reader, oral ( r. receiving ), fingering ( r. receiving ) pet names, gwen makes an appearance, hobie smokes weed reference, partially unedited pls do not spam like my blog if you enjoyed it, feel free to tell me in the reblogs

you’re not entirely sure how it happened. or rather, you’re just not ready to admit it, yet. you suppose it really started before you met up with hobie, having woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

everything pissed you off today. the way the outfit you planned looked terrible on you, showing up late to class, getting yelled at by customers at work. every event just piled right on top of each other and made you feel a thousand times worse.

you only made it halfway through the day before a grimace etched itself on your face and your words became short and curt.

the cherry on top was when you planned to lay in the comfort of your bed, only to find yourself whisked away to hobie’s houseboat.

he seemed so happy with his proposition for you to meet a friend of his who just happened to be in town. you couldn’t say no despite so desperately wanting to. when would there ever be a chance that his friend would be back and he’d be this happy to tell you?

and with your terrible mood, your usual demeanor was replaced with something much colder. instead of engaging in the conversation between hobie and gwen, you sit silently in the corner.

your knees are pulled into your chest and you fiddle with the seams of your socks. each sonorous laugh has your teeth grinding. you haven’t uttered much more than a few sentences, wondering when you’re going to be able to make your escape back home.

you miss hobie’s curious peeks. it’s so blaringly obvious that you’re not feeling like yourself. if your silence didn’t give it away, your lack of affection definitely did.

you didn’t squeeze him tight in a hug the moment he showed up at your door. there was no rambling of your day, no kisses and giggles that follow. all the usual bits he loves and look forward to never came and on top of that, he gets the odd feeling you’ve been avoiding his touch since you got there. it makes his stomach twist in knots.

“gwendy,” he says with his eyes darting towards you.

you’re oblivious, nails scraping against the divets and curves in the fabric of his small sofa.

“i’m off to get a drink. want somethin’?”

“i’m good. thanks, though, hobes.” gwen shakes her head with a smile. she’s also just as clueless. having this being her first time meeting you, she just assumes you’re always like this and there’s nothing wrong with being quiet, albeit the way you do it makes her feel a bit uncomfortable.

you press your lips into your knees to hide your scoff. “ ‘hobes’,” you mouth, picking at a thread. it’s such a minuscule detail, one that you’ve repeated overlooked in the past. never has it been anything but a friendly nickname but in your miffed state, it’s a sign of betrayal.

hobie doesn’t need a sixth sense to know there’s an obscure issue. he’s known you long enough to know when you’re irked and how he has to force it out of you.

for your sake and not wanting to draw attention to the situation, he strolls into the kitchen. his slides scrape against the floor. the sound is like nails on a chalkboard and has your face scrunching up.

with just you and gwen left, the silence is deafening. most of the conversation had been with hobie and nothing changed your unwillingness to talk. still, gwen felt the need to try. whether she wanted to relate to another girl or make a good impression is unknown.

“so . . . you and hobie, huh?”

you consider ignoring her but guilt blooms across your skin. even if your worst mood, a small remnant of your manners remain. not enough to make you pleasant, though. “mhm.” you hum, not bothering to look in her direction.

next to you, your phone vibrates to reveal a text. you sit up just enough to lean over it and the screen unlocks after recognizing your face. you’re not dumbfounded that it’s the topic of the conversation himself, requesting your presence.

at some point he’d say something, that you know. doesn’t exactly make you feel any better about it. “i’ll be back,” you mumble, legs unfolding until you’re standing.

you’re not looking forward to the upcoming conversations but you shuffle forward, regardless. your arms are already crossed when you stand in front of him. this is the first time you’re truly looking at him since you got here and your expression is so frigid.

“what’s up with you?” hobie leans against the counter, his arms crossed and mirroring yours. “been pissy all day.”

you know he’s seriously waiting for an answer when he’s unaffected by the eye rolls that follow. “nothing’s wrong. i’m not anything.”

“you’re really goin’ to stand there and tell me there’s nothin’ goin’ on when you’re actin’ like that? come out of it.”

you dodge his narrowing gaze by staring at the kitchen sink instead. your lips are pressed together and your thoughts move at a hundred miles an hour, searching for the perfect method to dissipate this conversation. “i’m fine. there’s nothing going on.”

“then that’s worse,” hobie eyes you down. it makes you feel small, the way his head is tilted and bordering a correctional glare. “then you’re jus’ being mean for no reason.”

“i’m not being mean. i just don’t feel like talking.” it’s not completely a lie. you don’t feel like talking, that’s true, but you’ve also purposefully been abhorrent so you’d have an excuse to leave.

he looks at you incredulously, scrambling to stand and motioning towards gwen’s direction. “you’re not being mean? so you haven’t said a word to gwen and barely two words to me because you ‘don’t feel like talking’.”

“yes. exactly.” you can already tell this isn’t going to end well. not with the way your chest burns with an angry fire. “that’s what i just said.”

hobie feels like he’s talking to a wall with the way you dismiss everything he says. “darlin’, i’m really, really trying not to cause a scene right now but you’re makin’ it harder than it needs to be.” with a hand on your shoulder, he guides you farther back into the kitchen. his patience is wavering, he can feel it. it’s becoming progressively more difficult to maintain his cool. “it doesn’t take fuckin’ einstein to know there’s somethin’ up.”

“you’re trying not to make a scene but you just cussed at me.” you grumble, dragging your feet until you’re stationed next to the glass door.

“i did not – ” he has to stop and take a breath, noticing the crescendo in his voice. “ ☆ , what is wrong with you? your mood is poor and you aren’t even speaking to gwen, which is the whole reason i wanted you to come.”

you glare off the porch, watching the water lap and crash against each other. between everything he said, all you got is he’s prioritizing another girl over you. in your spoiled brain, he should never be scolding you about this. “oh, i’m sorry if i’m making you and gwendy uncomfortable. maybe it would be best if i go.”

“do not do that.” he points at you, thumb facing the ceiling. “do not turn this into something it isn’t.” his restraint officially snapped, words dripping with venom. “everyone is being nothing but nice. you’re the only one here that has an issue. i only asked you what’s wrong because i care about you. stop acting like a – ” hobie pauses again, eyes closing in frustration. “whatever. i’m over it. do what you want.” he waves it off and turns on his heel. he would have considered that a win, had you not stopped him.

“no, say it. call me what you were going to call me.” you dart in front of him, hands on your hips. you should have stopped, let the argument vanish into nothing but you couldn’t help yourself. you had already committed yourself to it.

“just let it go.” hobie attempts to side step you, only for you to stand in front of him again. he has no interest in playing your games so he waits at a standstill. “i don’t want to hurt your feelings and i don’t want to argue. let it go, ☆ .”

“say it,” you insist. you have your head tilted up, basically pressed all up against him. you’re daring him, as if he won’t do it and you don’t expect him to. not once can you remember hobie ever calling you anything but endearing names.

he sucks his teeth and takes a step away from you. you’re unhinged, he decides. daily stress has finally gotten to you and you’ve gone off the rails. “i’m going to say this once and i mean this when i say it. you need to go the fuck home and get your shit together. honestly, love, this is unacceptable and i’m not takin’ this disrespect in my house.”

you wanted to go home. you wanted to go home a while before this but you wanted to go on your own accord. you weren’t supposed to go back and forth like this and he wasn’t supposed to kick you out. “you’re joking, right? hobie, you brought me here. how am i supposed to get home?”

it’s a well known fact that hobie prefers to take the unconventional routes. he’d rather swing than walk and walk than drive. even when it comes to you, he’s always willing to be your transportation so you aren’t driving or being driven around. so when he pulls out his phone and promptly sends you enough money to get an Uber, it truly cements how sincere he is. “go home, lovely. i’ll come by later and we can try this again.”

“ ‘bie,” you sniffle, eyes welling with tears. not only is he kicking you out but he’s also sending you home.

“go home,” he repeats. his parting gift is a pat on the head before he walks past you. you’re unsure whether or not he really saw how distraught you felt but you doubt it would make a difference.

you’re too embarrassed to show your face so you take the back way, exiting through the porch by the kitchen. you circle the boat until reaching the dock and step off, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

it’s unbelievable that your sweet, darling hobie would do this to you. granted, you deserved it and technically got what you wanted.

still, you can’t stop your tears from flowing the whole way home, even up through the lobby of your apartment and into your room. the warmth of your bed is just as you imagined, although now bittersweet.

your eyes are puffy and hurting. you fight the urge to let them close and scroll through your phone. most of the reasoning behind was to see if hobie would text you at all but your notifications remained empty. it stings more than you imagined. he’s always always texted you to make sure you’ve gotten in your room safely.

“whatever,” you toss your phone onto the other side of the bed and roll over. “i don’t need you. enjoy your date with gwendy, hoe.” you mumble into your pillow. you huff, pulling the covers up to your chin. if hobie wants to be like that then fine. he can do what he wants.

LINE BREAK

you stir awake to the sound of your bedroom door clicking shut. you’d be worried if the familiar smell of pine and weed didn’t fill the air. it’s subtle but you know him too well to be wrong.

you reach for your phone, feeling around in the bed until the cool glass meets your palm. the bright screen reads midnight and entirely too far past his normal arrival time.

“you stink,” you mumble when he gets into bed beside you. he has his own bed but he’s so accustomed to you and your warmth, hobie can’t help but make his way to wherever you are.

“don’t kill my high.” his gruff whisper fills your ear. he slips his arm between you and the mattress to pull you into his chest. “sent gwen off and came here. didn’t have time to enjoy it, yet.”

you purse your lips, flashbacks of earlier in the day coming flooding in. your nap nearly wiped all those memories away. he just said to bring it up, again. and right on cue —

“feelin’ better?” he splays his over your tummy and brushes his thumb back and forth along your skin. “we can talk about it, again.”

you don’t respond, too busy feeling crossed. it would be best to reopen the discussion now that your emotions aren’t running as high but you’re too petty to do that. hobie wronged you. he started an argument and kicked you out. he didn’t even check to see if you made it home safe.

“lovey? you okay?” he taps his fingers against you. maybe you fell asleep on him.

nothing.

hobie sits up. you can feel his weight shift as he peers over your body. your eyes are open and he can see you looking at him, you’re just not speaking. he raises a brow and pushes your shoulder over until you’re on your back with a clear view of each other. “do you hear me talkin’ to you or what?”

he’s peeved when you roll over without even acknowledging him. “absolutely fuckin’ not.” he pushes your shoulder down again and holds it there. “you givin’ me the silent treatment?”

you shrug.

you fucking shrug.

hobie considers himself a rational person. if he’s upset, he’ll talk about it. if he’s not ready to talk about it, he’ll let you know. if he notices you’re too upset to communicate efficiently, he’ll give you space. what he will not tolerate is bullshit like this. you’re ignoring him, purposefully not saying anything and he’s expected to take it?

“i’m talkin’ to you.” he squishes your cheeks is his hand until they pucker, eyes narrowed into slits. he doesn’t know what your problem is but he’s sure if you continue like this, he’ll snap the world in half.

you pull away from him, reeling your head back until it’s out of his grasp. with you’re newfound freedom, you roll over and tap your phone. it’s now half past midnight and you’re losing hours on sleep.

hobie watches, enraged, as you slide it beside your pillow and snuggle deeper into the comfort of your bed. he doesn’t move, still processing his emotions. what he wants to do is pull you into his lap and keep you up all night until you speak to him but he figures it just make you more irritable.

so he scoffs and lays back down beside you. “okay. throw your tantrum. we’ll talk in the morning.” he pulls you into his chest, regardless, fingers curling around your waist. his lips are pressed together and by your ear.

he’s hopeful that in the morning, this mood you’re in will pass. that’s the notion he holds on to while he drifts off into his slumber and the same one he wakes up to when he’s reaching for your missing body.

the sun is up and beaming through the sheer layer of curtains. you must have opened the blackout layer behind them. he can hear the shower water running to a stop. hobie rubs his eyes and pulls his arm over his head for a stretch.

it’s a bit odd, he thinks, that you’ve woken up without him. he doesn’t think you’ve rolled over and pressed soft kisses on his face until he’s waking. maybe you did and he went back to sleep.

his legs carry himself into the bathroom where you reside. he’s operating off your normal schedule, getting ready together. he’s surprised when he turns the handle, only for it to fall short. “the door is locked, sweetheart.”

hobie leans against the frame. he’s tall enough to take up the entirety of the space. his hand comes up to rub his face once before he realizes the amount of time that’s passing right now. he can hear you in there, hear the water in the sink running but you don’t open the door.

his first thought it maybe you just can’t open it right now.

he, however, comes to his second thought when you do open it and scroll right past him without one glance in his direction.

you’re still ignoring him.

“oi duck, here’s what’s going to happen.” hobie knows you’re listening when you pause, hand freezing at the lotion pump. “i’m going to go brush my teeth, yeah? and you’re going to get over this thing you’re in and when i come back, we’re going to sit down and talk about this like adults.”

what he doesn’t know is the insinuation you’re not acting like an adult sends you farther into you stubbornness. to be truthful, he’s not wrong. you’re only doing this to make a point, to stick it to him that you didn’t appreciate what he did to you

you scoff to yourself and have a seat at your vanity. “who does he think he is?” you mumble, unscrewing the lid to your toner. “telling me what i’m gonna do. i’ll talk when i want to.”

you can see him in the mirror. with the bathroom door wide open, you get a perfect view of him slowly turning his head towards you, toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

it dawns on you that he heard you when he’s hastily rinsing out his mouth. you jump to your feet so quickly, the chair nearly topples to the ground. you’re darting across the room on the way out.

you only make it halfway before a sticky web is wrapped around your waist and pulling you back to the center of the room.

“what’d you say, sweetheart?” hobie turns you around, hands planted firmly on your hips. his fingers dig into your skin as if ready to pull the answer out of you.

you persist with your silence even while your heart beats out of your chest. you avoid looking at him, instead staring at the the gleaming silver hoop pierced through his nose.

your refusal to say anything has him ticked off. you haven’t said a word to him since last night and the only time you’ve even acknowledged him is to talk shit.

hobie isn’t having that.

he doesn’t bother to ask you again. he picks you up easy, a hand wrapped around your waist. he considers himself to be patient, letting you have your fun. he didn’t say anything to you last night, he forgave you for trying to incite an argument, he was even giving you another chance and was willing to work through it.

it’s you who’s making it difficult, uncooperating like a unreasonable person. you won’t even tell him why. how is he supposed to mend the situation if he doesn’t know what the problem is?

“you’re pissin’ me off.” he drops you on the edge of the bed. his talk could be mistaken as directed towards you but in actuality, he’s ranting to himself. “so spoiled y’know? throwing a fit for no reason.”

you freeze when he hooks his fingers inside the waistband of your shorts. your instincts are screaming at you to whine and complain but your intransigency is too focused on making a point.

“i’m so gentle with you and you take me for granted. showed up mad and that’s my fault? should have just told me but that’s too much to ask.”

a sharp gasp is ripped from you when hobie rips your panties off you. the seams pop and snap under the stress of his rapid tug.

he pushes you back and down on the bed with a large hand on your chest. “to be frank, i don’t want to see you. i don’t want to hear you either unless you’re gonna tell me what the fuck is wrong with you.”

you’re tempted to protest, already preparing to draw away from him but hobie beats you to it. he pins your waist down and peels your folds apart. he licks a stripe up your cunt, spit dribbling and mixing with your juices.

you keen, back lifting off your bed. it’s sickening how his knowledge of your body is affecting you this time. usually, it would entail the best orgasm of your life but now it meant you’d be eternally suffering.

he pushes your back down with a grunt. it’s as if every little movement you did only sent hobie father off the edge.

he pushes your leg up by the underside of your thigh until your knee is pressing against your chest. hobie’s nose bumps against your clit and his tongue probs at the walls of your slit.

“fuck! that’s so – ” your scream is cut short by a gulp of air. your hand reaches down to grasp hobie’s wicks, only for him to swat you hand away.

you cum rather quickly, pussy throbbing from the stimulation. by the time you’re sitting up, hobie is staring at you with half lidded eyes. he has yet to remove his grip, lips glistening from your arousal.

neither of you speak, the air growing thicker with tension. your gaze darts between both of hobie’s peering brown eyes before you turn your head away with a huff.

the smack of hobie’s hand against your thigh rings in the air. his demands for your attention has you whining. your skin blooms with a stinging pain, only for it to be followed by another. you’re not moving fast enough for him.

only when your eyes lock does he lightly trace his fingers over your skin. hobie, however, has no plans in letting up with his lesson. he thumbs at the hood of your clit, pulling it back until the puffy bundle is nerves is revealed.

so badly does he want to coo his praise but every time he thinks about how you treated him, his heart burns just the same.

you struggle against his grasp to clamp your legs shut when he wraps his tongue around it. thanks to his hands anchoring you in place, you’re forced to endure all of it.

you twitch and tweak, hands curling around the fabric of your shirt. this is wild, you think, all to get an answer out of you. the deep, docile part of your brain is ready to do whatever he asks to get the soft touches and sweet names, again.

“ ‘bie,” you mewl, reaching out for him again.

“ready to talk?” hobie lifts his head, replacing his tongue with his thumb, performing tiny circles. he’s disappointed when he’s listening to your moans and hums instead of a explanation. how long will you continue to do this?

he drives his fingers into your cunt, a sigh fanning over you skin leaving it hot and sticky with your cum. “you’re being such a brat today. how hard is it to open your fuckin’ mouth?”

he’s relentless with it, routinely pressing his fingers against the spot that has you crying. he tunes out your warbling, sucking in a breath. “can’t believe you tried to make it about gwen knowing damn well this is your problem.”

his words go straight to your cunt. it’s unexpected, the way you tighten and gush. you’re humiliated and even more so when hobie scoffs. “no chance you’re getting off on this.”

your body tenses, coiling in on itself. your chest rises with one final heave before your cunt is spasming around his fingers. hobie doesn’t cut back, head tilted as you wail.

“why aren’t you talking to me?” he fingerfucks you past your orgasm. he’s unaffected by your squirming to get away from him, pulling you back by your waist.

“it’s too much,” you sob, hand pushing at his.

“that’s not what i asked,” hobie shoves your hand away for the second time that morning. he’s fed up. his hand pops down on your cunny, ogling at the shining cream pouring out.

“ ‘cause,” the tears spill over your waterline and cascade down your face.

“ ‘cause what?” hobie finally removes his hold on you and takes his place next to you in the bed. he pulls your putty body into his lap, a hand on your chins to direct your attention.

you sniffle, lips trembling. you’re hesitating, already knowing how he’s going to react. forming a verbal reason makes you realize how immature you’ve been.

“angel,” his voice is heavy with a warning. you can feel the heat of his fingers slot their way beneath you.

your expression immediately contorts at the feeling of your sensitive nerves being stimulated. “ ‘cause,” you scramble for words, shifting until you can no longer feel him. “i don’t know.”

his fingers find their place again, this time pushing back into you with seething annoyance. “you . . . don’t know? so you did all that ‘cause you don’t know?”

they move slowly. slow enough to draw out soft pants and keep you talking. “i –,” you hiccup, “was upset.” you find yourself chewing on your bottom lip. there is no reasonable excuse. he’s about to that find out.

“mhm,” hobie hums, still dissatisfied with your words. “and did that have anything to do with me?” he feels the answer is obvious but there’s always some gratification in hearing you say it.

your head shakes in a tiny swivel. your hands clench into fists and quiver. having being toyed with for so long, hobie could spit on your cunt and you’d cum. when he’s pressing your spot like this, you’re nearly spilling out your arousal.

“didn’t think so.” hobie pressed his lips into a firm line. he takes pity when you lean your weight against him at the feeling of his digits pump in your tight hole.

his poor girl can’t even sit up on her own. she’s having to resort to using him to hold her up. of course it’s entirely your fault but at least you admitted it.

“that’s all you head do to, love. all this is unnecessary,” hobie mumbles underneath your whimpers.

there’s a soothing hand circling your hip through your orgasm. he listens to your babbling with soft shushes and promises of relief.

all he really wanted was to get the explanation out of you. to begin the start of conversation. hobie knew he could do it. after all, you’re his sweet girl. his ray of sunshine.

when your pants turn into into soft heaves is when hobie lifts your head, held in the palm of his hand. “listen to me, ducky.” he’s firm, eyes narrowed. “never ever do that again, you hear me? you have a problem, you talk about it.”

your half lidded eyes are full of passivity and you nod. you’re resting against him, pleased when hobie’s long arms envelop you in a warm embrace. “ ‘m sorry, hobie. i really am. i didn’t mean it.”

his hands run along your spine and be pressed a kiss atop your head. “i know, dolly. i know.”

[preeningpisces]

Report - Kenjaku x F!Reader

Kenjaku shows up unannounced, and makes himself all too comfortable in your apartment. Pwp, 4k, Crossposted on AO3

A/N: At first I referred to him as Geto in this, as I found it unlikely YN would know his real name, but then figured this has no plot and there isn't many Kenjaku x reader fics without Geto & swapped it to Kenjaku ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Shoutout to this lovely anon for giving me a reason/the drive to write something for my favorite hoe 💚

Content: p-in-v, m!oral, sex toys, size kink, unprepped sex, edging, choking, biting, spit/cum stuff, degradation--personally I think this is more tame than it sounds

18+ content below, mdni, implied chubby!reader, enjoooy!

The figure seated at your dinner table makes your soul leap from your body.

Tonight you planned a date with a hot shower, your favorite snacks, and three seasons’ worth of TV to binge. You’d only completed step one, so recently that your skin hasn’t finished absorbing the lotion, leaving your calves and thighs tacky.

His back is to you, but you know he’s aware of your presence. For once, he isn’t wearing his signature robes, and instead sports simple black clothing. Seeing him dressed down is comforting, makes him seem less untouchable, and more like a regular person.

You lament the change in your evening plans, knowing your guest will occupy a decent portion of your time. 

“You take awfully long showers,” he says without turning. “I’ve been here for over an hour.” 

Springing up at random isn’t out of the ordinary for Kenjaku, though it’s more common for him to send messages from unknown numbers or ‘coincidentally’ run into you. He’s never showed up at your apartment before, let alone at such an odd hour of the night. Briefly you wonder how he knows where you live, but then dismiss this as a foolish thought—of course he knows.

“I’m just thorough,” you say as you round the table and sit across from him where he reads one of your books. A silly romance that was popular online; hardly revolutionary or life-altering, but it was a sweet, endearing story and you enjoyed it quite a bit. With how far he’s in, you wonder if he picked a random spot or simply reads that quickly.

“That you are.” He glances up, and a shift in his eye tells you he wasn’t expecting the cotton bathrobe with matching shorts. It’s a favorite that you got off a discount rack, lying somewhere between the lines of sensual and comfortable. Flattering, but hardly scandalous; you don’t feel indecent in his presence. 

“I’m surprised you enjoy this drivel,” he says, judgment evident. “You seemed more intelligent than that.” 

“They’re just for fun. Sometimes it’s nice to read something simple,” you reach for the book, beginning to feel defensive. 

He leans back, now flipping through its contents. It reminds you of a schoolyard bully holding your belongings above you and taunting you for being too short. 

“Are you here to antagonize me, or are you here for something actually important?” As soon as you say this, you know you made a mistake: the ire in your voice will only encourage his pestering.

“I came for your report, but now I’m more interested in your terrible taste.” He gestures to your bookshelf—small, and housing a modest collection of varying genres with the occasional knick knack. “I’ve gone through several already, but saved what I suspect to be the worst for last.”

“Then you can follow me on Goodreads, if you’re so curious. Now give that back,” you hold out your hand, growing agitated. The light catches the ridge of his scar, and taunts you to tug on one of those stitches, which look much less secure than they should. 

“Embarrassed?” He smiles, and makes no move to relinquish the book. 

“If I say yes, will you give it back?” 

A snide puff.

“No.” 

Knowing how fickle he is, you relent; he’ll grow bored with the book soon enough and move on. But minutes of his skimming pass, wholly ignoring your crossed arms and impatient tapping.

“Ah, I see. Is this why you’re so fond of these?” He turns the book for you to read: it’s one of the few sex scenes, and his finger points to a questionable line of dialogue. 

You can’t resist the bait, and indignation rises in your chest. You spring forward in your seat, aiming for the book. Unfazed by your aggression, he avoids you with ease and an infuriating smirk. It only provokes you further, now motivating you to one-up him.

There is a sudden pause in his movements that allows you to snatch the book. As you look at him triumphantly, you notice his eyes aren’t directed at your face; instead, they’re fixed on your chest. Following his gaze, your heart sinks when you discover your robe hanging open, revealing your right breast. 

When you look at him again, his eyes are on yours. Heavy and lidded, they freeze you in place with their weight. The playful energy from before halts, as if the room itself is holding its breath. Without breaking eye contact, he slides his hand in the opening, and cups your breast.

Shocked, you drop the book with a muted thud, more from his boldness than the sensation. A gasp escapes you when he pinches your nipple, rolling it slowly, and your hands fly to his shoulders, not wanting to topple over from the awkward position.

His other hand joins and teases your unexposed breast through the cloth; you fall against him, and a soft noise warms his ear before tracing the stretched lobe with your lower lip. Whether it’s ticklish or it’s your interest in his ear that entertains him, his shoulders thrum with amusement. The plastic clacks between your teeth as you toy with the plug, seeing how far you can rotate it before he becomes irritated.

It doesn’t take long, because a hand winds itself in your hair and pulls you forward, but the table creaks in protest under your weight. 

“Not here,” you say, husk already tinting your voice. “It’s a shitty table.” 

He releases you and follows you down the hallway to your bedroom. You don’t even have time to flick on the light before he pulls you backward, connecting your ass to his groin with his large hands fondling your breasts.

The eager touch surprises you—he hadn’t seemed at all bothered when you stopped him before. You can’t help but shiver when he sucks on your neck, fixing it with hickeys and bites. A renewed focus on your nipples makes you whimper and squeeze at his forearms. 

“Sensitive here, or are you just desperate?” He punctuates with a pull of your left nipple. 

“A bit of both,” you say, and press your ass against him. It’s been some time since you’ve felt this kind of touch, let alone by someone as attractive as him. 

“Cute,” he hums, and grinds his forming erection against you. 

Cool palms slide beneath the robe again, making your nipples so peaked they sting. Deft fingers are quick to melt the cold with slow rolls that morph into pinching and dragging from areola to tip. The attention makes you squirm in his hold and rest your head against his shoulder, weaving your fingers through his glorious hair—which is every bit as silky as it appears. Needing an outlet for your rising desire, you detach him from your neck and angle his head so you can force your lips together. 

The kiss is more passionate than you expected, and it only makes you melt further in his hands. You scratch his scalp and earn a surprised moan. His right hand trails upward, wrapping around a considerable portion of your neck. Air isn’t cut or restricted, but he squeezes enough for your pulse to quicken and make your head fuzzy.

A twist of your nipple makes you arch your back, and he sucks your lower lip until it bruises. Teeth scrape it briefly, before he pushes his tongue into your open mouth and greets yours unabashedly. 

Kenjaku has an air of grace to him, of superiority; you’d think him above such things as these. But he doesn’t flinch or show any disgust when drool pools from the messy kiss—he even licks the bit that trickles down your chin. He breaks the kiss, parting slowly to appreciate the strand that connects your mouths. 

A tug of the simple knot at your waist peels your robe open, and you help him by shrugging your shoulders free. The hold on your neck tightens, and he feels down your stomach, dipping below the waistband of your shorts. Your skin prickles with embarrassment when he squeezes the full softness above your pussy. A pleased noise comes from the back of his throat when he realizes you have no underwear and finds slippery arousal. 

“Look at me.”

You feel how heavy your eyes are, how blatant lust must be on your face. His middle finger finds your clit and traces a single rough, short line, making you flinch. Almost imperceptible circles soothe the rough sensation, leading you to loosen your grip on his hair and hold his wrist. The featherlike strokes feel like static, and every tingle of your flesh touching makes you wetter. 

When your eyes shut, he squeezes your neck again, demanding you keep your focus on him. Even in moments like this, his eyes are full of condescension and superiority; the lowliness you feel in his presence only stirs your need. 

Awkwardly, you feel around behind you for his cock and rub your palm over it as best you can. Despite the clumsy touch, his breath hitches, and his clever fingers pause. Thrill dances in your chest and you stroke him more firmly.

His hand flexes around your neck, and you can’t tell if it’s a warning or a green light. Whichever he intends doesn’t matter to you, because you squeeze his bulge. The firm tap of his finger on your clit reads as chastisement, but you ignore it, already deciding your next move. 

“I want to suck your dick,” you say. You aren’t too prideful to kowtow to his desire for control. “Can I?” 

Dark eyes shelter his thoughts as he considers your offer, and for a moment you think he’s going to turn you down, but he dips his finger in your hole and briefly skims the edge before swiping back up to your clit. A small noise comes out, and your face must be comical because he looks more amused than before. 

“How polite.” The lack of heat and touch as he steps away are disappointing, but the sounds of his belt and zipper more than make up for their loss. “I suppose I’ll let you.”

“Let me,” you snort as you watch him undress. “As if you didn’t start this.”

A broad hand presses down on your shoulder, urging you to kneel—which you do eagerly, not minding the cheap carpet scratching your knees.

“I did, and now you’re exactly where I want you,” he removes his sweater, bearing the impressive muscles of his abdomen. You wonder if this was his true intention coming here tonight and that he played you like a fiddle.

These thoughts disappear when he pulls his trousers and underwear down; you can’t help when your face twists in shock: his cock is huge.

“No wonder you’re so full of yourself.” 

He smirks, and you dread what this affair will do to his already inflated ego.

You scoot forward, assessing the beast, and idly rotate your jaw to prepare for the task at hand. Despite most of his head being exposed and dripping with pre-cum, you push back the remaining foreskin to fully reveal the dark head. You lean forward for a kiss, but land it on his groin instead. 

The click of his tongue and the twitch beneath you is reward enough for the entire night; you’re confident he would never beg for anything from you, but this disappointment feels close enough to claim the satisfaction all the same. 

Still positioned at his tip, your thumbs softly stroke the sides, more soothing than pleasurable as you continue to mouth everywhere but his cock. Fed up, he grips your hair and pulls you back. You get the message, and eagerly suck his head in your mouth, where you set your lips and tongue to work; it’s difficult with his girth, but you manage. He grunts and loosens his hold, allowing you to do as you please. 

To show your gratitude, you plunge him deeper, tongue now rubbing along the seam of his cock as you flex and contract your lips. The muscles in his thighs jolt, and you feel energy rolling off him—the urge to do something, to react.

Steeling your resolve, you slide him further in and pull back, never stopping the pulse of your lips or tongue. It’s then that you suck around him, creating the wet sounds of suction that fill your small bedroom.

The light from the hallway glows behind him, making him radiant; like he’s a god, and this is your offering.

You cup his balls gently and rub a thumb over them to test the waters. Your curiosity is rewarded when the single hand in your hair becomes two, and he moves your head for you.

They cover your ears, cutting out all sound. Whether this is intentional, you can’t say. All you can hear is the wet sounds of your mouth molding around his cock. It’s as if this is your entire world, that this is the only thing you’re good for, and the thought makes you drip. 

Lewdly, you hum and moan your prayer around him. Noises of his own join yours, but you are not worthy of hearing them. Overeager, he pulls you down further on his cock, poking dangerously close to your gag reflex. Your second unoccupied hand wraps around the portion not in your mouth preemptively, and stroke him in time with your mouth. Seeing right through your attempt, he holds your head still and begins fucking your mouth.

It takes only a few thrusts for him to push deeper than before, making you gag softly, which causes him to throw his head back and continue the deep thrusts. It’s uncomfortable, but not so much that you feel the need to stop him. Watching him loosen up is so hypnotic you don’t register how worryingly deep he is in your throat. Until he surges himself all the way forward, forcing your nose to meet his groin. 

When you choke, he groans deeply, and rolls against your face as your throat convulses around him sporadically. You’re about to beat at his thigh, but he pulls you off his cock entirely.

Quickly, you recover and recapture him despite the pull on your hair, doubling down with a soft mouth, tonguing all the sensitive spots you found. And to your surprise, hot cum spurts down your throat with a low groan. You drink it all until he pulls your head back and strokes his cock, shooting the remaining spurts on your face.

You didn’t think he’d be so quick to cum, and it seems, neither did he.

A painful yank of your hair forces you to stand before you can comment, and full of surprises, he licks a line of cum from your chin and smears it over your tongue with his own. The dirtiness of it makes a raw noise come from your abused throat.

Not breaking the kiss, he walks you to your bed and pushes you back; you scoot yourself to the headboard and barely shimmy your shorts off before he crawls atop you, flaccid cock in hand. With a surge of reversed cursed energy, he urges it to re-harden. 

“Is this the difference between special grades and the rest of us?” 

He doesn’t acknowledge your taunt, and after two pumps, positions his cock at your hole. Unprepped, his tip presses against the ring of muscle for several moments, unable to breech despite ample lubrication.

“The Viagra tech-”

Your pussy finally yields, and his cock spears itself to the hilt.

“Fuck!” 

Mercifully, he doesn’t rail you, and instead rolls his hips, stroking your most receptive spots. It aches, his cock stretching you to what feels like your capacity, but it’s the sort of ache that makes you crave more. You meet his hips with your own, desperately chasing more of the electric feeling. He grabs the underside of your knees and leans forward, putting his weight on them. The position angles his cock upward and fucks you with more fervor. 

“Jesus, it’s so big,” you say, legs trembling in his hold. 

Needing a distraction, you cup the back of his head and pull him as close as your breasts and stomach allow. You kiss at whatever flesh you can reach, starting at his damp hairline, and following up immediately with the seam on his forehead. The simple kiss earns you a sharp cant of his hips and a hiss, tempting you to fixate on the scar.

Your tongue traces the divot faintly, careful not to press too hard and minding the sutures. The effect is immediate, as he ruts into you, slow, deep, and hard, surprisingly loud moans spilling from his pretty lips. Even his moans are rough, as if they scrape his throat on their way out. Like his vocal chords haven’t made such sounds in some time. 

“Sensitive?” You murmur your tease against the raised flesh. 

“Wounds tend to be, yes.” He kisses you tenderly, and when you sigh, bites your lower lip with a crunch. Teeth pierce, and copper flavors the kiss. You part with a hiss, and his thumb swipes at the puncture. “See? Or do you need further demonstration.”

“You’re such a dick,” you mutter, batting his hand away from your sore lip.

His attention falters, and you follow his eyes to your nightstand. You live alone and have no need for secrecy, so your vibrator charges in plain sight. Owning sex toys is something you’ve never thought twice about, let alone felt any shame towards, but you become flustered when Kenjaku leans over and unplugs it.

Excitement overpowers your embarrassment when he turns it on. To your surprise, he doesn’t place it on your clit, and instead keeps it in a low setting and traces it along your labia. His hips slow, but they maintain a steady pace. Your body tenses with anticipation anytime it nears your clit, but it still doesn’t touch you. The stretch of his cock feels amazing, but your clit practically burns with need, swollen and begging to be touched.

“Now, what do you have for me this week?” he asks, full of mischief.

“What?”

He pushes your chubby mound upward and finally places the toy on your clit—you gasp. 

“Your report. It’s what I came here for, after all.” 

He circles the vibrator around your clit in time with his hips, looking all too amused when you struggle to respond. You ignore his question, and instead squeeze your eyes shut as your orgasm approaches at an alarming rate. You’ve waited so long, you’ve been so pent up, you just need—

“Ah, ah, you’ve got a job to do. Stay focused,” he tuts, and lifts the vibrator. You swear loudly, and your hips chase the toy, but he pins you with a hand on your hip. 

“T-the first year,” you begin, legs trembling with pent up anticipation, “students–” you whimper when the vibrator returns. 

“Go on,” he coos. 

“They-they…” you trail off when a slow and delicious drag of his cock steals your mind. The vibrator moves, and you throw your head back. “Theywentto–fuck!” 

“Speak clearly; this is vital information.” He presses it on fully, directly, gleefully watching you struggle. 

“They wen-went to Ro-oooh,” with a click, he turns it up a notch. “Fuck, you’re–” he nestles it between your lips and rotates it teasingly. Only a few hums more and he removes it again. 

“Please, please don’t stop.” Your voice warbles pathetically, “please let me cum. I need it–”

“And I need your report,” he smiles, as if he isn’t torturing you. 

The hopeless look you give him must spur him on, because he fucks you with the most vigor he’s showed thus far. Ripples roll across your soft stomach and thighs, and your breasts bounce wildly, but you’re too far gone to pay them any mind. 

“They went to R-roppongi!” You manage, and before he can torment you, add, “it was just—third-grade curses.” 

Even now, as he fucks you hard and fast, he doesn’t pull out much, and instead focuses on stroking your all of your sensitive areas relentlessly. It’s so different from what you’re used to, and so, so much better. You don’t know if you’ll be satisfied getting fucked any other way now. 

“And what of Satoru Gojo?” he grunts when you squeeze him particularly hard.

“A meeting–he had a meeting,” you breathe heavily, trying to catch your breath. The pause must displease Kenjaku, because he slaps your wet clit with the buzzing toy, making you jerk beneath him. 

“Wednesday!” you yell. “The Higher uh-” you’re cut off with a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue, agitating your bloody lip. 

“No need to shout, I’m right here,” he says cheekily, and grips your jaw, demanding your attention. “I’m sure you’re eager for your reward.” You nod the best you can.

A large palm spans your lower belly, pressing the plump flesh down to meet his upward thrusts. It feels like you’re even fuller, even more sensitive; your eyes bulge when a deep pressure builds. 

“Can you feel it?” His eyes look wild, more unhinged than before, and it makes you squeeze him in apprehension. “How large this cock is—incredible, isn’t it?” 

If you weren’t on the verge of exploding, the way he marvels at his own dick would make you roll your eyes. 

“Hmm?” He pulls all the way out for the first time, and sharply thrusts back in, meanly stabbing your deepest, most tender area.

“Yes, yes—I feel it!” He repeats the motion, aiming higher. “It feels so fucking good!”

He chuckles and ups the vibrator’s setting, rocking into you faster. All you can do is hold on to him, your mind too scattered and pliant for anything more. With each powerful thrust, he hits the spot near your cervix, causing your pussy to clench around him and draw melodic sounds. You force your eyes to stay open, fully aware that this is a sight you’ll never forget. His disheveled hair clung to his sweaty skin, with most of the strands of his top knot undone. Pink tinges his cheeks, and his brows crease ever so slightly. The sight causes a sudden leap of pleasure, and you feel yourself dancing at the edge.

“Are you ready to come?” He asks, as if sensing the sudden development.

“Oh, god yes!”

A smile is the only warning you're given before he withdraws the vibrator again. The cruelty almost makes you cry. Before you can plead, he pushes the hood of your clit back and the vibrator returns.

“Then come.”

Everything you held onto breaks as you come, abdomen convulsing deeply, and mouth wide open. You soar so high you forget he’s with you for a moment. Your pussy gushes, and clenches him so hard it feels like it’s trying to push his cock out along with your release. The euphoric sensations quickly become a sting as the vibrator doesn’t falter, and you claw at his back and wail.

With a click, he turns off the toy as he tosses it aside, and traps you in his arms with his head nestled in the junction of your neck and shoulder. Teeth sink into the flesh hard enough to draw blood and a shout. Only four pumps more and he fills you as deep as he can reach, as if his cum seeps directly into your womb.

He lies on you for several moments, his cock softening and twitching occasionally. It’s pleasant, and oddly domestic, feeling skin against your own and listening to the sounds of each other’s breathing. Eventually, he slides free, and you’re reminded that he came inside you when it trickles down your ass. 

“I’m not on birth control, you know.” You eye him as he flops next to you, making himself comfortable, as if this is his bed and you’re the guest. “Unless you want some kid of yours running around, you owe me a Plan B.”

He shrugs.

“Makes no difference to me. It wouldn’t be my first child or my last.” 

“Ha, right,” you stretch your legs, sore from being bent for so long. After a pause, you turn to him again.

“Wait, really?”

[lilcriceta]

I've been going crazy with Collector AU (by @cutepotatook) lately and I made this babi :> I want to show her off a bit :>

My English is very bad so please don't criticize me if you find any wrong grammars or words ;v;

★ My baby is Collector! Astray. She is a 10 year old little girl :>

★ Her design is slightly based on Collector Y/n's design ;v;

★ Ngl when Astray has great affection or admiration for these two people :>

★ Anyway, Layra by @softlantern :>

★ About Astray's lore, she was born as a creation of God. From childhood, she was always pampered and cared for very carefully by them (God in A's universe has no defined gender). Because of that, she has a great love for her God and is very attached to them like a child would do to its mother.

★ Until one day, the God created new creations, took care of their new children and gradually spent less time with Astray. At first she didn't mind much, but gradually she had a hunch that God was probably spending too much time with her new siblings. One time she asked for a hug from the God, they ignored her, making her feel a bit sad. Even though she told herself that everything was okay, a part of her was harboring jealousy. Astray's jealousy grew stronger and stronger as she observed the children being lovingly cared for and cherished by the God, she could not hold back her jealousy.

★ When she couldn't stand it anymore, she committed a heinous crime. She lured another of her siblings to a secluded place, and with a weapon in hand, she used it to vent her anger brutally on that child. Whatever comes must come, Astray's crime was discovered by the God. They were angry and punished her by causing her body to be tormented in extreme pain, her soul to pieces, she lost all her memories, was banished to a terrible place and forgotten by everyone (the two pictures above are when Astray was banished to the terrible place called The Void Realm). The little girl was banished there with many bleeding wounds in the shape of sparkling stars shining on her body, she was completely exhausted.

★ The Void Realm where she was banished to was not a good place. It is a place where there is no sun, not a single ray of light, it can be said with certainty that nothing like that exists. The Void Realm is a space covered in pitch black (the whole sky is black, the surface is only black water). Due to her exhausted state, she was unconscious there for an unknown amount of time (but let's just say it was a long time). Luckily, she was found by Collector! Wally was in a state where her body was floating on the water. Then Collector took Astray home and let Helper! Wally takes care of her wounds while he tries to put the pieces of her soul back together. The two of them took care of the little girl until she woke up, letting her live in the Collector's mansion :>

★ This is just a silly little comic where the duo encounters someone who wants to harm the little girl :> The truth is that Astray falls asleep very easily when she is in someone's embrace, no matter how big or small the embrace is, she will still fall asleep. Collector and Helper often witness such things, but I think they will simply put her to bed😭😭😭

★ A small fun fact is that Collector often calls Astray by cute nicknames like: Little Dove ; My Angel ; Little one ;... when she got used to life here. As for Helper, he simply calls her by her real name ;v; As for Astray, she often calls Collector Mr. Collector and Mister (she is used to using honorifics, a habit when she used to live in heaven) and with Helper, she calls him Mister or Mr. Blueberry (she calls him exactly what she thinks of him :P)

★ Woof the family trope so much hmu- I think Collector, Helper and Astray fit the family of three, the warm and happi one🥹🥹🥹 (don't mind me, I'm being silli now😔😔😔)

[phoenixkaptain]

The comics always have Tim comment on how normal his childhood was, and I just don’t believe them.

Like, the name “Drake” was set up in comics for years beforehand. Tim Drake is a rich kid. His parents did own an entire industry and Tim’s introductory comic tells us flat out that he spends most of the time his parents aren’t home at boarding and private schools. His parents were gone a lot!

Tim Drake is stated to be so normal. This kid can still clearly remember watching Dick’s parents die, he was traumatized and had nightmares about the scene. Especially if you believe Tim’s never taken a picture of Batman before the events of his introduction, Tim is extra strange because why was his first instinct to take pictures of Batman getting beaten up?! Is that normal child behaviour?? Am I the weird one for not knowing where Dick Grayson’s girlfriend lived when I was thirteen?? How on earth is Tim Drake the normal one?

He’s a stilted talker, absolutely terrible at speaking about important things. He is the Robin who called the most alike to Batman more than once, Ra’s al Ghul calls him a detective on Batman’s level, are you REALLY normal if you’re similar to Batman??

Like yeah, sure. Tim didn’t grow up in a circus. Tim didn’t grow up raised on the streets. Tim wasn’t trained from birth to be an assassin.

I would argue that this makes him MORE abnormal! He doesn’t have Dick’s background or flexibility! He doesn’t have either of Jason’s backgrounds nor his grudge. He doesn’t have Batman to live up to for a father. And yet, he still decides to put his life on the line to fight crime! His parents weren’t even dead!! He just decided that “If Batman and Nightwing aren’t going to take care of themselves, I have no choice but to do it for them.” Sure, he tries to get Dick to help Bruce, but he realizes pretty quickly that that isn’t going to work out.

Tim Drake tried to fight Superboy. You know, Superman’s clone? Invulnerable? Boy of steel? Literally only had one weakness that Tim didn’t have on him at the time??

Tim Drake is absolutely not the normal Robin. The comics really, really want me to believe that the kid who grew up in boarding school while his parents were off on business, the kid who took to being a Robin akin to Batman (ie. invisible, unnoticeable, unknown, a myth), the kid who got beat up by Jason Todd and then went “whoa, Jason Todd is back :),” the kid who Ra’s al Ghul is obsessed with, the kid who built his own vehicle; this kid is normal.

Yeah, okay. He’s perfectly normal. His dad being hinted at as being neglectful and literally abusive with how he breaks his kid’s things? Normal. Tim Drake knowing how to photograph the most paranoid man this side of the Rockies? Normal. Tim Drake deciding that it would actually be neat-o to don a suit that another kid died in to fight against people and beings that could and would absolutely kill him in a heartbeat? Completely. Normal.

Okay, DC. Whatever you say…

[redtsundere-writes]

Tyrant's Favorite | Sukuna Ryomen

Part 9: Defense

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

Tags: MDNI. +18. Murder. Blood. Cannibalism. Sukuna Ryomen Is The Warning Itself. Nudity. Sexual Display. Vaginal. Fingering.Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst.

Word Count: 2931 words.

Beginning. | ← Previous | Next →

“A knight of gigantic height, a pagan hero with great strength and benevolent heart, very skilled at handling weapons, his name was... Fie..." You brought the book up close to your face to read the unknown word. 

A couple of days had passed since you became King Sukuna's future fiancée and started your private lessons with Master Kenjaku. Your cleaning days were over and you were slowly getting used to the new routine that the king had imposed on you. Everyday, you got up early to dress up with the finest clothes he had gotten you, had the delicacies Uraume prepared for breakfast, studied the rest of the day in the library until your hands got tired of writing, ate lunch, took your piano lessons and  reported to the king what you had learned at the end of the day. Sukuna wanted to know if bringing a traitor from distant lands to be your tutor had been worth it. 

Spending all day stuck in the library wasn't the best thing in the world, but it was more comfortable than running around the castle, doing chores. Even though you still couldn't read that well, you could enjoy books in other ways. You liked being surrounded by unfamiliar covers, smelling the yellowish paper and the sound of the inked pen gently grasping the paper. You had never been to school, but it felt like going to a high prestige one. Even though the king had asked you not to waste your teacher's time, you liked to take it at your own pace because what is well learned, is never forgotten. 

Kenjaku was a very polite and formal teacher. Always speaking with elegance and with gestures typical of his character. He never tired of talking at his own calm, almost seductive pace. Sometimes he used complicated words, but never got annoyed when you interrupted him to explain a definition of a word. He was enthusiastic about mentally challenging you so that your mind would be nourished with valuable information. Your journey of exploring the world was just beginning and he would take you by the hand so you wouldn't get lost in the confusions of life. 

“Fierabras,” Kenjaku completed the word you were trying to read. 

“Yeah. That. Fierabras,” you smiled as you read the whole word. 

“Although it is a proper noun. It is also used to describe a big, strong and boastful person,” the teacher explained. 

“So would it be okay to say, ‘King Sukuna is a fierabras curse’?” You asked innocently. Kenjaku laughed at your quick thinking. After his reaction, you realized what you had said and covered your mouth, surprised of yourself. 

“Yes, well implemented,” he said, trying to not burst out laughing. 

You were intuitive and curious. Even though you were constantly wrong, you didn't let that break your optimistic spirit. Kenjaku has had no problem having you as a student so far. In fact, you were the easiest student he had ever had to deal with. He was about to tell you to keep reading, but the library door burst open. You both opened your eyes in surprise to see who it was. It was only three o'clock in the afternoon, a strange time for the king to show up at this side of the castle. You and Kenjaku immediately bowed to his presence. 

“I want you on the parade ground in 10 minutes,” Sukuna ordered before closing the door so they could finish the class as soon as possible. 

“Do you think he heard me?” You whispered to Kenjaku worried. 

“Are you religious?” You shook your head. “Then choose a god and pray to him that he didn’t,” Kenjaku advised you. That didn't sound good. 

The red sky radiated in its entirety as soon as you stepped out of the castle. The grass tickled your feet half exposed by heels. You lifted your yellow dress to keep the edges from being dyed green. King Sukuna and Uraume were waiting impatiently for you in the middle of the parade ground, next to a large wooden table that held several artifacts you were unfortunately familiar with.  

“Good afternoon, my king,” you bowed shyly to the strange encounter. 

“You know I have many enemies who want to kill me, right?” he asked, completely ignoring your greeting. You were already used to his characteristic cold demeanor. “I'll teach you how to defend yourself from today on,” he explained before guiding his gaze to the table next to him. “Pick a weapon.” 

On the wooden table there were several weapons. Your gaze traveled among the imposing objects from left to right. There was a sword, a set of blades, a double-edged ax, a pair of pistols and a bow with their respective arrows. You had never been so close to the weapons before and the fact that they were an arm's length away made you a little uncomfortable. With all of them you could get hurt if you weren't careful enough. You decided to take the least threatening weapon. 

Your fingers molded into the hilt of the wooden bow. For a wooden artifact, it was heavier than it looked. You took it in both hands and examined it carefully to familiarize yourself with its large size. It was halfway down your body. The end of both tips were curved back. The jagged yellowish lines in the wood denoted that it had been polished recently. 

“Good choice. A long and medium range weapon. Versatile, once you know how to use it.” Sukuna smiled with satisfaction. “Uraume, bring me my bow,” he ordered the white-haired servant without taking his eyes off you. They bowed and ran to the weapon chamber. 

Sukuna helped you put the quiver on your back, the arm guard and the leather glove to start practicing. He placed the quiver carefully against your back, the arm guard on your recessive arm and the glove on your dominant hand. His hands helped you with all the patience in the world so as not to hurt you with his claws. The white feathers of the arrows stuck out behind your head and you held the bow awkwardly. You never thought you would have to learn to fight, but now you had to do it no matter what and do it well. Uraume soon appeared with the gigantic king's bow. It was three times as big so that it could be used by both pairs of arms at the same time and its arrows were longer so that he could shoot them comfortably. 

“The most important thing in archery is the stance. You must keep your back straight and your elbow at the level of your chin to create an imaginary straight line,” Sukuna explained as soon as Uraume handed him what he had asked for. 

You watched carefully as he placed the arrow on the upper arrow rest. He snapped the feathered end against the string and stretched it to create tension. At the end of the parade ground, servants were busy setting up straw targets for practice. The king was focused on his target, the bright yellow center. He brought his face close to the string to get a better view of where the arrow should be aimed. All was silent. His T-stance was perfect and his breathing was calm. He unexpectedly turned on his waist to change the desired trajectory of your arrow and released the string. 

Your surprised gaze traveled along with the arrow, which stuck directly into the head of one of the servants. You closed your eyes and turned to look away. The servant left alive screamed at the top of her lungs and ran away in panic from the potential danger. You clenched your bow in frustration as you watched him calmly take someone's life. It was unfair. Her sin had been to be an easy prey to kill.

“Excellent shot,” Uraume applauded. Sukuna relaxed his body and looked at you. 

“Your turn," he ordered. The time had finally come for you to kill someone? “You can try with the target,” Sukuna advised you as if he could read your anxious mind. 

“Oh okay…” You mumbled in relief before exchanging places with him. 

You held the bow with your dominant hand and placed the arrow in its respective place as he had taught you. Now came the most complicated part, aiming and shooting. You pulled the string and focused on the yellow dot in front of you. Being heavier than you thought, your arm got tired quickly and started to twitch. You tried to maintain the perfect T-posture, but it seemed impossible. You let go of the string, causing your arm to recoil backwards from the shock. The arrow swung through the air and missed the bull's-eye completely. You sighed in defeat as you saw the arrow stuck in the grass. 

“You need to raise your elbow higher,” Sukuna approached you to show you how to shoot. 

He grabbed you by the waist with his lower hands. Your breath hitched at having him so close to you. With his upper hands, he forced your back upright. He straightened your elbow at your chin, made sure the rope didn't hit your nose and held your hand over the grip. Your heart jumped like crazy in your chest. You could hardly pay attention to the situation you couldn't control. 

“Take a deep breath,” he commanded in your ear as he held the bow for you. 

You felt the warmth of his body slowly envelop yours, keeping you from the cold outside. You took a mouthful of air in the hope that it would cool your body somehow. It didn't work, but it did help you focus better. You hadn't felt this nervous around the king in a long time. By this point, you thought you were used to it, but you hadn't been. Unlike other run-ins on past occasions, this time you weren't nervous about not knowing if he would kill you or not. You didn't even want to walk away from him even though all the alerts in your mind were asking you to. 

“The trick is to let go of the rope. You must not only let go, you must let go and then realize that you let go. It must be a gentle and subtle movement,” Sukuna advised you. 

You nodded, returning to the present moment. Sukuna counted backwards from three so that you both let go of the rope at the same time. You tried to relax your hand to follow his advice. Let the string do what it had to do on its own. Let it go until you lost the tension between your three fingers. As you reached one, you both lost the contact between your fingers and let go of the string on the bow. The arrow flew until it hit the bright center. 

“Now it's your turn," Sukuna ordered, stepping away from your body to watch you do it on your own. 

“Okay," you muttered shyly, disappointed that he had stepped away so soon. 

"Come on, you can do it!" You self-motivated yourself before bringing the bow back up to draw with the ready to be shot arrow. You pressed your hand against the grip in an attempt to steady the imaginary line the arrow was to travel. You took a deep breath and focused on the middle of the target. You relaxed the fingers that pulled the string, one by one, until the arrow was no longer between your fingers. The arrow traveled until it stuck above the center of the target. It wasn't a perfect shot, but it was a good start. 

“Good job, miss,” Uraume congratulated you as they clapped softly. You smiled at them in appreciation. 

“If you keep it up, you'll master it in no time,” Sukuna encouraged you. “For now, this will be your bow. You will have to learn how to use it, take care of it and keep it with you all the time. Then, I will get you a special one.”

“A special one? What's wrong with this one?” You asked in confusion. 

“The bow in your hands is a common hunting bow. In case of an invasion, you will need a cursed bow that allows you to use special arrows to kill curses and use it against sorcerers.” Sukuna explained. 

“And what should I do if I ran out of cursed arrows?” You asked curiously. 

“Good question,” Sukuna said before taking his bow. “The bow can also function as a defense weapon.” 

The king twirled the bow like a spear in his hands. You looked at him in shock as you watched him dance on his own axis while pretending to shoot down shadow enemies. He pushed and pierced the bodies of his unseen opponents. Come to think of it, you had never seen him fight. He always used his cursed techniques to get rid of someone. It was impressive to see someone as big as him move with such agility. He threw the bow into the air spinning it to catch your attention. When it fell, Sukuna caught it in his hands and pointed it at your throat. The tip came within inches of your chin, causing you to back away. Sukuna laughed at the sight of your frightened face. 

“Did I scare you? You should be used to it by now,” Sukuna scoffed before digging the bow against the ground so it would stand straight. “I'll teach you hand-to-hand fighting later. For now, let's stick with the bow so you can get used to it. The secret is in the repetition,” you nodded obediently before placing an arrow between the stabilizer and the string again. Sukuna folded his arms to watch you very carefully as he always did. 

The morning breeze clung to the window of the king's room. Droplets from condensation were slowly falling down the window in a race to fade away at the end. The mornings were cold and calm until King Sukuna rose. His huge head was sunk between the pillows, while the rest of his splendid body was covered by the plush blankets. His soft snoring was the only thing that could be heard in the room. Like the purr of a cat in its seventh sleep of the day. The sun was slowly peeking over the mountains of the valley and Uraume approached his room at a determined pace to let him know. 

“Breakfast is almost ready, your majesty,” Uraume woke him from the other side as they knocked on the door from the other side. 

“I'm coming," Sukuna grunted. With that, Uraume hurried back to the kitchen.

She sat on the edge of the bed to wake herself up. He twisted his torso and neck to thunder them completely. He scrubbed the lashes from his eyes as he went over to the closet to find what he would wear that day. He grabbed one of his many robes and reached for the sleeve to tuck in his arm. Sukuna looked out the window to watch the sun rise, but was surprised to find a more pleasant sight. 

That morning, you had woken up earlier than usual. You tied a ribbon in your hair and went out, still in your pajamas, to the parade ground to practice your bow skills. You pulled a couple of straw targets with what little strength you had, since you knew that all the servants were still asleep and no curse would want to help you. You set up the equipment on your own to start practicing. You applied all the advice that King Sukuna had given you. You controlled your breathing, held the T-position and repeated over and over again. The morning breeze tickled your skin, but that didn't stop you from practicing. 

Your hair fluttering softly against the morning air, your back erect and your hands gently gripping the bow was something Sukuna didn't think he would see so early in the morning. He paused his morning routine to watch you through one of the clear parts of the window. He felt like a stalker, even though he knew he had every right to see you, even though he found the idea that you didn't know he was watching you fascinating. He could see you in your natural state. No pressure, no fear, no fakeness. It was just you in the midst of a dastardly world. 

You let the string go and the arrow flew to rest on the white bull's-eye shore. You looked up at the sky and sighed in disappointment at your performance as you missed the target again. Sukuna smiled to see you so frustrated. He thought it was cute the way you kept trying again and again until you finally succeeded. It didn't matter if it took you days, weeks or months, you would be the best archer the king had ever seen to fulfill his whims.

When you ran out of arrows in your quiver, so you approached the target to get them back. You hung the bow on the target while you were barely pulling out all the stuck arrows. You were only pulling arrows out of a pile of straw, but Sukuna kept watching you mesmerized as if you were the most interesting thing in the world. He soon realized that his heart was beating a mile a minute again. He touched his chest to feel the rapid palpitations and his smile faded as he realized what was happening. He didn't have heart trouble, his heart was in trouble.

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[laora-ryn]

fr3-d1, [error noises], and Alice Dyer

So this may have been done before idk, I don't keep up with the online fandom too much! But I went through episode by episode looking for Freddy interactions, and despite what everyone in-show says, there aren't a ton of crashes/errors so far? However, there is a bunch of weird, unexplained instances of Freddy, et al acting independently!

Alice calls this out specifically in episode 21; on five separate occasions (episodes 1, 9, 14, 19, and 21), Chester reads an incident about or mentioning the Magnus Institute to Sam. The only time a TMI statement is read in a different configuration than this Chester-Sam combo, is when Chester reads the doppelganger case to Celia.

On a slightly separate note, as far as I can tell, the error beeps have actually only ever happened in Alice's presence, despite her and Colin's insistence that it's super buggy and crashes often:

2 jmj errors, in episode 3 and episode 17

one example of Freddy reacting to something Alice says out of nowhere in episode 5

Freddy also crashes Alice's computer when Sam asks her about TMI in episode 19, forcing her to suddenly have time to chat

This…feels like a little more than a coincidence, to me?

At this point, I'm less wondering "why is Chester so interested in Sam" - that's either relatively straightforward (look into TMI, save Jon and Martin from a terrible fate), or some plot twist I can't imagine that's way different from that!

Now, after doing all this reading, I'm a little more interested in what Freddy, or Chester, or whatever overlap exists between them, has against Alice!!

Under the cut is a summary of all the autonomous actions as of episode 21, grouped by the apparent source and sorted by date:

Definitively Chester:

Episode 9, 8 March: Chester starts reading the cursed dice statement on his own, without Sam interacting with his computer

Episode 17, 4 Apr: Chester reads a universe-hopping statement to Celia

Episode 21, 12 Apr: Alice intercepts a Magnus Institute incident report on Sam's terminal, being read out by Chester. Freddy makes several disapproving beeps when she deletes it

Definitively Jon:

Episode 7, 12 Feb: Sam receives an email from a "John" with an internal email address, with Gerry's name and address

Freddy, otherwise unspecified:

Episode 3, 22 Jan: Alice receives a jmj error on her computer, which Colin troubleshoots. Freddy sasses back at them both via error beeps

Episode 5, 5 Feb: Alice: "what the hell is wrong with everyone today?" OIAR computer, not having been touched or interacted with: [error noise]

Episode 17, 4 Apr: Alice receives a jmj error on her computer, which Gwen troubleshoots. Freddy emits error beeps often, but not as snarkily as it did in episode 3 imo

Episode 19, 11 Apr: Sam asks Alice to talk with him about the Magnus Institute. Immediately, Alice's computer throws an error, like it wants her to stop working and talk with Sam

"Someone," "the system":

Episode 4, 29 Jan: "the system" sends Alice a notification that Sam searched for "Magnus" and "protocol"

Episode 4, 29 Jan: Gwen receives an email from an unknown source showing Lena trying to kill Klaus. She apparently receives this multiple times before she confronts Lena in episode 7 (approx. 2 weeks)

Episode 20, 12 Apr: Sam has received an email from a garbled email address he can't reply to, with a ton of attachments from 1999 regarding the Magnus institute, Starkwall, and William Price (the Response Dept head)

Colin's extracurricular activities, just for completion's sake:

Episode 1, 9 Jan: Colin sneaks back into the office after shift to find a computer running, which he verbally threatens before shutting off

Episode 7, 12 Feb: Colin attacks Sam for bringing a phone into his office; he is put on mental health leave

Episode 10, 9 Mar: Colin sneaks back into the office to dig into the computers some more. He is disappointed that Alice is out, because he wants her opinion on something

[aishangotome]

[Gilbert] Choose Your True Love: Part 1

Man with Black Hair and Red Eyes: ..............

Emma: ..............

(My legs... are trembling...)

Standing before me was a man in military uniform with obsidian-like glossy black hair and vivid red eyes.

The man, adorned with more medals than even Gilbert, looked down at me without changing his expression.

He hadn't done anything to me. Just his presence was enough to make me terribly afraid.

(He looks like Gilbert, but... the atmosphere is completely different.)

Gilbert also has a unique aura that dominates people, but the man in front of me is incomparable.

He exudes a murderous aura as naturally as breathing, blending it into the air.

I'm going to be killed. --I don't know why, but that premonition turns into a cold sweat.

(Why am I even in the hallway in the first place?)

(I was supposed to be studying in Gilbert's room.)

I can't remember how I ended up facing this man.

I don't even know if such a thing exists.

With a trembling breath, I glance away.

The man had a sword at his waist.

The obsidian-decorated sword seemed somewhat ominous, perhaps because of the smell of blood in the air.

(...I have to run away.)

Against my will, my feet are glued to the ground.

It was an unknown fear I had never experienced before.

???: What are you doing, Your Majesty the Emperor?

(...!)

Suddenly, a hand is placed on my shoulder from behind.

I flinch, but the fear clinging to the voice I heard slightly eases.

Gilbert: You two are staring at each other in the middle of the hallway.

Emperor: She suddenly appeared in front of me and blocked my path.

Emperor: I was thinking about how to kill her.

(W-Wait... Did he just say "Your Majesty the Emperor"?)

Gilbert: I see. But I'm sorry. She's my pet.

Gilbert: I forgot to put on her collar. I'll properly train her, so please forgive me.

Emperor: I didn't know you had a woman.

Gilbert: I'm at that age, you know.

Emperor: ...Well, fine. I forgive you.

Emperor: I'm in a good mood today.

The man called "Your Majesty the Emperor" left with a meaningful grin.

(His Majesty the Emperor, who destroyed many countries and killed countless people, is a bloodthirsty madman...)

(But he shouldn't be here. Because His Majesty the Emperor is...)

Gilbert: Come here.

Emma: Ah...

Gilbert grabbed my hand and started walking quickly in the opposite direction from the Emperor.

-

I was invited to Gilbert's room, which should have been familiar to me.

But I immediately felt a sense of discomfort.

(...There's a mountain of documents.)

The documents, piled so high that they seemed to collapse with the slightest vibration, asserted their presence as if they had been waiting for Gilbert's return.

(This is strange... There weren't any documents here until just now.)

Emma: Gil... What's going on?

Gilbert: ..............

Gilbert: What's wrong? Do you know me?

Emma: Huh?

Gilbert: But I definitely feel a sense of familiarity with you. That's why I helped you.

Emma: ...What are you talking about...?

Gilbert: What's your name?

Emma: Emma...

Gilbert: Emma...

Gilbert: ...Wait, Emma?

Emma: Yes...

Gilbert: Where are you from?

Emma: ...Rhodolite.

Gilbert: What's your occupation?

Emma: Um... I used to work in a bookstore.

(I don't understand. He's asking me questions as if we've never met before.)

With each answer I gave, Gilbert's smile faded and he became lost in thought.

(...Wait, was Gilbert always this young?)

(And for some reason, he seems tense.)

(Like he's on edge, or he doesn't seem to have any leeway...)

Gilbert: Could I be dreaming?

Gilbert: Why are you in Obsidian?

Emma: Why...? Didn't you bring me here, Gil?

Gilbert: ...You don't seem to be lying.

Gilbert: Tell me more.

As I told Gilbert what had happened, I realized a few things.

(First of all, Gilbert in front of me doesn't know me.)

(No, maybe he knows me, but we've never met in person.)

(And he doesn't seem to know about the Bloodstained Rose Day either.)

If the bloodthirsty Emperor is alive and Gilbert looks young, the conclusion is obvious.

Emma: Am I... in the past?

Gilbert: It seems so. Welcome to Obsidian from the future?

(I can't believe it.)

Even though it was a preposterous story, Gilbert seemed to accept it.

Emma: Gil... Gilbert, do you believe me?

Gilbert: There are many unsolved mysteries in this world.

Gilbert: It's possible that people can travel through time, even if I don't know about it.

Gilbert: The situation forces me to think that way, so there's no reason to deny it, right?

Gilbert: Besides, I can tell when someone is lying. You're not lying.

(My head is still confused, but...)

(It might be a big deal to have Gilbert on my side in this situation.)

Gilbert: However, this is a bit of a problem.

Gilbert: You... might die?

(!?)

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. Part 2 | YouTube SE in JP

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