#Barking vicariously

[vinnyandthephenomena]

jay merrick plushie when i get you. you are not safe from me.

[bibiana112]

What if I become a hachijo tohya stan account am I allowed to have ryukishis self-insert as my blog theme I'm starting to think I want that one yeah the recluse writer who has won every prize and honor except a basic participation medal mean old witch of theathergoing uhum gimme

[dogfags]

my life would be immeasurably easier if I was the femme theyfab I tried so hard to be in college but at least now that I'm a man I can be with my gay bf. so there are some upsides

[aromanticasterisms]

man. i was not at all looking forward to the saurian mechanics in natlan, and i've been proved correct for the most part -- the ground saurians feel like such a downgrade from the travel mechanics we've seen in the past [we all at this point have gotten used to climbing things with character skills, also kachina is free + the sumeru and chenyu vale exploration was a lot smoother]

HOWEVER. i do love the koholasaurs way more than expected. perhaps, dare i say it, even more than the waverider. they blend fun and function way better than the other two. they are so shaped. little creatures. i can do a flip

[plutoswritingplanet]

Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.4

a/n: a short conclusion for the last chapter, before i finish a more story-heavy one, deeply inspired by "Two Against One" by Jack White

Warnings: Masturbation (again, wow), Explicit Language, Alcohol Use, Very Creepy Behavior, Plus Sized Reader, Inappropriate Relations With A Marble Wall, Suggestive Themes

Summary: Both you and Homelander get increasingly confused about what you truly are. None come out unscathed.

Vicarious Masterlist

The vulnerability of drunkenness looks good on you. 

At first, you're none the wiser. As your limbs uncurl from around Homelander, your feet hitting the polished floor of his penthouse. Stomach flipping around, you fight with all your strength not to fall to your knees, as the shock of being shot out through the air slowly subsides. Homelander starts pacing around the living area, an excitable spring in his steps, as he makes his way towards the rather well-stocked liquor cabinet. Were you more vigilant, perhaps you would've read this action for what it truly was, but as it stands, the realization is postponed for a few seconds more. 

Glasses clink somewhere behind you, but you're too focused on steadying your breathing to notice. Your vision is swimming, the blurred outline of a gigantic American flag, hanged on the wall in front of you, makes you want to jump out that stupid window. The repetitive pattern twists your brain around.

- Ugh... Jesus - you throw the offending piece of cloth a withering look.

- If you're going to be sick, do it in the bathroom - Homelander barks, keeping himself out of your field of vision. 

- I'll be fine, don't wo... - okay, you cut yourself off because maybe you're not fine after all. 

A second passes, as you try to identify, if the feeling inside your chest is an omen of oncoming vomit. 

No, it's good, you're okay. 

Your eyelids are so incredibly heavy, it almost feels like your lashes are tangling together every time you blink, trying to force your eyes to stay closed. There's this strange taste in your mouth, a ghost of drinks past, mixed with some other, much more worrying substances you've enthusiastically consumed, and you smack your tongue against your pallet, running it over your teeth, as if to test if they're all set in place. Adrenaline gathers at the tips of your fingertips, and you shake your hands with a frown, fighting to rid yourself of this energy. Instead of helping, it only serves to make your stomach churn harder.

Traumatic experiences, such as being flown through the air at ungodly speed, should technically sober you up, but right now you feel like you've been funneling alcohol through a tube the entire night. Not entirely untrue, but you've never been a lightweight, so this sudden change of pace surprises and worries you. And there's one more thing. As your hands flail at your sides, checking your bearings, a sudden wave of realization hits you like a truck. 

Your bag. You forgot your bag at the party, and as such, your phone is lost too. Which wouldn't be so bad, if you didn't have the combination for the door of your room in the Tower saved in the notes. Your head starts to hurt, eyes closing shut, as you try to will the numbers into your brain. They were funny, you made them into a joke, you just don't remember which one. 

- Fuck... - you sigh, scratching at the back of your neck, where your sweat is rapidly cooling in the conditioned air of the penthouse. 

Which was it? Four numbers, significant ones. You chuckled to yourself when you first typed them into the lock, but it's so hard to focus on anything other than staying upright.

- You okay there? - Homelander asks, and suddenly you're reminded that he's still here, with you.

Alone. 

It's not dread that climbs up your spine at the realization, not excitement either. What you feel, clawing its way through your insides like a feral beast, is a profound sense of acceptance. Blue and red invade your vision, as he moves to stand in front of you, pushing a chilled glass filled with amber liquid into your hand. On instinct, your fingers curl around it, but you can't seem to raise it to your lips, wondering, if this move will signal your defeat. His chest rises and falls evenly, as he stands so close to you, you can practically feel the heat coming off of him, along with that rich cologne, that surrounds you from every angle. 

There's a geometric pattern all over the blue parts of his costume, and your eyes fight against its movements in front of you. The padding on his chest and stomach is truly ridiculous, even in your sorry state you can realize the unnatural movements of his fake muscles over his skin. Really, you can't be the only person that's noticed this. 

- I forgot my phone from the party - your voice is so quiet, weak, and you can't seem to pinpoint, if it's Smirnoff's or Fireball's - I don't...

- I know - he interrupts you, inclining his head as if he's trying to entice you to look at him - You left it on a chair in the kitchen. 

You don't give yourself the luxury of confusion, because you should've known. You should've figured it out, the moment he fell from the sky, catching the vulnerability of the moment, and crushing it in his teeth. Of course, he was looking, listening in as well, most likely. Wouldn't be the first time, would it? Who else would've known to leak the contract information, mere hours after you've complained to your friend over the phone, by an open window no less? There's no allowance of betrayal for you, you knew from the start, and yet you've allowed yourself to be put in this situation. You placed your own hand into the maw of the lion, and now you're supposed to expect him not to snap his teeth?

 His hand comes up into your field of vision, those red, leather gloves creaking, as they wrap around your fingers holding the glass. You don't resist, when he guides your hand up, towards your lips, tips the glass against them, until the bitter liquid pours into your mouth, past your teeth. 

- Very good - he murmurs with a patronizing tone, watching your throat work, as you swallow around the burning sensation - Take it all in, champ.

And you do. You down the drink, until there's nothing left. His hand retreats, and your fingers relax, letting the glass fall onto the plush carpet. You need to lock Smirnoff, stuff her back into that box, hidden from sight, before anything progresses. But she just won't let go. She claws her way into your brain, screaming at you to do something, anything, before it's too late. 

This isn't you. You're not here. 

The familiar mantra falls short, as Homelander slowly starts to take off his gloves, one finger at a time. His hands are strong, pale, with slender fingers, that curl and uncurl around air, as if testing the tendons working under his skin. Your eyes glide over the movements, heart stopping for just a moment, when he holds out his right hand in front of your chest, just shy of touching. Wetting your lips with your tongue, you watch, as his fingers tremble with tension. He wants you to feel it, the anticipation of the inevitable. He wants you to break, he's only ever wanted a reaction out of you.

- Please, I don't... - your voice cracks like a window. 

You don't what? Want it? You're convinced there are no words in the world, that would stop him right now, and the muscles in your face twitch. The American flag behind his shoulder stares at you, the stripes suddenly becoming a flurry of motion, as he pushes his hand against your chest. You don't fight it, letting him guide you all the way across the room, until your back reaches the wall, slamming into it with a dull thud. Despite that, the unrelenting force behind his movements makes you acutely aware of his true strength, the sheer lack of humanity inside this man in front of you. 

As soon as you're pressed against the wall, Homelander lurches forwards, his arms encircling your form completely, his face diving into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. Your entire body sways in place, as he takes a long, shuddering breath, his palms mapping the softness of your flesh under the flimsy t-shirt. Cotton tears under his ministrations, and cold air hits your back, your sides. A deep, low hum reverberated through his chest, as he exhales, immediately sucking in another breath through gritted teeth. 

- You... - he huffs, his exposed hands fitting themselves under the tears in your shirt - I've never known something so cheap could smell so good.  

There's a jolt of something, running through his body, as his hips press into you with barely restrained force. He'd fit nicely between your pliable thighs, but not now, not ever. The hardness digging into your stomach finally solidifies, what you dreaded would come.

- We can't - you don't recognize your voice. 

This isn't you. You're not here. 

But Fireball is not here either, so what is this third, strange person, who raises their hands and pushes against his chest, against the metal eagles on his shoulders? The flag still watches you struggle, those impassive stars mocking you at every turn. Truly, the American Dream come true, being humped like a dog by the strongest, most Yankee Doodle Dandy superhero to ever exist. This is exactly, what your parents were chasing, when they moved to the States, searching for a better future for their soon-to-be-born little girl. Will he stick a flag pole in your cunt, and sing the fucking National Anthem, after he's done using you? The thought almost makes you laugh, makes you remember the combination to your room, but all dark amusement flies out the still open window, because suddenly, his arms straighten out. 

He pins you to the wall, pulling back all the way, so he can stare at you with those cold, dead eyes, full of freedom for his own, heinous actions, and none left for you. There's tension in his face, as his lips press together into a condescending, tight smile, and his fingers flex on your shoulders, testing the durability of the stitches of your t-shirt once again. 

- Can't? - there's a tilt to his voice, a barely contained sliver of anger seeping through his teeth - I'm the fucking Homelander. I can do whatever I want. 

Ah, so that's what you're dealing with.

 The box rattles, the lock you've so carefully placed upon it bursting open like a cracked egg. And as Smirnoff takes her rightful place, scraping both Fireball and that elusive third thing from the surface of your brain, you look up at Homelander with utter understanding. What stands in front of you, is not a symbol of hope and peace. You're looking at a spoiled, invincible brat, who's never had to work for anything in his life. 

This is you. You're here. And you're so fucking disappointed.

Once again, you shape-shift right in front of his eyes, and with a shuddered breath Homelander realizes, that finally, he's looking at the real you. Not the bored, wreck of a human being he's met weeks ago, not the corporate product Stillwell has carved out of you, but a secret, third thing. An intoxicating cocktail of your true, hidden feelings floats to the surface, from underneath layers upon layers of masks, and he wishes to tear every single one, if it means you'll keep looking at him like that. Like you know him, like you can see behind the curtain of his performance, just as he sees behind yours. It's been such a long time, since someone made this discovery, and remained impassive.

When he thinks about it, this is the first time, he's met with such levelled response. And, fuck, the thought is better than drugs. The ghost of your scent tickles his nostrils, and he wonders what would stick to his tongue, should he taste you right now. Not fear, not desire, definitely not admiration. The expression you're wearing is eerily familiar, but so strange at the same time. Stitches at your shoulders tear under his fingertips, when he squeezes harder, hoping to extract the answer from your skin, from the softness of your flesh, the caverns of your bones. 

You don't even give him the luxury of a flinch.

- Just because you can, doesn't mean you should.

Who said those words, you're both unsure, but they shoot through him like thousands of spikes, drilling themselves under his impenetrable skin with ease. He blinks, and finally realizes the familiarity of your gaze. He's seen it, back in that lab, back home. Disappointment. And with that realization comes a myriad of familiar feelings, of patterns he's been continuing over, and over again, like a compulsion he's unable to rid himself of. The need to be feared, respected, loved, it all mixes with one more, treacherous thing. Make it right, make it better. 

Slowly, his fingers uncurl from around your shoulders, the t-shirt hanging onto your frame on a couple of strings alone. Surely, he'll regret this sooner, rather than later, but for now, he lets you go. Homelander takes a step back, his eyes unfocused behind a dazed cloud, as he regards you with scrunched eyebrows. It's evident, by the way his breathing quickens, the way his movements are tense, still ready to pounce. The desire to tear, to get what he wants is strong as ever, and the darkness in his eyes should be terrifying. Would be terrifying, if you were anyone, but yourself. 

And still, there's nothing. Your hearbeat is steady, your breathing even, your blood lacks any familiar chemicals, which would indicate your dishevelled state. It's as if you're looking at his through the windows of a passing bus, like he's a fucking traffic sign stuck into concrete. Insignificant, a piece of the landscape no one thinks twice about. But then, before he has the chance to get offended, you shift again, knocking him off his rythm once more. 

When did your eyes start to sparkle like that, he's none the wiser, but he drinks up the sight like a man parched, his mouth opening just a little, tasting the air of you on his tongue. The ghost of a smile on your lips might as well be a trick of the light, but he wants to believe otherwise, and as you take a step closer to him, pushing yourself off the wall, his heart stops for a millisecond. 

- Thank you - you whisper, your breath hanging in the space between the two of you - For saving me.

He blinks. And then, you're gone, leaving his penthouse like nothing has happened, like this is exactly how the night was supposed to end. The click of the door behind you sounds so distant to his ears, as if he's being held under water, and he's left standing rigid, staring at the empty space on the wall, where your body pressed into just seconds ago. A myriad of emotions swirls within him, one darker than the other, and as if pushed by some invisible force, he approaches the wall, closing his eyes with a shudder. Images of you, your body, the softness underneath his fingertips, flood his mind, and one question still fights for an answer in his mind. He needs to know, needs to feel something, lest he follows right behind you and forces the solution right out of your lips. 

Your scent lingers long after you've left, and with the concentration of a mad scientist, he places his cheek against the cold marble, where your shoulder was mounted. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back, and with a groan of unresolved tension, Homelander lets his tongue slip from between his teeth, laying flat on the polished surface. He licks a long stripe across, from one imaginary shoulder to the other, and can almost feel the ghost of you under each taste bud. 

Why did he let you go? What sort of a spell did you put on him, that he let you slip past his fingers, while he's still here, burning up with need? 

His hand tugs at the belt buckle, until it snaps off completely, clattering to the floor. Saliva smears down the surface of the wall, as he yanks down the lower part of his suit, immediately starting to hump his hand like a wild animal, mind clouded with what he wants, but can't seem to take. The marble wall steals the boiling heat right out of his body, and he presses harder against the unrelenting surface, fucking into his hand with reckless abandon. Words leave his lips in a messy jumble, nonsensical and broken. His eyes sting under his eyelids, and as he feels his peak come closer and closer, the heat inside his head becomes unbearable. 

With a frustrated, wanton growl, he comes hard all over the wall, his eyes snapping open, letting the deadly light out in full force. It collides with the marble, burning into it with ease for just a second, before he blinks it away, his body shaking from the intensity of his release. Pieces of rubble fall to the ground at his feet, dust covering the red leather of his boots. He's outgrown shame a long time ago, and with lips pursed in deep thought, he examines the demage he's done while lost in the moment. Placing his forehead right at the edge of the hole in the wall, he gathers his release on the tips of his fingers, pressing it further into the cracks in the marble.

This might be a bit harder to explain in the morning, he thinks to himslef with a huff of laughter. But, out of all the things he could've done, he guesses Stillwell would be happier to call for a renovation team, than have to explain to the higher-ups, and later the world, what happened to that bright-eyed Sidekick of his. 

A small mercy. A present, if you will, for both you and her. He shakes his head, finally stepping away from the destroyed wall. After all, it wasn't any spell, any sort of influence that made him let you flee back to the supposed safety of your room. It was his benevolence.

 Of course. He's the hero after all.  

[dollwrites]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 — 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!Muzan’s favorite!reader, grudgefucking, degradation, akaza’s damaged ego, choking, very brief broken bones, reader’s simpy, toxic vibes, all characters featured are 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading <3

𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 ∣ run from me by guccihighwaters

“‘Worthless.’ What does he know about worthless?” Akaza’s teeth were clenched tight, grinding. brows drawn close together, eyes ablaze with hatred. “I do everything for him. Dedicate my existence to Lord Muzan and his fucking goals.” he was talking to himself, working himself up into a hotter rage than when he’d first grabbed you. your knees dig into the dirt, and you claw helplessly at the bark of the tree he’s pinned you against, the rough edges scraping at your face. you couldn’t moan loud enough to drown out his growling, or the sound of his hips snapping against yours, but you didn’t want to. you relished in the sound of just how wet he made you, and how you squelched when he plowed into you. if you could manage to hold yourself steady, you would release the tree and reach behind to spread your ass cheeks to open your body up for him completely— to take you however he wanted. but Akaza was fucking you too hard, pounding you relentless against the massive trunk. so, you’d had to simply hold on for dear life.

“Ah…” you mewled, trying to push back to meet his vigorous thrusting. it was futile, you couldn’t even begin to match his rhythm. “Akaza, forget about what Muzan said, just fuck me—“

“Shut up,” he hisses, one hand snaking around your throat to hold on to it with a tight vice, the other planted firm against your spine, forcing an unnatural arch for your position. there was a defensiveness in his growl, as if his loyalty was tested vicariously through your words. “You’re part of the problem, you know that? The way he fawns over you in front of us. You’re not even Kizuki,” his numbered eyes coast over the shape he’s put your body in, and slide upwards to see your gems— he was right. you weren’t one of the twelve demon moons; your body couldn’t take enough of Muzan’s blood to give you a ranking. “Makes me sick.” the smallest croak escapes your parted lips as he squeezes, and you bend to his will, dropping your head back to watch him. though you’re perched on your knees, he’s not. balancing on the balls of his feet, his knees are spread wide to avoid getting in the way of his furious hips.

his grip on your throat was tight enough that, had you still been human, breathing would’ve been impossible. you would’ve suffocated, but right now, you weren’t scared of Akaza.

you adored him.

you always had.

even if he didn’t feel the same, even if he never would, you would love him forever, you’d decided. there was much to love about him. his loyalty, his strength, the heart stopping curve of his lips over sharp, white fangs. the way his baritone whistled through the night like velvet.

you wanted to protest for him, tell him that you never asked or even wanted the king of demons to treat you like a fragile doll, a daughter to dote on, but you knew it would only make him angrier. he hated that you loathed Muzan and yet the demon lord would never so much as raise his voice to you, but would turn right around and cut an upper moon down for a sloppy job. besides, judging by just how mercilessly he was fucking you, you could assume that it wasn’t coincidental that he’d tracked you down right after reporting to Muzan; he’d wanted to destroy something, and you were the perfect candidate— Muzan’s adopted daughter. it’s a shame Muzan would kill him if he ever found out, but you knew you’d take it to the grave if you had to.

“Weak, little bitch.” he snarls, clamping down harder on your neck, and you swoon, your nails digging into the tree trunk harder. bark splinters and erupts from the trunk, crackling as your fingers sink into the wood. you didn’t have the strength to claw the whole tree apart, but you were chipping away at it. “What’s he see in you, anyways?” his angle changes; he slides one foot forward to scoot closer, press his torso to your back, and pump into your cunt deeper. you squeal, but only for a moment, before his other hand comes up from the other side of your head to clamp his hand over your mouth and muffle the sound. “That— that’s what I’m talking about. You can’t even take a cock without screaming my fucking ear off. Are you so fucking pathetic that you can’t even take it quiet like a decent cocksleeve? You have to squeal and whine?” your breasts ground into the harsh bark as he presses you closer to the foliage, golden eyes gleaming in the pale moonlight that illuminates the sordid display. you nod, looking back at him with nothing but twinkling adoration and affection in your heavily lidded gaze, squeaking slurred as you’re forced to kiss his palm.

you couldn’t help it, the upper moon was decimating your body in a way so delicious, you had to cry out. it was the type of brutal fucking that made you grateful you’d become a demon— lest you never be able to experience a love this cruel.

your walls were clenching around him just as merciless, spasming, stretching around his girth and hugging tight, refusing to let him pull out. “Fuck,” he grunted, a moment’s weakness allowing the moan to slip out of his lips, and he immediately hisses. brows cinching tighter. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re so needy. You want it so bad? Take it, then.” his hips flurry at a nearly incomprehensible speed and velocity, pounding you over and over into the wood. you scream in vulgar delight and surprise, your body yielding to whatever he wanted to do to it, but that only makes him more enraged. his fist clenches around your throat, and you hear a snap. a rush of shock and pain floods your senses and you realize he’s crushed your trachea. a whistle, a choke escapes you, eyes welling up with tears, but he didn’t stop.

and you didn’t want him to.

it only took a matter of seconds for the bones to heal, cracking as they shift back into their proper place. Akaza’s hand had abandoned your throat, and instead pressed on top of his other one on your mouth, using it now as leverage to keep you pinned in place to fill you with reckless abandon with impossible force.

“P—please—“ you whimper against his hand, batting tears away with your thick lashes, “don’t st— don’t stop—!”

“Tch,” it’s not a word, is a puff of air forced through his teeth, an exclamation of disgust, but you can’t help but moan, eyelids fluttering. you can feel how hard he is, even as he degrades you, he’s swollen and throbbing in your guts. “You look so pitiful, struggling to take me, but you love the abuse so much you can’t even keep your eyes open.” you were nodding to every word, hugging the tree to keep from slouching back against him. his fucking was maddening, and you couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t. “What would He think if he saw you like this? He… He chews me up and spits me out, but you’re there,” it’s getting harder and harder for him to speak, his moans cutting in every so often, as he relishes in how you submit for him, “you’re here to spread your fucking legs, eh? You— you want me to fuck all my humiliation out? Fuck away the anger? Right into your weak, little body? As if you could handle it?”

you nod again, eyes glazed but hopeful, unwavering admiration in your blown out pupils. your mouth hang open, dribbling drool over his hand and allowing your incessant whimpering to flow free.

he takes one look at you and knows you’re honest. and he groans, feeling himself fighting a losing battle with the pending orgasm creeping up on him. he didn’t understand it, why you wanted him so badly when he loathed you. and maybe, he didn’t have to. maybe he shouldn’t question it at all. there was a rush of confidence that came along with ruining you— a power surge as he heard your whiny, little yelps. he could get off on them alone, though he’d never tell you that, but the idea that you were untouchable— that Muzan had forbade any of his demon moons from so much as laying a single finger on you, and he was able to fuck you out like this— he felt less like a demon and more like a god. it was an addicting, exhilarating sensation, power beyond what even he was used to.

“Well,” he grunted harshly, finally, with acidic sarcasm leaking from his lips, “anything for Lord Muzan’s favorite.”

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

“How are ya doin’ in here, turbo?” Daryl drawled, having let himself in through the front door and come up the hall. He made his way over to where you were laid out on the couch, your broken leg propped up on a cushion. 

You were pouting. It was plenty obvious as soon as he glanced at your expression.

“Oh, yer still pissed, huh?” he asked with a half-smirk.

You crossed your arms over your chest and stared up at him. “I hate this. I hate this so, so much...” Daryl laughed and the gruff sound soothed your frustration and annoyance some. 

“I know,” he said, taking a seat on the coffee table. “But there ain’t nothin’ to do ‘bout it but wait and heal up. And don’t rush it. It’s yer femur, not a little scraped knee.”

You ignored him. “You went out again today, right?” He nodded, a little apprehension about where this was going. 

“Mhm...” he hummed.

You sat up a little straighter. “So, tell me everything!” you insisted. “I’m so fucking bored in here I’m about to start trashing the place.”

Daryl laughed again. “Have ya eaten?”

“I ate. Tell me about today, please?”

Daryl picked up an empty glass on the table next to him and looked at the dried remains of what had been the stew he’d brought you the night before sitting in a bowl beside it. “When didya last eat?” he pressed you.

“I don’t know. Sometime today,” you said, waving him off. “What happened today?”

“Y/N—I’m gettin’ ya somethin’ to eat. How d’ya expect to get back on yer feet if ya ain’t puttin’ fuel in the tank to help rebuild yer damn bone?” He stood up and you looked up at him desperately.

“Don’t leave me without giving me details! I’ve been living vicariously off your crazy ass stories for the last month and I need another hit! Or I swear I will become even more unpleasant—”

“I ain’t sure tha’s possible,” Daryl shot over his shoulder at you with a smirk as he carried your dirty dish to the sink and refilled your water glass.

“Excuse me?!” you barked back at him, though you couldn’t help the ghost of a smile flitting over your face briefly from his teasing. “Hey—my leg is BROKEN! You’re supposed to be nice to me!” 

Daryl laughed again and wandered back, setting the water down for you within reach. “I think makin’ sure ya dun starve is bein’ nice. Look—I know how much ya hate this, and I promise I will give ya all the details ya want when I come back with food. But ya gotta let me take care of ya, okay? ‘Cuz the faster ya get better, the faster you and I can go back to doin’ crazy ass shit out there together. Deal?”

You softened and nodded. All he always wanted was to make sure you were okay. “Deal.”

Prompt: “Don’t leave me without giving me details! I’ve been living vicariously off your crazy ass stories for the last month!”

[arwenlalaith]

Dating App Mishaps (Ch. 8)

Ship: Alex Blake/Reader

Summary: Alex didn't have Tinder by choice...but that doesn't mean it isn't going to come in handy.

Word Count: 1043

"So, how was your date?" Emily asked, emerging from the en-suite bathroom, drying her hair with a towel.

Alex looked up from her laptop where she was busy typing up her case report while the details were still fresh in her mind. "You were thinking about my date in the shower?" she asked, raising a brow in a playfully teasing manner.

Emily rolled her eyes, threw the damp towel at her. "I was thinking about how long it's been since I've gotten laid and I was hoping to at least live vicariously through you..."

She barked out a laugh at that. "A) I didn't need to know you were masturbating in the shower and B) I hate to disappoint, but..." She trailed off, shrugging.

"What!?" Emily exclaimed, dropping onto her bed and staring at Alex with wide, expectant eyes. "Now this I've gotta hear."

"There's nothing to tell," Alex said, shutting her laptop and folding her hands primly on top of it.

Emily scoffed. "Please..." At the ensuing pointed look, she continued, "There's no way there's not a story behind that."

She shrugged again, apparently quite reluctant to give away any more details than she already had.

Patience running out, Emily fixed her with a deliberate stare and threatened, "Your choices are either tell me or I sic Garcia on you and she can suss out the details the hard way... Which is it?"

Alex gave an exasperated sigh. "That's a bit out of proportion, wouldn't you say?"

She made a face that suggested it couldn't have been helped.

"We were having a perfectly lovely time until Hotch and Beth showed up," she recounted with a grim face.

Emily's brows leapt up her forehead. "No way. You're making this up."

"Unfortunately not," she muttered. "For a profiler, he sure missed all the flashing neon signs I was giving him that said Please do not join us!..."

She gave a snort of amusement. "So, they sat with you?"

She nodded. "Oh, but the tale doesn't end there..."

"Oh?" Emily said with all the enthusiasm of a dog perking up their ears at the sound of the treat jar opening.

She nodded once again. "We got halfway through a quickie in the bathroom, when Beth knocked on the door and interrupted," she said dryly.

Emily crowed with laughter. "I've gotta say, Miller...you really do have the worst luck when it comes to hook ups."

"I know," she said, tone and expression bitter.  "I think I might be cursed...  Do you know how long it's been since I've had any kind of relationship that even resembled normal?"

Emily barked out a laugh. "I've given up on 'normal' relationships..." she said wryly.

"Oh?"

Emily fixed her with an expression that seemed to be weighing her trustworthiness. Ultimately, she grinned mischievously. "You're sworn to secrecy, you know that, right?"

Alex nodded solemnly.

"I'm a faithful patron of several cam girls," she confessed. When Alex blinked dumbly a few times in response, Emily rolled her eyes. "Give me that," she said snatching Alex's laptop away from her and opened the lid.

"What are you...?" she started to protest.

Emily typed a few moments, then returned the laptop. "You'll thank me," she said cryptically, then proceeded to put in her earplugs and go to sleep.

Alex glanced at the screen and was instantly elucidated as to what a cam girl was. Just as quickly as the realization set in, she slammed her laptop shut again.

___________

Alex lay awake in bed, tossing and turning for the past hour as she struggled to find sleep. Her sexual frustration was reaching an all-time high and it was getting to the point where it was preventing her from thinking clearly.

She was debating calling you – though she wasn't sure she could handle hearing your voice just then without spontaneously combusting from the desperate need to ravage you – when her phone chimed with a notification, your name flashing across the screen.

Speak of the devil...

She snatched her phone off the nightstand with lightening-quick reflexes, unlocking it with a quick swipe of the thumb.

"I miss you..." the message said.

Alex spent a few moments attempting to decipher what you meant by that.

But before she could arrive at a conclusion, the question was answered for her by the arrival of a picture. A picture featuring your reflection in a floor-length mirror, showcasing your body in a set of Cinderella blue lingerie.

It was followed shortly by another message. "Do you miss me too?"

Alex glanced over at Emily, finding her fast asleep, splayed out like a starfish across the bed...and was silently grateful that she'd decided to wear earplugs. Without pausing to decide whether it was a good idea or not, she proceeded to stab the call button.

When you answered (on the first ring, at that), she purred, "Are you behaving yourself?"

"That depends..." you replied silkily.

"On what?"

You grinned to yourself. "On your definition of good behaviour..."

She hummed a note you couldn't quite decipher. "It sounds to me like you're being a brat..." she replied, her hand drifting beneath the waistband of her pyjamas and into her panties in search of her clit.

"Maybe I am..." you said with a little shrug. "But what are you going to do about it?" You felt emboldened by the distance, safe to tease because there were no immediate consequences.

"It sounds to me like you want Daddy to speak you," she replied. "Is that what you want, Princess? You want me to spank you 'til your ass is red and your cunt is dripping?"

You let out a needy little whine at the words, feeling yourself soaking your panties as you imagined what it might be like to have her bend you over her lap and spank you until you cried and begged for her to fuck you...

"Answer me," she demanded, her breath catching slightly as she rubbed her clit to the mental image. "Be a good girl and I'll finally make you cum the next time I see you..."

[midnightcreator12]

...I was going to do art but its late and drawing isn’t my strong suit but writing is and I wanted to make something based on this post from @nerves-nebula because OMG someone help those kids but I kinda live vicariously through Chula sooooo....

Chula steals some kids.

Chula technically wasn’t part of the interdimensional contest. 

But a side-effect of having a hyperdrive with a worm-hole generator in it was that her ship got pulled into these pocket realities sometimes.

And usually, she was perfectly happy to watch the events, cheer for the dozens of versions of the turtles and their families, and pass out a few small toys to the younger versions if they approached her.

But near the beginning of this one…she’d spotted four turtles in particular and had been carefully watching them. She hadn’t been able to put her finger on it at first, why those four had caught her attention, made something in her brain itch.

Sure, that Leo was a bit more abrasive and crass with his words. And that Raph seemed more tense and anxious, eyes looking everywhere half the time or staring into the middle space. And that Mikey was a bit more prone to threats of extreme violence or just saying really dark things in general. And that Donnie was much quieter and thinner than he should be…

And then it hit her how…almost sickly they all looked. Skin a few shades paler than it should be, muscle not as bulky as it should be. And Donatello was the worst off out of all of them.

It was why she’d approached him for a moment, handing him a puzzle cube and offering a soft encouragement before going back to the sidelines.

When their father finally appeared…it had made every hair on her spine stand up and her teeth grind in an effort not to snarl. 

The kids shrunk away from him and he glared at them in return. He criticized and snapped and snarled at the four boys to do better, to take this seriously, that they should be more like Leo and seek out victory in this competition.

It was a shabbing game, for crying out loud! Some weird, reality warping game where different versions of the Hamato Clan duked it out for nothing more than bragging rights.

Still, she forced herself to not intervene, as much as she hated sitting idly. But she technically wasn’t supposed to be here, and anything she did here wouldn't matter once the event finished…

It was shortly after the arena morphed again, this time into a multi-colored dance floor, that her self-control finally snapped.

Because several things happened very quickly.

A mechanical arm jumped out of Donnie’s armor, jamming against his neck, and within seconds the turtle was on the floor.

Raph had stumbled to a corner, shoulders heaving and jerking like he was a few seconds away from vomiting.

Leo started waving his arms and cursing up a storm, bemoaning the unreliability of his brothers.

Mikey had shuffled a little closer to Donnie but other then that…he just stared placidly at Leo, like this entire event was normal.

And Splinter…he pinched his muzzle, body heaving with a very heavy sigh before he looked up again. And it was the look, the out-right disappointment and disgust, that had Chula standing.

She didn’t think about her actions, just moved.

She snagged a trash bin on her way over, dragging it to Raph and plinking it beside him. She all but shoved her water canteen into his hands before moving to the next turtle.

Leo’s back was to her, so Mikey saw her first. He blinked, eyes widening as she moved closer.

His reaction must have caught Leo’s attention, because he paused in his rant, glancing over his shoulder.

Chula nodded to both before kneeling next to Donnie, quickly checking his pulse and breathing before she scooped him up in one arm.

“Hey!” Leo barked, flapping a hand in her face. “Who the fuck are you?!”

“CPS,” Chula replied. She didn’t give Leo time to reply before she snagged him with her other arm, pinning his arms before tucking him against her side like a teenaged-sized football.

He squealed and swore, legs kicking wildly as he wiggled. It might have worked if this was the first time she’d grabbed a bitey turtle, but she had had some practice.

She looked at Mikey, who was still blinking at her in confusion. “Come on then,” she jerked her head to the bleachers. “It’s not your turn yet. I’d say you could all use some snacks.”

“And who are you to decide that?”

Chula’s eyes slid from Mikey to Splinter.

He was glaring. Not at her, but at Leo, arms crossed and expression displeased, like he was waiting for the kid to free himself.

Chula straightened and smiled. Her full, toothly, wide smile that she knew unnerved most people, “Like I said. CPS.”

Splinter finally looked at her, scoffing, “Do you even know-”

“If you’re sooooo concerned why don’t you stop me!” 

Chula started walking away, back to where Raph was leaning over the trash can.

He looked as shocked as Mikey had been, eyes flitting between his sleeping brother, his screeching brother and up at Chula.

She gave him a much less toothy smile, forcing her face to soften a bit, “Feelin' any better ade?”

He didn’t answer verbally, but his eyes looked to the side and down.

“Come on, let’s sit, chat! I haven’t gotten to know you four yet.”

“Why should we do what you say?” Mikey, who had followed her, moved to stand at Raph's shoulder. “I haven’t seen any version of you here.”

Chula shrugged, “Eh, pretty sure I got pulled in by proxy with my Leo. Plus,” she nodded towards Donnie. “I’m not letting him sleep on the floor. So if the rest of you wanna come with-”

"I do NOT want to 'come with'!" Leo yelled. "Put me down!"

"Naw, you need a time out," Chula gave Leo a little squeeze as she started walking again.

She knew Raph would follow, he’d been kinda hovering over Donnie and Mikey the entire time. And Mikey would follow Raph, so it was pretty easy to lead the little troup back to some proper seats.

Her Leon was already there, holding the snacks he'd collected and looking for her. When he spotted her, walking almost proudly towards him with an armload of turtle-teens, he threw his hands up dramatically, “You said you wouldn’t turtle-nap anyone!”

“I’m not,” Chula defended as she sat. “I’m merely doing my duty as CPS.”

Leon rolled his eyes, “You don’t even know what that is.”

Chula shrugged. “Hey, do me a favor verd’ika? Can you find something for nausea?” 

She tilted her head towards Raph as she said it and the alternate stiffened when Leon's attention turned to him. The pair had an almost staring contest for a few moments….

And Leon grinned as he nodded, “Right-o captain. Back in a flash!”

He spun out a blade, opening a portal and leaping through.

Leo suddenly went quiet. When Chula looked down she found him staring in shock at where the blue portal had been.

“Are you kidding me? I gonna get goddamn portals?! How lame is that?!”

“Hush you,” Chula shook him lightly. “We’re restin’ now.”

“Good luck getting him to chill out,” Mikey muttered as he finally settled next to her, jabbing Leo between the eyes as he did. “All he does is train, sleep and boss us around.”

“Would you quit it and get her off of me already?!”

“No. Get yourself out Mr. Ninja Master.”

Leo screeched more curses.

Chula let him. She shifted a bit, so that Donnie had his head resting on her shoulder, and smiled encouragingly to an uneasy looking Raph.

Slowly, he sat on her other side, next to Donnie. “...who are you anyway?”

“Chula Verd, at your service, ade.”

--------

Translator for Chula!

Shabbing - Fucking

Ade - Kid or kiddo

[silverynight]

Ive been looking for a dog to adopt today, and haven't had much luck unfortunately ☹️ so, I'm of course going to live through my favorite characters vicariously😂but also, Tanjirou? Animals? LOVE! So, what if Tanjirou is on a mission, and after defeating the demon-he finds an abandoned puppy! And, because Tanjirou is a sweetheart, the puppy loves him immediately. Tanjirou can't say no! So, he carries the puppy home. Now, the hashira the next day comes to visit. "Tanjirou! Would you want to come out with us to town?" Rengoku asks cheerily. They're all excited-Tanjirou would never say- "Actually, I can't today" ....no. huh? So, naturally they think he has a suitor. "huh?! And why the hell not?!" Sanemi growls as Shinobu elbows him. Tanjirou is about to explain-when said puppy runs out, barking and yipping adorably, playful. Tanjirou lights up, laughing and picking the puppy up as it kisses Tanjirou all over his face. "Meet Rokuta. He's the reason I can't go out."

(Hope you find a dog soon, nonnie!)

***

All the hashira love the puppy and decide to spend their day off helping Tanjirou take care of the little one; they bring him food and decide to make him a little futon for him to sleep in Tanjirou's room. Sometimes they get slightly jealous of him because the sunshine gives him his undivided attention but he's too cute for them to stay mad at.

[dastanbladeswriter]

1. The Cobra's Power

2004.

The moon was hiding behind the clouds as a black sedan and a dark gray SUV, coming from opposite directions, approached an abandoned parking lot on the outskirts of Vicary City, Kansas, USA.

When he arrived, a tall man in his forties, with blond hair, blue eyes, and slight stubble, leaned out of the sedan. He wore an elegant dark suit, and after resting a hand on the lowered window, he slowly stepped out of the car.

That was Johnny, the leader of the Cobra clan.

Not far away, a thirty-five-year-old man with shaved hair and dark eyes had already exited the SUV and was leaning against the side of the vehicle. He wore a burgundy suit, arms crossed over his chest, and his head slightly tilted forward, while a squad of heavily armed men surrounded him, ready to act.

That was Ivan, the leader of the Spyders.

After watching Johnny approach, Ivan glanced at his men, signaling with a nod that everything was under control. Then, he pushed off the car and walked toward his longtime rival.

«Ivan,» Johnny greeted as the Cobra henchmen stepped out of his car.

«Johnny,» Ivan replied, slightly lifting his chin and curling his lips.

«Why did you call me?» Johnny asked with a frown, stopping in front of his rival.

«What else could we possibly talk about if not business?» Ivan responded, stopping just before him and maintaining an upright posture.

«Business, huh?» Johnny asked sarcastically, lifting his head and looking down at him.

«Yeah,» Ivan replied, leaning his head forward. «That damn minimum wage cut law your lousy puppets pushed through has backfired on us,» he continued, gritting his teeth.

«And why's that?» Johnny responded, tilting his head to the left.

«'Cause now my guys ain't got no choice but to sling drugs just to get by,» Ivan snapped, throwing his hands out in frustration. «They can't keep goin' like this.»

Johnny just grinned at Ivan's words, crossing his arms like he didn't have a care in the world.

«What's done is done,» he said, shaking his head with a smirk. «What, you want me to roll it back just for your Spyders?» he asked, throwing up his hands.

«Make some damn adjustments,» Ivan fired back, eyes locked on Johnny, who just shook his head again, all calm.

The Cobras had Vicary City in a chokehold, running the game in everything from gambling and money laundering to pushing drugs, both soft and hardcore. They owned Lionwest, the broke side of town, and Dragonhill, where the money was at, sitting on top like kings. But their real power? That came from their grip on the cops, the courts, and all the bigwig politicians.

The Spyders, though not as deep in the game as the Cobras, had their claws in Tigereast, the city's wildest spot, running the trade in drugs and guns.

Johnny and Ivan started circling each other, and neither one even thought for one millisecond about backing down.

«You shoulda have given us a heads-up!» Ivan barked, throwing daggers with his eyes at his enemy, who kept quiet, taking it all in. «I don't give a damn 'bout your dirty dealings in this city,» Ivan went on, sidestepping like he was in a ring. «But I ain't draggin' my guys into your mess,» he added, eyes narrowed, watching Johnny's every move.

They were in some old, busted-up parking lot that'd been left to rot. Cracked asphalt, weeds taking over, and junk cars all around, their windows smashed.

«Ivan,» Johnny finally said, glancing off to the side before stopping cold. «Your money problems are your own damn headache, not mine,» he said, circling him slowly. «Why should I give a solitary fuck if they can't make ends meet?» he mocked, throwing up a shoulder like it was no big deal, standing there like he owned the place.

Ivan was getting mad. Like, real mad. He was trying hard to keep his cool, though.

«'Cause peace in Vicary City's a win for all of us,» he shot back, eyebrows raised. «I might roll with fewer guys, but I've got the hottest heat in town, and you know that,» he smirked, feeling himself.

«Was that a threat, Ivan?» Johnny asked, leaning in and twisting his face a bit. «You are just a Spyder. How could you possibly believe to stand a fucking chance?» he replied. «Need me to remind ya what went down last time?»

Ivan stared at him for a few seconds, and memories started flashing before his eyes. They were young, in their twenties, but couldn't act like it. He remembered the deals with Johnny and his brother Wade. The betrayals. The chasings on the highway. The kidnappings. And Johnny's suspicion that his own father, Ryan, had been smothered with a pillow by the Spyders, all during what was supposed to be a time of peace.

Ivan tried not to let his rival's words get to him and made a face. He shifted his gaze slightly to Johnny's goons behind him, then to the junked cars. They were all beat up, barely holding together. Then, he glanced off to the right, eyeing the rusty, crooked billboards.

«Spiders are dope,» Ivan then huffed as he ignored Johnny's question. «They snack on anything that gets too close,» he added, grinning wide like he just won a prize. «Snakes like you? Man, we munch on those for breakfast,» he sneered, lifting his chin way up.

Johnny threw his head back, laughing hard for a second. But then he got dead serious real quick.

«You are a comedian, Ivan,» he said. «I am shakin' in my boots, mate,» he shot back, crossing his arms like he was ready for a showdown. «You seem to forget that I am not just any snake,» Johnny reminded him.

«And who do you think you are?» Ivan asked as he tilted his head back.

«I am a goddamn Cobra,» he said, dead serious now. «And when a Cobra strikes, even the meanest spider should think twice.»

Ivan couldn't bear his threats any longer and stepped forward again.

«Give us what I asked for, Johnny,» he retorted, eyes wide. «You've never gotten rid of us,» he pressed, now narrowing his gaze. «Don't sell us short,» Ivan warned, slightly swaying his head.

Johnny stood there with his arms crossed, unfazed.

«You were lucky,» he responded, before glancing at Ivan's henchmen behind him. «All of you were,» he reminded them, raising his voice so they could hear. «It's only a matter of time before Tigereast falls into my hands too,» the Cobra boss continued, now turning his attention back to Ivan, tilting his head to the left with a smug smile.

«Bounce,» Johnny warned with a nod, glaring at Ivan's boys as they started getting hyped. «And I'll act like this convo never happened,» he added, shooting Ivan a dirty look.

Fed up, the leader of the Spyders lifted his head once more and stared at Johnny for a few seconds.

«Oh, really?» he replied, pursing his lips and taking a half-step forward. «You can keep Lionwest and Dragonhill,» Ivan continued, extending his right arm. «But don't you dare set your sights on Tigereast. It's mine. Mine for the taking,» he concluded, returning to his previous stance.

Mine for the taking? What a fool... Johnny thought as he watched Ivan get riled up.

After flashing a grin, the Cobra boss took two steps back, unbuttoned his pants, and began to pee in front of Ivan, whose eyes widened at the sudden display.

What the...? Son of a...! the Spyder leader thought, gritting his teeth.

As the pee hit the asphalt, Johnny broadly smiled, head tilted forward, baring his teeth. Ivan's henchmen started pointing their guns at him, and Johnny's crew immediately followed suit. Yet, Johnny remained unfazed, continuing to relieve himself as if nothing was happening.

«Stay in your place, for your men's sake,» he growled after finishing and zipping up his pants.

The Cobra boss then turned and headed back to his car, noticing the smug smiles on his men's faces at the humiliation he'd just caused. But soon after, Ivan's jaw tightened again, and his fists began to tremble.

«Is it war what you want?!» Ivan shouted, his lips pressed together as he leaned forward.

Johnny came to an abrupt halt, slowly turning his head. He locked eyes with Ivan's furious face over his right shoulder, holding the gaze for a few seconds before replying.

«I'll give you one...» he said, narrowing his eyes.

«One what?» Ivan asked, stepping forward a few paces.

«One chance to defy me,» Johnny responded, then began walking toward his car and drove off, leaving Ivan speechless, his eyelids fluttering in disbelief.

The power game in Vicary City had only just begun.

Read the rest on Wattpad. Unchained - The Doppelganger Within

[keikiri-kitten]

ARE YOU A HERO ★ KEIGO TAKAMI

hawks x reader, post chapter 385, quirkless!reader, angst, not proofread

“Ma’am?”

When Keigo asked you to take his place, you were flabbergasted. There wasn’t a proper answer that you could give him. What could you say in a moment like that? You can see the moment all over again in your head.

The hospital room is stale. It reeks of antiseptics but carries a faint scent of the pitiful well soon flowers in the room. Your heart’s heavy in your ears and your vision is blurred from the welling in your eyes.

The number two looks absolutely terrible; his makeup is cleaned from his face but his face is tarnished with scars and scratches. He can’t look at you. He prefers to blankly stare at the tv so he doesn’t have to confront your emotions. The most he gives you is a weak hand wrapping its fingers around your palm.

You can spot his chest rise and fall to the beat of the patient monitor from under his gown. Your gaze rises to the empty look in his eyes and the short messy mop of blonde that frays over his face and pillow as much as it can.

“Do you know what you’re asking me to do?”

His eyes sweep to you, growing wide, “contrary to popular belief, I’ve still got my mind.” There’s a darkness in his tone to express that he’s serious with this request.

“Keigo.”

“You went to that hero school didn’t you?”

“It was the worst years of my life! I wasn’t even in the 3B class by the time I graduated. I was in the support course. I made gadgets for flashy assholes.”

“I wouldn’t be asking you if I didn’t think you’d be capable of doing this sort of thing.”

“Look how you turned out!” You bark in a hushed whisper, making him retreat back to his bed.

“Fucking unlucky turn of events, aren’t they?” He scoffs. There’s silence for a small moment before he continues to try, “I’m asking you to do this for me now and not when I’m six feet under because you can do this. You know the ins and outs of this thing. I’ve showed you everything that’s been shown to me. I can’t do this anymore, baby. I’m truly spent, but someone still needs a hero.”

He’s giving up right in front of you and it breaks your heart to the core. It hurts you to see him giving up on himself but not the heroes. You know part of him still wants to patrol and flash the pair of wings that are no longer there.

He can see your nose turn up as well as your brows stitch together in distaste. You wanted to avoid heroism as much as you could. Dating Keigo was breaking that rule but you promised to never go further than that.

You didn’t want to be a hero at this point. The fact is; you didn’t even blame the villains for how he turned out. You blamed the heroes. You blamed them for not being strong enough or supportive enough. If they were really the top dogs, your number two would be flapping his wings and flashing a grin. Heroism stole him away from you.

You’d rather be a villain. Well, they’ve had the upper hand this whole time, hadn’t they? There’s no way you’d confidently go up to the Hero Commission asking for a free hero pass for the sake of the number two. You’d rather burn that bitch to the ground for him. You never want to see him pitifully beg to live vicariously through you again.

“No.”

Keigo’s hand falls in defeat, letting go of your hand to run his fingers through his hair.

“It’s dangerous, Keigo. I don’t know what I’m doing and I almost lost you. I don’t need you to lose me.” You try with him, hoping he understands. He does. He knows how big of a request it is to put your life on the line for his sake, but part of him can’t give up heroism.

“Please, think about it.”

You can tell Keigo is begging you. The light is falling from his eyes and his heat beat is increasing. The frustration he has intimidates you. You know it’s not his fault that he’s in this position. It’s a simple case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time and trusting the wrong people. As you watch him emotionally cave in himself, you try to reconsider the options.

“Ma’am?”

“What?” You don’t mean to sound so sharp with the receptionist, but as she jumps at your harshness, you sigh.

“Are you ready?”

Are you?

[mantrabay]

Witching Hour Minstrel 1

Whatever happened to the twelve o ‘clock rambler,

nocturnal venturesome brushstroke sort,

they paint sound and city pastel,

never at a loss for inspiration,

weather neither bar nor barrier,

in the face of whirlwind snowfall,

freezing ice, torrential downpour,

within themselves, he, she, they plod on,

hardship is adopted, never cast aside,

while others brazenly squirm,

wallow in uproarious denial,

wilt before the slightest storm,

taking flight in arid comfort zone,

shelter is their first convenient port,

not for stoic diarist this threadbare exit,

exodus of the half-hearted humbug,

but ironclad ilk stubbornly remain,

eyes and ears are substitute antennas,

alert does not begin an ample portrait,

of this wilful dwindling genus,

genus, genie, genius, glow worm ghost,

peaceful prowlers with pen on queue,

they capture worlds sidereal,

under velvet moon imagining bespoke,

crescendo of cathartic bonhomie,

icy night frost punctured by high drive fog horns,

deft nib from dark ink manteau nomad,

who engross themselves in light and shade reflection,

how magical their canny weave lexicon,

for us timid souls to relish evermore,

as we balk at the eerie life we revel in,

vicarious the kismet, excitement from afar,

drama under bridges, shadow figure chinwag,

river stream babble, blind alley gust,

eavesdrop on historic past teaser,

litter swept aural gossip whoosh,

eventide mournful dog bark heart tug,

darting elfin’s sly mind peep thereon,

yet the vagabond minstrel has to comb,

each backstreet, zebra crossing, sprawling suburb,

for inert sleepy after hour dozers,

who crave eye candy fodder as humdrum sidestep

Prose piece and photos

all my own work

Many thanks to everyone who reads this submission.

[captainkurosolaire]

A Day Before Woe

 Pair of wheels bound to a chair for a maimed, battered gruff pirate, who paraded as a Champion was left critically conditioned. Opposition he conquered over was his idol, once a remarkable sea Goldbrand Captain who once herald many stories that peers would’ve recalled over folktales to docks a type worth inciting gossip. Now that legacy was only a ghostly remnant of what could’ve been, more potential never given proper realization.

Deep-down that victory was a let-down, notwithstanding him being in appendages, neck-brace, or temporarily bound ridden handicap. Like most-idolized, often our minds make them larger than life. Only for future disappointments to discover in truth. Often projecting our desired selves, in another and betrayed by the role-model's failure with it being one mutually felt shared from vicariously living.

Sinbad gained an unbridled, self-ignorance, his ego validated flourished, there was no one left who could oppose him in belief; now or ever. Everything revolted against this rookie. Though he defiled odds standing atop the current pirate food chain, he attained pure success uncontested, even if just a lick, a superiority complex manifested. It made this, youthful-lion, No... A viscous shark; who crunched and ate the elder lion's glory and relished donning the trophy mantle, irrationally dangerous. Consequently, the crosshairs of the misfortune of losing the battle. Kuro's beloved Pride of three-most valued Crewmates of the Goldbrand were contract to a shaken deal for a whole Summer. Former First Crewmate Judas departed after an emotional falling out. Directionless and had given up on any sense of his own freedom and quest, they were now seen as obscured impossibilities. This was visibly atonement for betraying and acting cowardice in his past, a pill to swallow lastly. 

With an unenthusiastic disgruntled pitch the Midlander spoke against his new employing Highlander in mock, “O’ Cap’n well… what will you have of us.” Clearly not wanting to even entertain this, but more keenly he had always had an ill-feeling about this brash pirate and their entire Crew a bunch of immature heathens that took life so carelessly. Regarded being a snake himself, familiarity could be sniffed, traitorous blood floating in neighboring water. This stead was driven by glory, a majority gained chalked into fortunate events, luck. Sinbad, his new Summer Cap’n, held seemingly boundless strength but one-day inevitably would clash with something that’d not bend nor break. Mayhaps betrayal, or something due to inexperience, the wrong pirate won that pit, he was certain. Upon this young upstart Crew was merely limbs, nameless hands and legs. Submissively broken souls that gave their freedom away for momentary lapses of glint. Boisterous laughter left the highlander until his sternum ached and pain struck him to quell-down, “Could you care to least pretend you wanna be here? Three-months, might be an eternity otherwise… I can assure you that. Look where you are now. Taking failure for your pathetic Captain wagered everything into. You told my lass to silence herself in a disrespectful way at our parley long-ago, and now I’ve got the power to silence you as my dog, fitting. What and when I command; you’ll roll over and bark, boy!” Raising his voice in declaration at the end, ensuring who dominantly stood, even… well considering he physically currently, could not. Judas scowled, fellow brow’s frowned but sassed, “Last I checked my Cap’n, had more metal bones than you’ve got. Least he was wobbling on one-leg, and not like you whose is truly left rolling around.” Mocking the condition of the arrogant muscular moron. Unafraid to rebelliously sass, he also made a promise to watch over the other two, Klethera and Casta was also stuck in this arrangement. If angering this tyrant and getting stuck with their share of overloaded work and nonsense, then he’d take it deemed in Repentance. Ensure swiftly and safely, possibly could devise. Strategic webbing planning worked as the wheel-chaired oaf gave out an offended huff, “Bullshite, you’re bluffing no-way little Solaire isn’t still feeling the effects of our battle. I’d wager he threw everything at me, after-which wallowed in his substances and poor-vices in typical fashion, and you know what… I respect and condemn that alcoholic junky for showing up to our hellish bout, coming close, but I won by an inch, so I’ll take my fucking mile victory. It won’t be long, before I’m healed, then I’ll get back to bashing in trunks and skulls. Until then, you’ll have to lap up the taint-end of my business.” Crudely pointed fact.  The Midlander bit his lip to retort further, tension between them. Two volatile elements that weren’t friendly to combine.

Time bellowed forth as the three in Sinbad’s command was left nearly with every responsibility, Casta using her medical knowledge to help get him standing on crutches in physical therapy, roaming around. Klethera was sent often on messenger and hired goon to retrieve debts. While Judas was left with the most life-threatening missions, with no rest in-between. Nothing he wasn't accustomed too, conditioning himself tirelessly towards once before for a noble ambition. Up till their final day appeared, and contract was fulfilled. The Boss highlander sat now in a befitting chair treating it like some grotesque throne luxuriously diamond-encrusted prime shades looking below twiddling his ringed-fingers, dazzled with assortments of bling; high living, “You managed to survive this Summer, somehow providing usefulness despite who you once followed. What remains in task, is a simple gathering between fellow low-life's. I owed them monthly shares of gil alongside my plunder…" Pursing lip's soaring highly with a daring-thought. Lowering his shades, doubling down like some hot-shot movie star. His pirate queen lass behind him caressed his muscular stature only furthering his tyrannical beginning. "...Now I don’t see why I’d ever have to continue paying off them anymore. My infamy is about to shoot-up, I’ll be getting the royal bounty treatments. So YOU my darling rag-tag bunch will convince them, find another sugar daddy. They can find their purse elsewhere, or become creative to eliminate that noise if they dare fuss, give them no quarter.” Judas’s haggard visage wrinkled, sharp-blue orbs were left murky, his eyelids were bagged tirelessly overworked, weight loss, parched lips and complexion didn’t fare well, absolutely deprived of energy and sapped to even refuse, but had peculiar sixth-sense this wasn’t wise, nervous bumps swarmed up his arms, intuition to fuss, but was drowned due to all his other ailments. This deplorable chapter and nightmare; Summer of Sinbad, held closure by mid-day. Underneath relief as his other two-companions weren’t like him in shape, thankfully sighing. While Klethera and Casta shared disbelief of their First Crewmate’s convicted resolve to remain a guardian even outside of their former mutual flag.

Danger within Sinbad’s new attitude intrinsically wasn’t his own danger that held frightening concern. …But what fed on rash thinkers. Above all other forms. In darkness dwelling almost certainly, lurked a set of blood-thirsty behemoth predators, dragons; monsters which consumed the lowly deemed ‘'predators”’ effortlessly.

One-night remaining to rest. Judas couldn’t shake the shivers of the cold brigs forced to lay near a barred window almost like a cell. He was superstitiously forewarned when the tide grew so silent like this dusk. He was kept personally wide-awake. Sharpening his hidden dirks, anxious, most likely there would be blood spilled in ten bells. No way this whole assembly involving cutthroats, pirates, could go smoothly�� Didn’t help Sinbad didn’t elaborate which ("band") they were about to cross.

Casta couldn’t escape her routine nightly tears; she confined herself typically to writing but currently held no way to unleash or express her downtrodden emotions. Harm was felt in her healing with guilt, surgically stitching the very person who demolished her revered hero in a Seeker Captain. Casta wasn’t far from Sinbad; they both shared their stories why they looked up to the scoundrel black-cat, but perspective couldn’t be further how they handled it. She saw the contrast of just how vastly different her Seeker was in leadership, treating subordinates like actual-beings and equal, giving freedom catching people from slipping off the teetering sea-vessel wanting to chart the character, and depths of souls, judging actions not faceless covers. Versus Sinbad’s commandment, whose self-serving acting; all means to ends. It brought back familiar trauma that festered in tremors, abundant cold sweats. She couldn’t identify her own anger building, but negativeness, being generally overwhelmed was consuming her most-humane gentleness. Comparable to a flower being watered-down with ever punishing downpour, merely hoping it could-brave and survive another night.

Lastly aboard was Klethera who volunteered working off sentence. Her fault in belief, feeling Sinbad in twisted-way, was grieving despite mouthing otherwise, taking life-careless and acting so righteous in a way. She brought down Sinbad’s brother’s life to end… despite that man having a putrid soul, was unquestionably not hers to take. That’s the issue with deemed heroes; they're often shouted praise for them destroying evil but they enact themselves evil's color, murdering to achieve resolutions of peace. She felt guilt, knowing better, should have captured and let chains, or cells hold nonredeemable. Yet... Hanging around the pirate crowd construed her thinking, she witnessed how many couldn’t be contained by that method. So when then?! If at any, extent should evil be annihilated? Who can reside as judge? Her perceived bloodline was tainted; a pirate father definitely had his share of kills, alongside a grandfather who assassinated countless men for shreds of peace, she didn’t want to partake in that savagery of ending any more lives or one another, the rebellious attitude flowed so beautifully identical to her predecessors. ...However, could she really escape fate standing above a mountain of bodies? Maybe her father was right and couldn’t keep up with this atmosphere. Making her sizzle with heat, an acceptance stubborn to admit… She began dreaming of a new-way to battle, it’d be her own-style to materialize. The three in unison before dawn-break, connected a thought, wondering what became with their Crew having to depart right before this harrowing, learning shortly a traitor was creating chaos among their own flagship. For a brief-moment, they began to feel close; like an actual family forming, now a distant memory from unending chaos.

[Prev:Chapter]: Prelude to Destiny ~ ♪"Warm Shadow"♪

[lunarsun12]

WayV Family Info

NCT Family Info

𝑴𝒂𝒎𝒂 𝑻𝒆𝒏 ✧

- Married to Kun

- Loves his cats and clothes more then his children (he nearly sold Hendery for a third cats but Kun got there in time before Hendery got sold)

- Lazy to do the housework and always make Kun does it claims he is ‘always’ busy but we all know he is busy playing with his cats

- Will plot his revenge who ever cross him (poor doyoung, he only wanted touch his cats)

- YangYang his favourite child (he loves the choas he does, solely to annoy Kun)

- Has a bad habit of breaking Kun bank accounts, as part of his self care

- Bestie with Doyoung and Jaemin

𝑷𝒂𝒑𝒂 𝑲𝒖𝒏 ✧

- Married to Ten

- Majority of the time have to sort his children mess plus Ten

- He has a small business and is trying to make it grow bigger due to Ten spending habits

- Tried to stop many fights but always end up on the floor

- He thought adopting kids will make Ten to stop spending aggressively (which he is highly wrong)

- Bestie with Jeno (mainly Jeno to help Kun to toughen up a bit)

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑬𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑪𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅 - 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒘𝒊𝒏 ✧

- Is Kun favourite child (causes the least trouble)

- Everyone in the nct family loves him (especially Haechan and Yuta)

- Is scared to go outside alone due to an stalking incident and stick to Hendery like glue

- He claims he isn’t cute but everybody know he is (one time when visiting the 127 house, he almost got mobbed for breathing)

- He is an rising actor (even though he got forced by Ten to live his dream vicariously through Winwin)

- Wants to open up his own cafe but ten refuses to let him saying ‘it is dangerous’

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝑪𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅 - 𝑿𝒊𝒂𝒐𝒋𝒖𝒏 ✧

- The child who gets bullied by YangYang (he fell for YangYang pranks every single time)

- Secretly adopted a dog always it is Hendery barking in his room

- Tries to stay out of trouble but always get blamed for no reason

- Has passion singing and playing his guitar. He is hoping to join Taeyong company and make his debut

- As well the responsible one, will sort our Hendery mess quickly due to threat Ten made he will sell him for his new Gucci shoes

- Have a secret stuff animal collections

- Gets scared easily (poor guy nearly cried at the haunted house one time)

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅 - 𝑯𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒚 ✧

- The special child of the family

- Loves doing his magic tricks (ends up leaving a holes in the ceiling)

- Speak gibberish which only Winwin understands

- Also don’t be alarm if Hendery suddenly jumps out making weird gestures (apparently it his special greetings)

- Gets super hyper when on energy drinks once for the whole night he was making monkey noises which no one in his family got sleep

- No one takes him seriously as half of the time everyone thinks he is aloof

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒔𝒕 - 𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒈 ✧

- Another evil child

- He loves hacking into things to steal people secret information

- Always gets babied by Ten (which he hates as he says it ruined his cool rep)

- One of the smartest child

- Has beef with Haechan as he ruined his honey bear club one time

- Always playing pranks on his siblings except winwin (one time he did and got a death threat from Yuta)

- He loves anything that goes boom

[x-authorship-x]

what does lupin think of shisui? I'd imagine he's more than unneved, considering shisui's likeness to sirus, but shisui is a sunshine of a person and also in hufflepuff? yet also strangely competent? and does spells in a way that spells are not meant to be spelled??? and what does shisui think of werewolfs and their treatment by wizard society?

Well....

Sirius was loud and vicarious and wild, he laughed like a dog barked and his grin had teeth and he was like a force of nature, mischievous and vengeful and dedicated to his beloved friends... And yet... He gave James, arguably the other half of his soul, to Voldemort.

Regulus was pale and thin, the moon to Sirius's sun, and he was sharp and keen, he turned inwards and festered whilst Sirius burned outwards. He was like a cornered animal at the end, paranoid and disgusted and hating himself as much as the Dark Lord (not that anyone knows it for a long time). To Remus, Regulus was always disgusted and betrayed and burning coldness.

Shisui... is both and neither of them. He looks frighteningly like the brothers, who could've been imitations of each other - Sirius was suave, roguish charm with tousled black curls and smouldering grey eyes, whilst Regulus was like a thin slither of moonlight, brooding grey eyes and long lashes and solemn and cold - but he smiles with more peace than Sirius ever could and with more openness than Regulus ever showed. He's jaded but not angry at the world, like Sirius, or disgusted by others, like Regulus. He talks to people freely, he has a moral backbone and the honor of a noble warrior, his smiles are warm and he reaches out to others. He doesn't prank, he's protective, and his fighting as always been as the defender or wronged party against bullies. He's as brilliant as either Black brother but it's not because he's causing trouble or got something to prove, it's for the outside world and his own future.

Shisui has the same dark curls and smoky irises but his smile dimples his cheeks and crinkles the corners of his eyes, his tie is gold and black and his friends aren't purely light or dark. He's a Seeker, like his father, and he's as fierce a friend as his uncle.

But, for all their differences, Sirius and Regulus' stories had something so heartbreaking in common; blood will out and they threw the world aside for Voldemort.

To Remus, it doesn't bring comfort if Shisui is more or less like his uncle or father. Resembling either of them is a horrible, gut wrenching thing.

Remus care barely look at him enough to catch all the ways Shisui is completely different to either....

As for Shisui, Remus is not a problem. Shisui didn't have an issue with Jinchuuriki, at his death the Uchiha had become a bloodline to be suspected and feared, so this 'bloodline' isn't the same alien thing as it might be to other magicals. He would just be rightfully wary that Remus, unlike most magicals, actually would have an impressive physical threat!