#I am telling you the lightbulb clicked ON

[cryptidghostgirl]

Hey so uhh, it said requests are open so I'm gonna shoot my shot ig. I have this fic idea but I'm a shit writer so here it goes.

Alastor x reader but the concept is that the reader is Alastor's shadow.

Now, hear me out: Alastor is said to be a powerful demon since his manifestation in hell, we know that it takes demons quite some time to accumulate their power before they become overlords.

If "The Radio demon" was an alias was that operated between more that one person, then it would make sense as to why and how he rose to the top very quickly (assuming we ignore the fact he made a deal with someone).

That and Alastor's black appendages and shadows seem out of theme for a demon who's primary power is based on Radio.

As for how they met, it could go two ways. Either with Alastor, a man hungry for power, strikes his first deal with Shadow!Reader to get them to do his bidding. Or Shadow!Reader offering Alastor their services after realizing that he has a lot of potential. Either way, their partnership blooms into a sort of kinship between the two of them.

Do with this concept whatever you want with it, I just wanna get this concept out in the world in the hands of someone much more capable of writing than I am.

Enjoy!

A/N please always shoot your shot. this is such a fun idea,, thank you so much for entrusting it to me. I've decided just to write their meeting for now but may continue it later on. I hope you like it!!

The Thing (Alastor x Gn!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Mention of cannibalism and the Donner party. I think that is it.

Word Count: 1,752

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

There was a secret, one that no one knew, one that would tear the demon realm apart at its edges if anyone found out. The illusive Radio Demon and his shadow were, in fact, just that: the illusive Radio Demon and his shadow.

Y/n was master of the immaterial, shifting forms and shedding skins the way others change their clothes. When Alastor arrived in Hell, they had long since been established as one of the many demons to be aware of.

Rumor runs rampant everywhere but especially in Hell where in controls, combines, and divides. Y/n was just that, a rumor. Never the same face twice, never in the same place twice. No one even knew their name, simply referring to them as the thing or the hunger. They snatched sinner's souls from their grasps and devoured them whole. An urban legend, a ghost story only here, all the ghosts were real.

Alastor was as observant in death as he had been in life, it didn't take him long to catch sight of the shadow. Though he had only been in Hell a few days when it had first appeared, he could tell it had nefarious intent.

The thing was a good actor, almost good enough to fool him. It lay in the reality of his own shadow, following his moves perfectly. However, no one is perfect and every once in a while, there would be a little slip. The first one which had caught Alastor's attention was when he had taken a step forward and it had gone the wrong way, quickly righting itself and following after the mistake.

Alastor pretended not to have noticed, but he remembered. He lay in wait for another such occurrence. It was not until two days later, when his shadow gave him four hands rather than two with no apparent explanation such as an odd angle to the sun or another body near him, that his thesis was confirmed. There was, in fact, something following him.

It stuck like glue to the heels of his shoes. Alastor was quiet, Alastor schemed. He had trapped it in a pure white room which he had fixed lightbulbs in from all sides. When he had turned on the lights, he had turned on them, arms crossed and foot tapping expectantly.

The shadow had looked this way and that, searching for a place to hide. When they realized it was no use, they had pulled themselves from the floor into three dimensions and faced him head on.

"Who are you?" Alastor had asked before quickly reevaluating his question, "What are you?"

It moved like liquid in the air, twisting and dissolving at its edges. Bubbles, or what was almost bubbles, what looked like bubbles, rose to the surface of it's body and as they popped, a demon began to take the shadow's place.

"I am everything."

They were many voiced. When they spoke, it sounded like a crowd of people saying the same thing in unison. Alastor stared at the demon, unamused. They were a full person now, about a head shorter than him and seemingly very calm considering he had them trapped. Then again, Alastor had only been in Hell a few weeks by this point, not nearly enough time to work up the sort of reputation he was hoping for.

"Is that a bad pickup line?" Alastor asked, "Am I supposed to ask what you mean and you'll say something like 'I could be everything to you?'"

The demon raised their eyebrows, shaking their head.

"It is the truth."

A tense silence fell between the pair. Alastor broke it with a sigh, rubbing his temples in irritation. He hadn't really known what to expect from this endeavor save an event to break up the monotony of his days. The demon was not delivering.

"Yeah, alright."

"Who are you?"

"You've been following me for what, two weeks? And you don't know?"

The demon shrugged.

"I was trying to be polite. It has been a while since I have spoken to anyone."

"Sure. Well," Alastor turned to the door, pulling a skeleton key from his pocket, "this has been interesting. Enjoy eternity alone in a well lit room."

Alastor opened the door. The demon made no move to follow him out of the room, no move to escape. They simply watched him in curiosity, their head tilted slightly to one side. Alastor hesitated, his body blocking the exit and his back towards them. He watched them over his shoulder as a thin black smoke seemed to emanate from the outline of their body.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

An empty threat, barley even a threat to be honest. Alastor stepped out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him. Once he was sure it was locked, he slipped the key back into his pocket. He made to leave, intending to go out on the town in a desperate attempt to find entertainment. Barley two steps forward, and shadows began to pool on the floor before his feet, blocking Alastor's path.

He watched in a mild interest as the demon pulled themselves from the shadows, taking on a different face than they had worn in the room. Now they were broader, taller, stronger. They looked mean.

"I told you."

"Is this what you meant when you said you were everything?"

The demon nodded once. Their wide eyes were unblinking, unchanging, as their form mutated again. A spider demon now with many arms and a lanky figure. Alastor raised his eyebrows.

"So, you let me catch you."

"I was bored. No one ever notices me until it is too late, except you."

"I find that hard to believe. You were easy to spot."

The demon's eyes widened slightly at this, something similar to surprise but halfway to fear.

"Like I said, Alastor the interesting." they mused after a moment.

Alastor bowed his head slightly in recognition of the title.

"I could take your soul, destroy you. Why were you so willing to risk all that? Surely a bit of entertainment can't be worth that much to you."

He was trying to get a gage on the creature, and he knew they could tell. It was a mild threat, one he couldn't follow through on even if he wanted to. Sure, he could maim the creature, cause it great pain, but beyond leaving them formless for a few days tops he was powerless. He knew that, but he didn't know if they did. Either way, the situation would play out to his advantage. It would either give him more information, or the upper hand.

They considered the situation for a moment before answering. Alastor couldn't figure out if it was because of their interest in him, for fear of him, or some third, other undefined motivation. No matter what it was, he didn't care. This was the most engaged he had felt in weeks.

"You aren't an overlord. You can't make a contract."

"And you are?"

"No."

"Too weak?" Alastor teased and the demon glared at him.

"Far from it. I don't like being seen."

"But you're letting me see you."

"I am allowing you to see a face. It is not mine."

Alastor fell silent. He had figured that the demon before him didn't have a true form, or if they did, that it was shadow. Things were becoming curiouser by the second. He was no longer regarding his attempts to trap the demon as a waste of time.

"So, you want power but anonymity. Those things don't go hand in hand."

"I know. You want fame and lack the power. Another unmatched set."

Alastor's ear twitched at that, displeasure running through his veins and clouding his sight. His hand tightened where he held his microphone.

"I have power enough."

"What use is a Radio Demon with nothing to broadcast?"

"Are you suggesting a deal?"

The demon smiled a smile that was too big for the face it wore. Alastor had to admit, they were unsettling. He understood the rumors.

"I've heard of your... reputation shall we say? But if you think I will trust someone who's face I have never even seen, you are dead wrong."

"Was that a joke?" the demon tentatively asked after a moment.

"Not on purpose but I supose so."

The thing seemed to roll the idea over in their mind as their form changed once again, this time becoming a demon with the body of a shark. They seemed not even to notice they were changing as their eyes flicked back to Alastor's.

"You want information. Then you will be open to the idea of a partnership."

"This was your goal all along, a partnership as you put it."

A statement, not a question. The demon smiled, their eyebrows slightly raised.

"Oh, was it now. At least I had an end goal to this little... situation."

Alastor scoffed, looking away. They were right. He had come up with no ideas past capturing the thing that had been following him. He was in the dark. They had everything figured out.

"Show me your real face. Then we can talk."

"Alastor Hartifelt. Died 1933. Louisiana famed radio host and serial killer cut down in his prime by a hunter who mistook him for a deer."

"Are you trying to intimidate me?"

"Not at all."

The demon shifted once again. It took them longer to find form this time, remaining as a black cloud for a few moments before at last settling on an almost human body. They were shorter than he had expected, smaller too and decked out in what seemed to be colonial dress. They held a hand out to him.

"Y/n L/n. Died 1846. Newly wed and member of the Donner party."

"Cannibalism." Alastor mused, gently taking their hand in his.

He had expected them to be cold, immaterial. He had expected his hand to slide right through theirs. Instead, the demon, Y/n, was warm and solid to the touch, just like anyone else. They smiled, mouth full of needles.

"We all take what we are given."

"I suppose."

Y/n dropped his hand and crossed their arms. Despite their stature, they radiated authority and poise. It was almost impressive.

"If you will be the face, I will be the force."

"No soul binding."

"I couldn't if I wanted to. Not an overlord."

Alastor looked them up and down. His smile grew.

"Not an overlord yet."

----

tags:

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet @reader3 @lazygirlfanfic0-0

[morganbritton132]

was thinking about that wayne buying little steve cereal text post and was wondering if you still plan to write the fic its inspired? if so i am definitely looking forward to it and am cheering you on. if not that's cool too, i was just curious!

Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll ever actually write the fic. But! I will tell you what I had in mind because it wasn’t supposed to be a sad fic!

Wayne starts noticing this kid around town.

He shouldn’t. He doesn’t notice any other kid, and this boy is well-dressed. He seems polite enough and well-behaved. There’s no reason that Wayne should pay him any mind, except… the hair. It’s a mess. It’s brushed up and backwards like the person who fixed it didn’t quite know what they were doing.

He keeps seeing that hair everywhere.

It’s asking questions at the hardware store about lightbulbs. It’s distracting Bob at the Radio Shack. It’s taking up half the aisle at Melvard’s with a cart it can’t see over, and asking Wayne, ‘Mister, can you reach the floss for me, please?’

There’s nothing out of the ordinary, honestly, but Wayne feels a might uncomfortable every time he sees this head of hair (a bit more stylish than the last) doing something that a parent might do. Especially because he never sees a parent.

It comes to head when he’s three people back in line at Melvard’s and people are complaining. He sticks his head out to see what the hold up is and sees that head of hair again, counting out quarters and dimes at the counter for a box of cheerios.

Davey, in front of him, swears under his breath and bounces on his feet like he’s about to say something, but Wayne beats him to it. Wayne takes the few steps up to the counter, looks Donald in the eye and wishes that it had been Joyce Byers instead.

He sits his carton of eggs and gallon of milk down on the counter next to the kid’s cereal and tells Don to ring it all up together. Then he tells the kid, “Put your money away, boy.”

He tries to talk to him outside the store, but the boy squeaks out ‘thanks’ and is running before Wayne can get anything out. He doesn’t see him for a while after that, and he can’t stop thinking about how hungry he looked.

A month and some change later, Wayne finds himself sliding into a booth at the diner across from the kid with the hair. He’s devouring slices of toast, pennies and nickels counted out on the table next to him.

The kid startles, and Wayne cuts to the point, “You hungry?”

The kid nods in that skittish way that reminds him of his nephew and Wayne orders two plates of pancakes. He lets the boy eat before he asks where his parents are. He gets no answer. He asks if he has enough food at home. The kid’s eye flicker to him and then back down, “Usually.”

He clicks his tongue, swears internally, and asks how often he’s left alone and hungry, and the boy says, “Their flight got delayed.”

The boy shrugs his shoulders and explains the money they leave him, and how sometimes he’s runs out but he’s learning better. It crushes Wayne just a little that he seems so proud of himself. Wayne gives the kid his number and tells him that if he’s ever hungry to call him.

For a while, Steve would call sporadically. Sometimes goes weeks, sometimes months. They’d meet at the diner and eat. This eventually lead to Wayne cooking for him in his trailer, then to him teaching Steve the basics, then to them cooking together.

Steve got older. He got a credit card. He got busier with school, and sports, and his friends. He didn’t need Wayne to feed him anymore, but they still tried to have dinner at least once a month.

When Eddie came to live with Wayne, he told him that Stevie came to dinner every third Saturday of the month. Eddie assumed Stevie was Wayne’s girlfriend.

The first Saturday that passed, Steve had to cancel because he had a basketball game. The second Saturday, Steve’s parents were in town so he couldn’t come. The third, Steve no showed, called the next day delirious with flu and apologized to Wayne.

The fourth Saturday rolls around and Eddie is thinking, “Man, this chick does not like Wayne. He needs to break up with his girlfriend before it gets really sad.”

Then there is a knock at the door, and Eddie opens it to the biggest jock asshole in the school.

Eddie stares at Steve in horror, and Steve stares back in total confusion, and then they both get annoyed like, “What are you doing here?”

Then cut to Eddie calling Steve out on bullying and Steve tattling about Eddie walking on the lunch tables. They bicker and argue, and Wayne secretly loves it.

[actual-changeling]

i feel like all my meta posts just clicked and solved a puzzle in my brain. however i am also currently upping my sleep med dosage so if any of this sounds like the incoherent rambles of a mad man it's cause i am. incoherent and insane and rambling that is. (not a man)

but i have to write this post since i had a lightbulb realization moment.

because the thing is, besties, that aziraphale is a fucking horrible liar. he gets nervous and fidgety, he stutters, you can SEE him sweating anxiety. just look at him in the bookshop when the archangels inquire about their not-so-little 25 lazarii miracle.

his best "lies" are when he is actually telling the truth but twisted. he has never been a good liar (see job) and that has not changed in six thousand years. all smiles directed at archangels are visibly wrong, his discomfort is tangible.

whenever he panics it is written across his face clear as day, including, and this is the important bit, when he is talking to the metatron.

now, you are wondering why exactly that matters, and the point is something we have all talked and thought about for ages but my brain just. formed some new neural pathways.

because he is a terrible liar, he is horrible at hiding his emotions.

but you know who isn't?

crowley.

unless you know him, it is very hard to read his facial expressions with his glasses on. he can turn his emotions "off", he can put a wall in front of them and by extension around himself.

i talked about it more in this post, so for background info have a look at it (if you want to)

it's crowley's thing yet there is one moment, one, glorious moment in which aziraphale executes it perfectly. and that moment mirrors crowley putting on his glasses, it is aziraphale attempting to hide away all of his feelings and thoughts so no one can tell what he is really thinking.

the parallels besties. the fucking parallels.

what really sells it to me is that last comparison because it matches too well to not be intentional. honestly, after the sink story i think every little thing in this show is done on purpose and with attention to detail, so.

the empty look, the heartbreak, the pain - the realization. this is it. i am not walking away from this unharmed but i am walking away. or rather into the loneliness, the absence of the person i love.

for aziraphale also the realization that the world is about the get fucked and he is not.

after that we have the inhale of courage. taking a deep breath to calm yourself, to find your way back to your body. a kind of preparation we have all done at one point or another.

the mask slides into place. or at least you want it to slide into place, you are trying to fucking jam it into the spot you need it to be but sometimes it's like trying to push the square peg through the round hole.

it's a disconnect, it's putting up a physical and emotional wall. crowley does it to hide away from aziraphale.

aziraphale does it hide from heaven and the metatron, yes, but he does it to hide from himself. at his core, aziraphale compartmentalizes. he is so fucking good at cognitive dissonance it's scary, and that's what happens here.

he knows, he KNOWS, that he needs to lock up his feelings or he won't be able to get into that fucking lift and do what he thinks he needs to do.

and so he walks away from crowley just like crowley walked away from him, copying him and doing exactly what he has seen him do a thousand times: putting up wall after wall after wall. ripping out every sprout of vulnerability before it can bloom.

except that he stopped doing it after the no-pocalypse, and that is why it hurts so fucking badly when he puts his glasses back on.

he is not ripping out a sprout, he is uprooting an entire fucking tree

aziraphale cannot hide behind sunglasses by crowley so he hides underneath an angelic persona, the person he thinks he should be, needs to be, and the problem is that whenever he slips into that role, it becomes him.

getting crowley to take off his glasses again is going to be a herculean task and the same goes for getting aziraphale to drop his act. they're one and the same in shape and origin and purpose but they are not indestructible.

because listen. all of this is painful and it hurts. it really is.

the fun part, however, is the fact that we know exactly what it takes to destroy that barrier, we have seen it happen to crowley before.

my point is that we are missing the parallel for said destruction.

[luminique]

Marks from the past

☆ wriothesley x gn!reader

☆ soft, fluff, mentions of him having scars (mainly had the one of his neck in mind) wc: 382, not proofread !

☆ wanted to write something more casual because i am sick for wriothesley. i think about kissing his scars so much. everyday, i wake up and do not see him in bed with me and i cry ╯︿╰ here is the long awaited fluff hehe (^人^)

Wriothesley and his scars that he would adamantly refuse to tell you about. Even if you persistently asked him about it, after months of being together, he wouldn’t tell you more than a silly story like he always does. Not wanting you to be worried, why should you be worried over memories that happened years ago that seemed to never fade?

“My love, you know the cause for this scar. I told you already.” He’d tell you as you both lay in bed together. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned, as your finger traced down the scar.

“Mmh… perhaps a reminder is much needed.” Hearing your quiet response, he immediately let out a soft sigh. A gentle smile on his lips as he looks at you, so persistent in wanting to know.

A lightbulb clicked in his head. A tilt of your head upwards with his fingers on your chin and that handsome smirk of his. “A kiss for it. Sounds like a fair trade, don’t you think?”

It was so easy for him to exploit your love for him. Who could blame him? He’s just as in love with you as you were for him. As it goes below, so should it above. A payment for information, albeit a childish and silly one.

A sweet kiss on his lips then on his scar and he instantly loosened up. How could he resist your sweet kisses?

“Alright alright. This one was from serving my time in the Fortress. It was just from a fight to protect my vision, y’know how people can be when they see one. Power hungry, wanting control, I had to fight ‘em.” He said in a quiet tone, almost as if he was embarrassed and regretted it. Or perhaps he was reminded of that difficult time in his life. Either way, he believed you deserved to hear the truth. You were his beloved after all.

A sympathetic smile paired with another kiss on the lips from you. He deserves love after all those years. Even if he doesn’t want to remember, his body does. But he knows you’ll love him even if he was covered in scars and bruises and he’ll love you for always caring for him, even if the scar was as small as a paper cut.

©luminique do not repost or copy ! thank you so much for reading <3

[whumpsoda]

A Weak Mind

I’m going insane I’ve been writing so much lately it’s crazy

I reallyyy like this one, so I hope you enjoy!

I wrote a part two as well :D Part two

cw: restraints, mild cursing, hypnosis/conditioning, pet whump

———————————————————————

Villain couldn’t move.

The countless restraints made sure of that.

They also ensured his instinctive panic upon gaining back consciousness. He struggled, fought against the leather straps, but of course the fight was futile. Even while squirming so determinedly, he was stuck.

Almost immediately upon his awakening, the room echoed with boisterous screams and shouts. Some were made from confusion, some anger. “Where am I!? What the fuck’s going on!? Let me out! Let me out! I’m going to fucking kill you!” Furious spittle flew from his mouth.

He could barely make out the area around him, only being able to make out a few cluttered tables. Villain continued spitting malicious roars at seemingly nothing.

Minutes passed.

So many minutes, he had no way of telling how many. 

His voice had become hoarse and strangled from the screaming. His words were slowing, quieting, coming to a stop. No one was there. He was alone in a strange place, strapped rigidly to an uncomfortable chair.

“Just fucking… show yourself already… asshole…” No response.

A click.

Villain would’ve looked if he could, but the noise came from behind him, and his head was currently not allowed that type of movement. Or any, really. 

His raspy voice picked up slightly. “Fight me… dickhead…” The determined steps approached closer, until the mysterious figure had walked right past him, practically ignoring the man strapped to the chair.

As the figure walked past, Villain caught a mumble stumbling from the figure’s lips. “Fuck. I missed the best part.” In return Villain forced his voice to return out of pure rage, but continued insults did nothing to catch the attention of the person rummaging around the room. 

A faint hand reached to the ceiling, and with another slight click a singular lightbulb lit across the room. Villain could make out the person a bit better now, their stretched frame, their long silky dark hair. Every step of theirs was determined, made with purpose as they circled around several locations. 

Superhero.

“Hey, fucker-”

“Hush. I’ll be with you in a minute.” Villain recoiled. She was speaking to him as if he were an elementary school child. 

The woman flicked a simple switch, and blue light cast upon the room. Half of one entire wall was filled top to bottom by what appeared to be some sort of giant computer. Superhero mumbled to herself comfortably, as if there wasn’t a man subdued in a chair mere feet away. “Where’s that setting… ah, here it is.” They carefully turned several notches on a large dial.

Villain was quiet, too quiet. He couldn’t ignore the fear anymore, his voice wouldn’t conjure up noise any longer. So many terrified thoughts ran through his mind, blocking out the fact that the woman was now walking his direction. 

She had something wrapped delicately in her hands, a mask-like object. Wires sprouted from all sides, running to who knows where. 

She lifted the bulky box up to Villain’s face, easily slipping it over his head despite his struggles. “Hey, hey! What the hell is going on!? Get this shit off of me!” The mask felt like a mix between a pair of goggles and a VR headset, enveloping his vision and nose. His vision was filled with complete darkness.

A finger rested over his thin lips, ceasing his yells. “Hush. It’ll be okay soon.” Villain could only hear the person’s steps stalking around the room, now. 

Seconds later, he heard yet another mechanical click.

His vision was overwhelmed by a bright lavender light. Villain urgently squeezed his eyes tight, refusing to open them. As he sat there, the color trying to seep into his eyeballs, a pair of bulky headphones slipped over his ears, and nimble fingers began massaging his head.

He could hear faint voices at first, or maybe all the same one, he couldn’t tell. Not until they grew louder, and louder. They blocked out any of his thoughts, a tight grasp leaking into his brain. 

Most of the voices Villain did not recognize. One of them though, the very loudest, he definitely did.

“Hero…?”

“Open your eyes, Villain. Let the light in. It’s meant to help, Villain, it won’t hurt. Open your eyes.” All of the voices robotically chanted the same words in his ears, constantly looping back to the beginning.

Villain held back, he held back as long as he could possibly manage, but soon, he wanted to do it. To open his eyes. He wanted to see it. His curiosity got the best of him. At least that’s what he believed. 

As soon as his eyes fluttered open, he never wanted to shut them again. He couldn’t even make out the images, the words. His brain was clouding, the visuals taking a hold on him.

As soon as his eyes opened, the voices picked up. “Good, Villain, so good. Such a good boy.” An intense, pleasurable feeling spread throughout Villain’s body upon the praise. The scratching upon his head mixed with the traveling feeling felt better than anything ever had before. It had to have been the most enjoyable feeling he had ever felt. It felt like heaven.

Villain yearned for more.

He continued to focus on the screen, the words and imagery becoming clearer and clearer. He was so focused, so obsessed.

“Focus, Villain. Relax, focus.” His body cuddled into the chair, it’s once uncomfortable feel being replaced with an unhealthily beautiful one. “Focus, Villain. You’re doing so well, so good. Read the words, Villain, repeat them.” 

The words began to spill out of Villain like water. 

“Obedience.”

Good.

“Submissive.”

Good boy.

“Do…cile.”

Good boy, Villain.

“Oh…obediencccceee…”

Good boy, Villain.

“Sub… submisshivvvee…”

Good boy, Villain.

“Da… da-docillllleee…”

Good boy, Villain.

“Pettt...”

Good boy, Pet.

The constant praise was filling his senses completely, overriding everything else, liquefying his brain. The pleasure he felt was constant and unimaginable. The words, the voices, the ideas, mixed together in a mix of marvelous pleasure. 

Any previous feelings of fear or anger had melted away so long ago, not even an afterthought to Villain. He wanted this. He wanted the good feels. He wanted it to continue forever. Submitting didn’t feel so bad anymore.

Each new flashing image, surrounded by the tender purple color, pulled Villain in deeper. His brain was melting, turning to mush. He couldn’t think. He shouldn’t think.

He didn’t want to think.

The words didn’t make sense anymore. To him the images were now accompanied by symbols completely foreign to him. The meaningless words though, they pulled him in, comforted him.

The voices continued, whispering sounds, some nonsensically to him, just like the words on the screen.

Except on the screen and in the voices, there were a few he could make out. The words he did understand, the ones he wanted to.

Obedient, submissive, docile.

Sit, stay, rollover.

Good boy.

Sweet pet.

They swirled in his mind, plastered across the walls of his brain. 

Villain sniffed vigorously. A scent had been released in front of him, released from the mask. He was caught completely in the familiar smell that filled his nose. 

“Sweet pet. Be so good for me won’t you? Your best behavior?” It was just one voice now ringing through his ears. The familiar voice. The one that had constantly remained the loudest. 

The scent matched the voice perfectly, causing Villain’s head to go wild.

“Heeeroooooo…” His voice didn’t even feel like his anymore. 

The voice, the scent, the words.

He could muster no thoughts, his head empty and smooth, enforced by the firm massaging of delicate fingers.

The imagery looped, so did the familiar words. Over and over again. The many voices returned behind the main one, filling his ears. Villain had no desire for it to end, not a drop in his whole body. 

His being was encased in a pure sense of bliss, relishing in the sweet buzz of the voice.

As soon as it had started, the experience stopped. Villain barely even noticed, his mind too compromised to understand. The fingers lifted from his hair, the headphones  gently being slipped off. The mask stayed on.

“What are you?” Villain recognized the voice instantly, one of the many that had been feeding him praises only moments ago.

He wasted no time mulling over a response.

“Pppetttt…” his words were slurred, coated in a fuzzy glaze.

“Who do you belong to, Pet?”

“Hhheerrrooooo…” Each time an automatic response exited his mouth, a feeling of intense satisfaction spiked inside him once again.

“Good boy. You’ve done so well, Hero will be so pleased. We only have a little more to go.”

Villain’s smile, desperate for the praise, stretched.

“Once you can’t so much as speak, it’ll all be over.

You’ll be fixed.”

—————————————————————

Soon enough, the mask finally slipped from his flushed cheeks.

Villain had no idea how long it had been, hours, days, maybe even weeks, the concept of time no longer carrying any meaning to him.

As the restraints he had gotten so used to were all unclipped, his whole body slumped, sliding out of the chair and onto the tiled flooring. He stationed himself on all fours, instinctively. Villain’s eyes sat half-lidded, heavy after being open for so long. He was still, prepared for instruction.

A thin, tall mirror was stationed several feet in front of him. Superhero was positioned next to it, guiding his eyes into the reflection. Someone, the one staring back at him, looked unruly and unkempt. Their hair was a mess, their clothes wrinkled and slipping. Their eyes were hollow, blank. Something sat on around their neck, something thick and irritating. 

A dog collar.

Villain didn’t even comprehend the fact that it was himself he was looking at.

“Do you like it?” No response. The words meant nothing to him, not registering in his feeble mind. “Too easy,” the person flipped around, stepping to a hook on the wall. They slipped a long, thin piece of fabric off, with a clip on the end. “I was really hoping for more of a fight.

At least I’ve got a wonderful gift for hero.”

[dreamiehan]

Two Kids Room SERIES I.

stray kids addition au: yiji x seungmin

→ casual conversations in ODDINARY ERAS “2 KIDS ROOM”

[ yi-an jihae masterlist ]🎧

missed an episode of 🎬 2 kids room? CLICK HERE

-

Yjii shielded her face from the incoming attacks of Seugnmin’s targeted wrath with using plushies as a weapon.

“Stop smacking me with PuppyM, this is animal abuse!”

Seugnmin laughed at her failed attempt to reel back her figure each time the chibi sized stuffed animal connected with her face, continuing his vicious barrage against the girl.

“Well at least you finally admitted it,” Seungmin commented, a shit eating grin forming across his features.

A brief silence settled amongst the two until the literal lightbulb went off over Yiji’s head.

“Wait.. am I the animal?”

Seugnmin said nothing as he continued to laugh obnoxiously at her sudden realization.

“Kim Seungmin am I the animal?!”

CUT

“Seungmin! Yiji! Seung-yi room!”

Yiji’s eyes lit up as she made her way onto the familiar set once more, scents of vanilla emanated from the two perfectly crafted cupcakes with an off-white frosting that sat smack-dab in the center of the coffee table. Each of their SKZOO’s were tucked cutely beside a letter board that spelled out “Seung-yi”, decorated with smalls appliqués of stars and hearts.

“Seugnminnnn,” Yiji whined, extending her arms out in-front of her, signifying that she was in desperate need of a hug from her favorite person on the planet.

Seungmin was completely unfazed by Yiji’s antics, allowing her to plop down beside him and wrap her arms tightly around his torso as she proceeded to squeeze the life out of him.

“Are you the hulk now or what?” Seungmin teased, poorly attempting to look anywhere else besides the twinkling babydoll eyes Yiji had come to master over the years.

CUT

Talk about YIJI x SEUNGMIN

Hyunjin: Seungmin is Yiji’s boyfriend

Han: I thought I was her boyfriend?

Jeongin: What kind of conversation is this?

Hyunjin: Yiji likes Seungmin a lot, she is most affectionate with him

Jeongin: She acts so cute with him.. it is odd, he secretly enjoys her silliness

CUT

“STAYs really enjoy seeing us together”, Seungmin confessed as he dove his plastic fork into the cupcake before him.

“Ah, really? We’re popular then”.

Yiji always found Seungmin to be endearing, even if the time in each other’s presence was spent doing something as simple as talking, it was always meaningful.

“We used to be semi-roommates when we first debuted” Yiji spoke, thinking back to a memory that seemed so far away now. “You and Jisung fought every once in a while so, I would sleep in his bed and he would lock himself in my bedroom across the dorm”.

Seungmin closed his eyes gently, almost as if he was trying to transport himself back to five years ago.

Things were a lot different then.

“Jisung is a sensitive person I think, and back then there were a lot of misunderstandings because our humor did not mesh well all time”, he confessed. “You helped a lot in that way, by simply being there rather than trying to get in-between things.

Yiji nodded along as he spoke, exhaling a slight hum to confirm each point in the conversation.

“It was really lonely for me at first when I moved into the hyune-racha dorm, I missed hanging out in your space”, she confessed as she let her head fall atop of Seungmin’s shoulder.

“I missed hanging out with you too”.

CUT

Chan: When Yiji and Seungmin first met they didn’t interact much at all outside of schedules

Changbin: Yi-An has a cold exterior that takes time to understand, they’re opposites in that way

Chan: Yiji relies a lot on Seungmin when recording too, her singer is Kim Seungmin

Minho: Ah, don’t tell Hyunjin that he will be heart broken

Changbin: Seungmin has changed Yiji as a person in different ways, that is why they’re a lot closer lately

CUT

“Do you remember our first flight to K-CON after we debuted?” Seungmin asked in a sly tone, indicating he had some sort of sarcastic ulterior motive.

Abruptly, Yiji rolled her eyes and removed her head from the comfortable spot on his shoulder. Releasing a loud groan, she sighed knowing exactly where he was going with bringing up this memory.

“Do not retell this story”, she whined, smacking him playfully on the arm. “It’s embarrassing”.

Yiji has gone through so much, each of her insecurities and fears are things Seungmin wishes he could keep locked away, buried beneath the earth in an impenetrable box that no one would ever dare to find.

He cared deeply for her, sometimes in a way he didn’t even know he could.

Yiji deserved someone who was determined to understand her and without saying anything at all, Seungmin grabbed hold of that responsibility and had no intention of ever letting it go.

Before he could become too absorbed in his thoughts, Seungmin continued. “You were absolutely terrified of flying to the point your legs were wobbling like a little baby deer”.

Followed by a dramatic noise of protest, Yiji shamefully hid behind both of her hands.

Admiration and contentment, Yiji let her walls down around Seungmin and he did the same. He made it safe for her to feel. An unspoken bond that the both of them treasured immensely.

“Kim Seungmin”, Yiji spoke softly, separating her fingers to peak out

“Yeah?”

Just as Yiji was about to finish her thought, she pursed her lips slowly, her mind to continuing to wander amongst the many reasons she was eternally grateful for Seungmin.

“I think you and I were meant to meet in this life”, she smiled, now allowing herself to look at him wholly. “You have made me into a worth-while person”.

TO SEUNGMIN FROM YIJI:.

To the little devil on my shoulder ٩(^‿^)۶

You have brought so much fun in the form of chaos to my life. My devious singer, Kim Seungmin. I can’t wait to grow old with you and be idols until we retire >:’)

#SeungYi forever <3

TO YIJI FROM SEUNGMIN:.

To my favorite roommate

Yi-An Jihae, I am glad I got to meet you in this life too. I like your smile even more these days.

p.s. you are the animal..

[emmaleighsworld]

A “Thrill Seeker”

College AU

Pairing: tasm!Peter Parker x reader

Summary: Peter’s spidey senses become more useful in everyday life when he’s best friends with a clumsy classmate.

Contains: fem!reader, fluff

Word Count: 1k

Peter’s spidey sense is great when it comes to helping the people of New York, but sometimes he wishes they would go away when he took the suit off. 

He was always aware of every little thing happening wherever he was. 

Although he did get used to the feeling after a while, his thoughts kept wandering back to why he has to hear every time Flash clicks his pencil for more lead, pushes the lead back into his pencil, and repeats the process about 30 or more times depending on how bored he is in Professor Stanley’s Chemistry class.

Sometimes feeling all those things at once can be a real headache, except for when Peter gets to help you.

You were in the middle of the student union building standing on top of a ladder trying to hang a homecoming banner over twice your size from the second-floor railing above you.

You’d already secured one side of the banner. All you had to do was tie the other side. No big deal. Right?

Not quite, because when you moved the ladder into position you didn’t move it far enough to the left and had a little too much confidence in your ability to stand on top of a ladder. 

You did manage to balance standing on a stool to change the lightbulb in your apartment kitchen on Saturday, despite Peter yelling at you when you told him about it yesterday. Maybe you’re getting better at this balance thing.

So there you were, when Peter walked into the student union, leaning over the side of the ladder. One foot on the top step, both hands holding onto the bottom of the railings, reaching as far as you can to tie the banner.

You tied the string in a knot, finally getting the job done just as Peter saw you pushing off the railing to get back to the ladder.

He knew you were going to fall the moment you started to wobble off the back of the ladder and tried to grab onto the sides of the ladder. He could feel it in his veins.

Without a second thought, he drops his backpack to the side and rushes over to you.

“Crash, wait!” Peter says.

Hearing his worried voice, you turn to face him and you feel yourself begin to fall further.

The next few seconds were a blur until you felt Peter’s arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. You both fell to the floor as he broke your fall.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks, looking you over for any sign of injury.

You turn to look at Peter, a huge smile on your face.

“Oh my god! Peter, you’re a lifesaver!”

“What were you thinking Crash? You could’ve broken an arm or a leg!” Peter says.

You can tell he’s upset, this isn’t the first time he’s saved you from your clumsy self. He even calls you Crash on a regular basis, but you don’t want him to worry about you. He’s got enough on his plate as it is.

“But I didn’t, because you were there to catch me.” You smiled sitting up next to him on the floor.

Peter looks at you exasperated. You could have gotten hurt, but here you are smiling like it’s just another Monday morning.

“I’m glad you’re okay, but why didn’t you just move the ladder a little more?” He asks.

“I thought I could do it, and I did. See?” You say, standing up and showing him your handmade homecoming banner.

“Doesn’t it look good?” You ask.

Peter gets up, grabbing his discarded backpack, taking a good look at your banner. It’s got a funny play on words about your school mascot and homecoming.

“It’s perfect,” Peter says, looking from the banner to you.

You’ve always had a knack for finding the right thing to say. That’s why he encouraged you to apply for your internship at The Daily Bugle to become a journalist.

“Thanks, I helped Betty with it. It’s for her student senate thing, but she had to go to class.”

“And that’s why you ended up hanging this on your own?” Peter asks.

“Yep, but I am glad my superhero was here to save me again,” you say, bumping your shoulder with his.

“You know you don’t have to call me that,” Peter scoffs. 

“But you are!” you say, “You always seem to know when I’m in trouble.”

“I do not,” Peter says defensively.

“You do, and you always know just how to keep me safe,” you argue.

At this point, he’s saved you more times than you can count. 

It’s not like your life ever depended on actually being saved. It was mostly simple fixes that saved you from embarrassment or a few bruises.

Peter had helped you so many times you’d started calling him your personal superhero.

“Don’t be silly,” Peter smiled, “I’m just doing what any friend would do.”

“So you’re saying that any old friend would run all the way back to our apartment complex to get my laptop charger because I was at low battery and needed it for my presentation later that night, and I had to stay because I had another final?”

“Sure,” Peter shrugs casually, “ You wanna get some lunch? I’m sure you worked up an appetite, putting your life in mortal danger and all that jazz.”

You can’t help but laugh at his over-exaggeration.

“You better believe it,” you say, “I thought you knew I was a thrill seeker.”

Peter smiles knowingly at that. He’s fascinated by the way you always find a way to see the positive in any situation, even if you are chronically clumsy.

You’ve turned something seen as a bit of a negative trait into a positive one, and you never fail to give a healthy laugh whenever it comes up.

“Oh, I do Crash,” he says putting his arm around your shoulder, guiding you towards the campus cafeteria.

“Your fearless bravery never fails to amaze me," he says, “Why don’t we test that bravery on those turkey burgers?”

[lazywitchling]

The Three-but-actually-Six Card Spread

I vote that we call this one Schrodinger's Spread, because I don't know whether I'm gonna draw three or six until I've already pulled the cards.

So, I used to try to do the usual three card spread. You know the one. Every tarot book lists it as Past Present Future, unless you have a quirky deck, and then they've probably rebranded it as something else. You can find lists of three card spreads with different questions to ask. IT'S A WHOLE THING. There's like. a whole three-card-spread industry or something. But anyway: it always confused me.

I am absolutely not a tarot expert. I put down three cards, and then I can stare at it for an hour going "I have no idea what this means." The standard guidebook keywords float through my head, but I wasn't sure how to make an actual READ out of that.

I started following @unhelpfultarot, who is anything but unhelpful. Seeing the daily two card pull and the way that the two cards are connected into (usually) a single sentence made the lightbulb come on. "Oh THAT'S how you do it!" So I started just reading two cards at a time, but as a single unit, like Lenormand. And once I got a handle on that, I started adding the third card back in. Then I'd have two pairs of cards to read! 1>2 and 2>3.

Well, at some point, I was like "Hey what happens if I put a card down below those three, and used that as a sort of connection-between-them card?"

So now it looks like this:

1 2 3 4 5

Where "4" is not its own answer, it's just what connects 1 and 2. The same thing for 5: it just connects 2 and 3 without being its own answer.

WELL, then I'm looking at that, and I said "Hey, now I've generated another pair, so I can lay down ANOTHER card to connect those two!

1 2 3 4 5 6

"Hey, Jes? That's... that's a six card spread..."

Shhhhhhhhh. Who asked you.

"Crow did."

Hush, imaginary reader.

Anyway, so now what I've got is the original read, the three most important cards, 1 2 3. And btw, this whole thing is usually to answer ONE SINGLE QUESTION, because-- actually, @windvexer explains it better than I can here. (HEY. YOU. DON'T SKIP THAT LINK, ACTUALLY CLICK IT, THANK YOU.)

So what I have now is one question that is answered by a sentence (1-2-3), with two cards that don't tell me NEW information but that tell me what each pair is saying to each other (4 and 5), with a final one that's sort of a TL;DR card (6).

"Jes. That is a six card spread."

CORRECT, and as @upthewitchypunx and others have said, if I were charging money for this, yes absolutely this is a six card spread, and you're not getting it for 50% off.

BUT HERE'S HOW THE WHOLE THING HAPPENS IN A REAL WORLD SCENARIO

I pick up my tarot deck. I think "I'm going to do a three card reading." I pull three cards, lay them down, read. If they make sense, cool, I put them away and move on.

If I get confused though, then it's upside-down pyramid time, and I'll lay down the other three. This either results in "Ohhhhhh okay, THAT'S what it's saying," or I confuse myself EVEN more (which is very easy to do).

In that case, it's still living in my head as a three-card-spread, because that's the important part that I'm actually reading. But if I set out to pull the inverted pyramid from the get-go, then it's a six-card-spread.

This is where I'm legally obliged to put PREMEDITATED in all caps for @friend-crow

My joking answer, which wasn't FULLY a joke, is that nothing I do is premeditated. I don't MEAN for there to be six cards, but here they are now, and I've got more important questions than "is this still a three-card-spread or is it now a six-card-spread?"

At that point it's like the tarot equivalent of "Is a hot dog a sandwich" and would just trip me up when I'm just trying to eat a hot dog. The answer is "WHO CARES! I got things to do."

(@asksecularwitch 'cause you also had thinky thoughts about all this, and I wanted you to see the upside down pyramid!)

[olderthannetfic]

Just wanted to share an interesting musing: a friend and I at one point bemoaned how hard it is to find niche unhinged flavors of fanfic in newer fandoms (like "I spawned a crack treated seriously/horny af/goblin idea and I made it your problem" kind of writing) because it always feels like a lot of fanfic feel weirdly hallmark movie-esque (repressed? sanitized? family friendly?). And they wondered if its because of the rise of puritan/morality/censorship ideas in fandom. I had a lightbulb moment and said maybe it's also because fanfic tend to be posted in Big Main Sites (ao3, ffnet, wattpad?) instead of scattered into archives (or even personal blogs) that once existed. Could go on with the possible effect of having social media as your first internet thing and not grasping the concept of archiving and your own personal internet space (as social media doesn't reward you for that). But yeah, do kind of wonder if the weird hallmark vibe we get is both because of a fear of being accused of evil and the urge to be seen and praised in a one-sided competition against an ocean of writers.

--

Musing on fanfic anon pt 2: Also just generally that having nearly everyone yeet their fic in Main Fanfic Sites (in which! I am not complaining, as someone who has seen LJ and fics getting deleted but-) makes it just hard to sift through what you really want, even if you're using search functions in overdrive. Anyways musing over.

I think you'd have to define what goblin ideas you used to see more clearly because I can't tell what you're actually describing here.

I haven't noticed any particular change in the kinds of fic that astolat's buddies write. A lot of oldschool types, me included, always aspired to write basically sff novels but with more gay or romance novels about our blorbos. You know: professional-ish prose, coherent plots, etc. They might also be horny af and if our kinks are "weird", then the fics will be weird, I suppose, but only someone who's having trouble believing that anybody could really like that kink is going to see them as crack.

I used to see more "LOL, I wrote this on a sugar high!" type author's notes, but they were never big in the part of LJ that built AO3 and so they're not big on AO3 either.

The "I like hobbitses, especially when they touchessss each other" type fic is still mixed into the oldschool LJ stuff, just in the small proportion it always had. (Yes, I saw you all clicking on that in 2005 and pretending you didn't find it hot.)

I guess it really depends on what kind of unhinged you're looking for.

[justimagineitblog]

“You Used To Love Me” Michael Gray Fan Fiction - Chapter 13

Well hi *I wave sheepishly from behind the computer screen*

Let me start by saying I am so so sorry that the conclusion of this story took so long - I have barely been writing for a really long time. 

But this story and doing it justice has always been in the back of my mind, and I finally got myself to finish it for all of you who have been so loyal and patient.

Here is the final Chapter of You Used To Love Me.

All my love, I hope you enjoy x 

Besides the obvious shock at seeing him at such a fucking inopportune time, his presence sends an immediate chill down my spine. 

I have to physically close my eyes to try and rid my mind of the thoughts and flashbacks to the other night, when he kissed me. When we kissed each other. 

The room collectively falls silent. No one tries to stutter over their words. No one tries to save the moment with some excuse. Just pure silence. All of us processing what has just unfolded. That is until Gina finally speaks. 

“Well, I guess the gig is up” she says, almost laughing. 

I don’t even look at her. My eyes are just glued to Michael. I watch his face contort into 100 different shades of confusion. 

When no one else speaks, when nothing is elaborated, he looks back and forth between all of us, searching desperately for an answer. 

“Izzy?” He says my name, his tone just begging me for an answer. 

“This isn’t on her…” Gina begins, standing up slowly from the floor and straightening her dress “I’m pregnant, Michael” 

And just like that, the bomb is dropped. But that’s not even the worst of it. My heart aches inside my chest, knowing that it’s about to get so much worse for Michael. 

I didn’t think it was possible, but somehow the air in the room grows heavier. 

My whole body tenses at I wait to see Michael’s reaction. 

He doesn’t know it’s not his yet. 

He runs his eyes over her, covering his mouth in shock when he finally notices the small baby bump just beginning to show through her dress. 

“Oh my god” he runs a hand through his hair, his hands trembling.

He doesn’t speak, he just shakes his head in disbelief. No excitement. No joy at the thought of having his own child. And that says it all. He isn’t happy. This is not the life he wanted for himself. 

Part of me want’s to tell him about Gina’s infidelity. To tell him that he is not having a child. That he is not going to be stuck raising a child with a woman he doesn’t love. But before I can even find the words, his head stops shaking and his brows furrow. Like a lightbulb switched on in his mind. Like something clicked. It’s like I can see him mind doing back flips as he realises that something doesn’t add up. 

He looks back up at Gina, who is chewing at her bottom lip nervously. She is also waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Like she said, Michael is smart. It won’t be long before it dawns on him, and I know she does not want that moment to unfold before all of us, here in this room. 

“I would like a moment alone with my husband” Gina says quickly, as she looks over at Polly and I. She knows Michael is starting to catch on to what he knows deep down inside. This is not his baby. 

I take her queue to leave immediately, reaching for Polly’s hand. “Come on Pol, let’s go make some tea yeah?” I say, locking eyes with her and nodding towards the doorway. 

Polly’s catches on, and she takes my hand as we both make our way out of the room. As we exit I quickly glance back over my shoulder to find Michael looking at me gravely, before Gina closes the door behind us.

Polly and I walk downstairs and into the kitchen in complete silence. I start making tea, but Polly touches my arm.

“This is not a time for tea… I’ll get the whisky”

I nod. I’m like a soldier with shell shock. I can barely speak. I can barely move as I lower my body stiffly into a chair at the dining table. 

I’m straining with all my might to hear the conversation going on upstairs between Gina and Michael, but it’s eerily quiet. 

I know what she is telling him now is being said in hushed voices. 

Polly slides a hefty glass of Whiskey in my direction, and tasting the bitter drink is the only thing that brings me out of my frozen trance. 

“Michael’s not going to be a father” she says out of the blue, with her face all knowing, as though she has read the room and understands the situation. 

“No” I affirm her suspicions, although she already knows without me needing to “No he’s not” 

“One day” Polly responds, holding eye contact with me.

I’ve always known Polly has senses. Everyone in the Shelby family knows. Hell, everyone in fucking town knows. She see’s things. Feels them. She know’s Michael will one day be a father. I’m not psychic and even I knew that. He has a way with children. He’s wonderful with them. And in this moment, I know exactly who she thinks he will be having children with. I know what she’s insinuating. 

I almost jump straight out of my seat when I few minutes later, I hear footsteps coming down the staircase. 

I quickly sink the rest of my whiskey, as Gina and Michael enter the dining room. 

“I’m taking Gina to the hospital, I’ll be back later. Tell Tommy we have to reschedule our meeting to another day” 

Michael is holding his cap in his hands, gripping it so tight that his knuckles have gone white. But they’re not as white as his face. I can’t tell if he looks like he’s seen a ghost, or if he is the ghost. 

Gina looks down at the floor, then up at the ceiling. Basically anywhere but at our faces. 

Polly nods, knowing that now is not the time to have words with either of them. I’m actually impressed with how civil she is being towards Gina in this moment. In light of the severity of the situation. 

Michael ushers Gina out the front door, and moments later the cars wheels turn on the gravel and make their way out of the street. 

Polly and I sit in silence, drinking for a little bit longer, until everything catches up with me. The whiskey, the sleeplessness, the bomb that was just dropped. 

Without saying much, Polly and I hug goodbye. She holds on a little longer than usual, and before we depart she gives me a knowing smile. 

I know what she’s thinking. I know she can tell something happened between Michael and I.

But I can’t let my brain run off with the possibilities. I don’t know what is going to happen between us. 

Even with Gina now possibly out of the picture, there’s a lot that has gone on between Michael and I. I still carry the pain, nursing it in my arms every day since he left for America, and came back with another woman. I don’t know what he could ever say to fix that.

And then there’s the possibility that he stays with her, despite the news. Which might just send me over the edge. Truly into a place of no return.

I wander the streets in the short walk back to my apartment, where I pour myself another drink when I arrive. 

I don’t know why, but I sit by the window. Waiting, I guess. Hoping that he might show up. Maybe even part of me is hoping that he doesn’t. But still, I can’t pull myself away. 

I have so many errands, so many jobs to do. But I can’t move on. I spend the rest of the day worrying about him. Picturing him at the hospital, sitting by Gina’s bedside. Supporting her on what might be the worst day of this life thus far. I picture his face when he found out she was pregnant. The horror and fear that he was trying to disguise. 

He didn’t have the glow of someone who just found out their wife is having a baby. 

By the time night falls, and dusk gives way, I have bitten my nails down to the quick without even noticing. 

Feeling horrid and heavy with anxiety, I decide to drag my sleep deprived body into the shower. It’s a peaceful moment, and I start to feel like I could finally settle into bed when someone knocks at my door as I’m getting changed into my night gown.

I catch myself in the mirror for a moment, willing myself to be strong, because I already know who it is standing at my door without even having to open it. 

As I make my way to my visitor, I run over 100 speeches that I have planned in my head. But once I grab that handle and pull it open, the chatter in my head falls silent. 

Michael Grey. 

He stands in the door way, a look of relief washing over his face as though he didn’t think I would actually answer him. 

Of course I would. 

He opens his mouth to speak, inhaling deeply, but the words never follow. With this much history between two people, it’s impossible to know where to begin.

He looks like he’s been to hell and back. 

“Sorry” he stammers, snapping himself out of his trance “Your door was unlocked, but I didn’t want to just walk in-”

“It’s always been unlocked” I breathe, knowing that I’ve kept a lot of parts of me unlocked, incase there was a moment where Michael Grey decided to wander back in. Just like he has right now. 

He nods, understanding what I meant immediately.

“Can I come in?” He begins “I can go if you want, I just…”

He looks so small in this moment. He’s the most timid and sheepish I have ever seen him.

“Of course” I nod, stepping aside to let him in.

We move about my apartment in silence, as we both take a seat at my dining table. When he does, he places his elbows on the table and rests his head in his hands. 

Without even needing to ask, I pour us both a drink.

“I figured if I need one of these you probably do too”

I looks up at me gratefully as I place the glass in front of him and he takes a swig. 

“How is she?” I ask, nervous to actually address the situation at hand. But I know there’s no way around it. We’re not going to talk about the fucking weather. 

“They’re uh, they’re going to keep her overnight until she’s got her hydration back”

There’s silence for a moment before he continues, and he looks as if he’s not able to believe what he’s about to say.  

“Then she’s going home”

My heart jumps and skips over a few beats, making me feel unsteady as I realise what he just said.

Gina is leaving. 

“We’re done” he says, and I suddenly take note of the fact that he’s not wearing his wedding ring. 

“Michael I’m sorry-” I begin, but falter when it comes to finishing my sentence.

I am sorry. But the truth is that I’m fucking relieved. Relieved for Michael. Relieved for myself. Relieved that I don’t have to watch him raise a child with someone else right in front of my eyes when it was supposed to be me. 

“It’s okay” he nods “Her and I we weren’t… I didn’t love her Izzy” 

I knew this whole time. I want to scream it from the rooftops. I want to scream it at him. I want to ask what possessed him to act that way for so long. 

I want to ask him who he loves. I want to ask him if it’s still me. 

“It still hurts though” I say instead, trying to keep my wits about me. And that is the truth. He is still in pain. 

“Yeah well I had that coming didn’t I” he almost laughs to himself, shaking his head. 

He looks up at me, bearing himself. He knows what he did was wrong. And he knows as far as karma goes, he was now getting his. 

“I’ve done so many things wrong… Everything got so out of control Iz” I notice his knee is bouncing rapidly beneath the table. 

I hold my breath, so much so that I begin to feel light headed and my chest begins to burn.

“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to” he says once he notices my speechlessness, “I just owe you an explanation. I owe you that much” 

I nod, giving him the go ahead. The green light of redemption. 

We’re on the edge of the moment. The moment I’ve been waiting for for months. 

“You know I don’t even know why you let me in, you’re always so kind, so good. Too fucking good. After everything” 

His chest rises and falls beneath his shirt and vest, growing faster with every second as he gets himself more and more worked up over the train wreck of his life. 

“You know I can’t get the look on your face out of my head, from the day that you saw me and Gina. The day I came back and told you to leave me alone. It fucking haunts me Izzy. Because I didn’t want it. But when you’re in too deep…” He shakes his head, as his words just keep pouring out frantically “I thought it was the only way… the only way to deal with what I had done. I couldn’t even look at Gina. I couldn’t even touch her. So I thought if I forgot about you, that I could move on”

“Did you?” Are the only words I can utter, as the lump in my throat swells, almost cutting off my voice completely. 

“Never. Fucking never” 

I had built this moment up in my head for so long. 

What I would say to him. 

How I would teach him a lesson. 

How I would show him what he had done to me. 

That he can’t get away with doing that to a person.

I had rehearsed how I would make him get on his knees and beg for my forgiveness.

Make him explain himself until he was blue in the face.

Until I was satisfied. 

I wait for that feeling to come, the rage, but it never does.

Instead, I stay silent as he takes a deep breath to steady himself. His eyes are welling up, threatening to spill over as he continues to explain.

“I lost my way over there. I was losing my fucking mind without you. I got drunk, Gina was forceful. One thing led to another and I woke up next to her one morning. Then I couldn’t get rid of her. I was doing business with her family, and it’s like she saw something she wanted and would stop at nothing to get it. That’s when I stopped contact with you… I couldn’t bring myself to talk to you. To face what I had done”

The first tear falls onto his freckled cheeks, but he wipes it quickly. 

“I was going to cut her off before I came back home, but she threatened that she would cut off the deal between Shelby Limited and her Uncles if I left her. She threatened fucking horrible things to the people I loved Izzy, you have no idea” His voice is panicked as he recalls every last detail, and I can see the flashbacks taking their toll on him. 

“Her family and her people, they’re something we’ve never dealt with before…She begged me to let her come with me. I was in way over my fucking head. And so I had to pretend. I didn’t want her to sink her claws into you too. I didn’t want anything to happen to you. I didn’t want you involved. So I had to pretend like I fucking hated you when all I wanted was to come crawling home to you”

By now, one tear had led to another, and he was no longer wiping them away. His eyes red, his cheeks drowning. 

Unable to keep swallowing the lump in my own throat, I abandon all control over my own emotions, and my own eyes spill over with tears. 

“You could have told me” my voice scrapes out of my throat “You could have told me what was happening”

He shakes his head “I wanted to protect you, and I had to break you in order to do that. And I’m so fucking sorry” 

The feeling comes again, where I’m certain I should be screaming at him right now. Cursing him for everything he put me through. 

But I can’t. After all this time, after everything. I just can’t. 

I still love him. 

My small, shaking hand glides across the top of the dining table, and lays gently over the top of his. 

Of course it did. We’re like magnets, him and I. We’ve never been able to keep away from each other. 

My touch has an immediate effect on him, as his breathing begins to calm.

But in an unexpected turn, he holds my hand and brings it up to his lips. His eyes close as he places a kiss on the back of my hand, and then another one on the soft, sensitive skin of my inner wrist. 

This is something we used to do all the time, and right now, it’s like he doesn’t realise what he’s doing. Muscle memory takes over. 

“You’re fucking stupid Michael Grey” I sniffle “I should hate you. I should fucking hate you” 

“Do you?” He asks, still holding onto my hand like it’s his only lifeline. 

I stare back at him for a moment, before I feel my head start to shake in response.

“Never” 

I feel a pull on my arm, as I realise he’s pulling my closer to him. 

And I don’t resist. 

Our bodies creep closer, slowly then all at once as we collide. His arms wrap around me fiercely, engulfing me. My arms wrap around his torso, and I make no mistakes about holding him tight. 

It’s almost crushing, suffocating, the way we are clinging onto one another. 

I can’t breathe, or cry, or laugh. I can’t move. And I don’t want to. 

His hand holds the back of my head, and I bury it into the crook of his neck. 

“I’m so sorry” he apologises, his voice muffled as his face presses into my skin “I’m so fucking sorry” 

I could have stayed like that forever, but he pulls back holding my face in his hands as he looks down at me.

“I love you” he begins, his breath tickling my face “I don’t know if that’s okay with you, but I still love you. Izzy. I never stopped” 

I look up at him, our breaths slowing and steadying, until we’re breathing in synchronicity. 

“I still love you the same as the day I met you” I shake my head, but I can feel the smallest of smiles begin to creep onto my lips “I love you Michael” 

“Yeah?” He asks one more time, as if he doesn’t believe it yet. 

“Yes, you fucking idiot” I exhale a laugh, unable to stop the smile now “I love you”

He beams back down at me, his head lowering until his lips meet mine. 

He’s slow, this time. Unsure. Gentle. As if this moment might fall away and escape him if he makes one wrong move. 

But I can’t hold back any longer. 

I kiss him back, pressing my body even harder against his, which I hadn’t thought was possible. 

I expect a ravenous kiss to follow, for clothes to start falling off our bodies and to gravitate our way towards my bedroom.

But after he returns a tender kiss, he pulls away. 

“Wait” he breathes

“You okay?” I pant, biting down on my lip. 

“Can we wait…” he whispers nervously “I don’t want you to think this is all I want. I just want to talk to you. Stay up all night talking like we used to. God I missed you so much”

My chest warms up, as I realise he really means it. That he doesn’t want me to get the wrong impression. That he missed my body, but more than that, he missed me. 

“Of course” I coo “I would like that” 

He presses his lips to mine one last time, then plants a few soft kisses across my nose and cheeks. Just like he used to. 

We lead each other to the bedroom, and flop down next to each other, taking in the days events. And how the hell we ended up here. 

It doesn’t take long for the conversation to start, as we turn to face each other. 

He caresses my face the whole time, stroking my cheek with his thumb gently. 

It’s all so familiar, and right now in our little bubble, it’s like no time has passed between us at all. Like no hearts were ever broken. 

We talk for hours, neither of us ever feeling tired for a moment. We laugh, getting carried away and wrapped up in each others. Sometimes we cry. He apologises more times than I can keep count. We hold each other. Sometimes I want to ask him to pinch me, to make sure I’m not still concussed from earlier in the week and imagining all of this. That I’m not going to wake up and realise it wasn’t real. That he won’t be taken away from me again. 

We talk about how things used to be.

We talk about the future.

Eventually at some point in the early hours of the morning, once our voices are tired and we can’t keep our eyes open any longer, we fall asleep. 

When I wake, I’m alone, but next to me I can see the indent of where Michael had been next to me the night before.

My heart starts to race as I become more aware.

He’s left. He’s gone again. 

I’m almost carried away into a full panic attack, when something snaps me out of it. The sound of the radio coming from somewhere in the house.

Wondering if someone is here, or if I just left it on, I wrap myself in a robe and make my way into the heart of my apartment. 

And there he is. 

Fixing up breakfast, still in his clothes from the night before. Humming along to the radio. 

He doesn’t even realise I’m there for a few moments, and I’m glad I have some time to process this all to myself.

I had thought I’d never see this scene again. Maybe in my memories, but never in real life. 

Michael, in my kitchen, making us breakfast on a cold morning. 

My chest floods with warmth.

I didn’t realise how I felt like I had been holding my breath up until this moment, and how now I can finally exhale. 

“Morning” he greets me when I he catches me standing there out of the corner of his eye “Sorry, I just thought I’d make you some breakfast, or at least coffee” 

“Thank you” I smile, as I force myself to hurry up and adjust to the moment. 

“You still like your eggs the same?”

“Absolutely” I smile, endeared by him asking. 

He holds out a hand, and I take it, as he reels me in towards his body. 

“If this is too much just tell me” he says softly, checking in with where I’m at right now “Is this okay?” 

I can tell he’s still unsure. Unsure of whether I’m going to tell him to leave. To get out. That the mistakes are unforgivable and that we can never get it back. 

But the truth, that I can feel in my core, is that what we had never really left. 

I run a hand through his hair, and he closes his eyes briefly, taking in the sensation. 

“I think so” I nod, and he perks up, his eyes look hopeful and bright again “I thought you had left” I admit, revealing why I looked so startled just now.

“No chance” he shakes his head “I’m here. I’m yours��

And I believe him.

It’s a pivotal moment.

Standing on the edge and letting yourself jump. 

I know it will take time. And I know he will work every day to prove it to me. 

But I choose to trust him.

In whatever way that means right now.

I am his.

I always have been. And I always will.

TAGLIST

@shadow-of-wonder

@marvelismylifffe​ 

@saintd0lce

@haphazardhufflepuff​ 

@peaky-things​ 

@burnitup​ 

@swweett-insanityyy​ 

@ganjeolhiddaeng​ 

@thoughtfulfreakalpaca​ 

@infinitelycharmed23​ 

@chloeforde​ 

@ashtronomyyyy​ 

@livingforbarnes​ 

@cleverdreamerhoagiewolf​ 

@elleclairez​ 

@marvelschriss​ 

@carezzesuigraffi

@l0tsofpennies

@siliethkaijuy

@ineedabifriend

@bloodorangemoonlight

@maiabiovillage

@yoheyyosup

@hinagiku0​ 

@beth-winchester21​ 

@soleil-dor

@baker151910

@cherrytop02

[anonniemousefics]

I have this distinct memory of driving down South Willow Street in Manchester, NH, preparing to turn onto the interstate at a series of traffic lights on a bridge, and internally bemoaning the fruitless direction of my life. I remember how badly I wanted to be a writer -- it's all I've ever really wanted to do -- but all of the advice I'd gotten was to write the things *you* want to read. Write what's on your insides, they'd say. And I knew in that moment, with my turn signal clicking and my heart in my shoes, that if I wrote what I really wanted, then I would lose everyone.

My world at the time was filled with religion and church expectations. I was married to a pastor, a new mother myself, and my life course felt very set. Women in my position wrote cookbooks or memoirs of their faith intended to encourage other women only -- they didn't write about girls who saw ghosts and learned magic and fought just as well as boys. Women weren't allowed to preach at our church, let alone best a man at something.

But this was my community at the time. I'd come to depend on friendships and routines and the support of my family, and all of it was built on these beliefs: that there was an order to the world, and within that order, I could not have the same kind of authority as men.

So I didn't write.

I didn't write -- and I lost everyone anyway.

It took another couple years from that moment on South Willow Street, but eventually I woke up to what I'd done to myself. The world was shifting. People I'd once respected had begun to say and support ideas that were more extreme than I'd ever been used to that I felt I had to start educating myself outside their worldview just to help myself feel less insane. And that's when I started to understand -- all of these relationships, this entire community I'd relied on my entire life, existed because people like me tolerated being used. There had never been any genuine respect for the person under the gender. Leadership was pleased with you and comfortable with you as long as you said the right things and did the right things and *were* the right things. The support I thought I couldn't bear to lose was entirely dependent on my compliance and unwavering obedience, not love and respect for me as a fellow human being. I had never really known what that would look and feel like.

The process of piecing this all together was traumatic. The woman I'd been on South Willow Street was right to fear it. Every new lightbulb moment was rage-inducing and horrifying and gut-wrenching. I spiraled briefly into madness. I needed medications and therapy, and if I hadn't had a few solid friendships outside the church in the midst of this, I don't know if I would have made it at all.

Eventually, though, I learned how to choose myself.

Eventually, I started writing again.

And this time -- oh, this time.

This time I got to experience what I'd been wanting from the start.

I got to meet people who liked the same things as me. I got to meet people who laughed at the same jokes that made me laugh. I got to be loved for who I am, not for how well I perform. I found I could withstand letting go of relationships that couldn't compare. I learned how to say No, lovingly and often. I discovered that learning to love myself exactly as I am -- the thing that I'd heard pastors decry my entire life as one of the many slippery slopes to Satan -- was actually the secret ingredient that made loving others easy. I learned the thing the church has always actually feared was never really our sins -- just the loss of control.

If I had one thing to tell that woman I was on South Willow Street, I'd whisper so gently to her to choose herself instead. I'd tell her to choose the pen and the page, which are always there for you without conditions. I'd tell her to start there -- that is your new standard, I'd say. I'd want her to know it's worth the risk. I'd want her to know the pain will be as terrible as she fears, but that she is so much stronger than she knows. I'd tell her -- and I'll tell you -- if given the choice between community and writing, choose to write. Because a community that can't accept you for you isn't a community at all.

[loveemii]

I'm not sure if you're taking requests but can I please ask for a yandere L x kianna komori

Like in this scenario he kidnaps her but she doesn't fight back

Because she already knew she was being stalked and this was going to happen no matter what she did so she's just like

Kianna: what's the point it's not like you're going to let me go

Also I did some adjustments to her character I would appreciate it if you read it on my page

hello! i am taking requests thank youu :3

i hope you enjoy (^_^)

ꨄ——————————✧——————————ꨄ

After what felt like hours staring into darkness, a light turned on. In the middle of the room where Kiana was captured there was a single lightbulb in the ceiling.

“What the hell is going on..?” Kiana spoke in a somewhat sleepless tone, she tried to move her arms and feet but it wasn’t any use; they were tied to some sort of medal carrier that leaned her back slightly.

“Kiana..” There was a calm and calculated monotone voice, a dark figure standing in the corner of the room. Kiana can only seen the man’s blue jeans and the sleeves of his white long sleeve.

She can see the man is bending a bit forward as he stands in the dark, he walks into the light. He is pale with dark hair, and his persona is analytical, mysterious, and intelligent. It isn’t hard to tell he’s a genius.

“What do you want?” Kiana spoke in a semi-confident voice, “My body?” She added. The man scoffs. “No that’s not it..” he spoke as if he was thinking. He placed his thumb to his lower lip and stared at her fora while before speaking again.

“You aren’t that nervous Kiana, why is that? Can you tell me?” The man questioned, “Because I feel as if I’ve seen you before.”

“Oh? You feel as if you’ve seen me before.” The man repeated, “Well then you must have seen me following you for weeks. And when I anonymously paid for your coffee every morning gave it away that someone was stalking you.”

Kiana kept her eyes on him as he walked from one side of her to the other, “You’re L; aren’t you?” Kiana finally said, “I’m guessing you were doing some research of your own?” L questioned as he inched his face closer to hers in amusement.

“I do want to know Kiana..” L speaks in a spontaneous tone, “why aren’t you trying to free yourself? Or why aren’t you begging me to let you go?” L asked as he tilted his head slightly.

“It’s no use.” Kiana said breathlessly, “It’s not like your going to let me go anyway.”

“Why say that?” L scoffs as he mumbled to himself more than to her, “Because clearly you need something from me, though I don’t know what it is.”

“And what if I don’t need anything from you? What if I just want you?” L inched closer to Kiana’s face as his nose was practically touching her cheek.

“You mentioned me possibly wanting your body? Well..I can’t say that’s not what I want; though it isn’t all I want.” He clicked his tongue a few times, “No..” L locked eyes with Kiana as she moved her neck further to the left side where he stood next to her, her nose touching his. “You’re mine now, and I don’t plan on letting you go.”

L spoke in a low tone as he kissed her lips, to his surprise she kissed him back. The kissed fora moment leaving them both breathless after. “You like me, or you like what I’m doing. You know my intentions; I couldn’t read you before.” L admitted with a smirk.

“Because I didn’t let you.” Kiana whispered, L leaned back in for another kiss as he placed his left hand over her revealed neck. His hand cold as ice. She whimpers at his touch, “Oh? You like that?” L asked in a teasing yet submissive tone.

“What if I do?” Kiana locked eyes, “Then I guess we’ll have to go further.”

ꨄ——————————✧——————————ꨄ

@nunezs-stuff i hope you enjoyed >.<

thank you for reading!

- please excuse any spelling or grammar mistakes, thank you

[pick-me-up-im-scared]

I´ll Show You (Hiccup x Reader), Chapter 2: Wakie wakie, School-time!

Previous Chapter

Words: 2405

_________________________________________________________

Your pov:

"Yeah-, wait! How did you know my name?" Hiccup asked, rather confused. "How did you know my name" I quickly shot back, not knowing what to ask first. This is kinda hard to take in. "Toby told me". Wait! He wasn't lying? "Oh, a-and these are for you. Unfortunately they didn't have any white ones, but I hope red will do?" he raised a generous bouquet with red roses to me. I raised my shaky hands to take them. I looked at them for a while, perhaps to calm my nerves down by my... guest. "T-thank you" I said with a smile which made Hiccup smile too. "Uh, come in. You must be freezing" I said moving aside, allowing him to get inside. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as he passed me. This is insane, this is insane. I have a fictional character in my house. "The leather traps the warmth better than you think" he informed me as he looked around, focusing on the lamp."You've got fire trapped inside of that?" he asked, pointing to the lightbulb. I chuckled "No, it's just a normal lam-" I stopped myself, remembering the gigantic steps that's been done through the different time areas, especially in the light sores-department. "No, it's actually lit by this thing called 'electricity'. So when I push this button it's off..." the room's completely dark "... and when I push it again it's on" the room is lit again. Hiccup's jaw was on the ground, the fascination on his face was insane. It was comparable to the expression my face was having as my eyes traced the guy in front of me. He went up beside me and pushed the light-switch himself. On and off, on and off, on and off. The excitement on his face was so pure. I felt my cheeks heating up. After all, this is the guy I've been having a crush on since I was like 10. Why am I being so calm? Could it be the fact that my brain probably hasn't got the chance to understand what's actually happening? That I still have a feeling this is some sort of prank that would soon be revealed?

"Do you mind?" I said while raising my hand to his face, throwing personal boundaries out the window. This has to be some kind of trick. A fictional character is standing in my hall. How realistic does that sound? When my hand reached his cheek it sure was physical skin against it. I licked my thumb and tried to wipe away any potential makeup. Nothing. I tilted his head upwards, looking for any seams of a mask. Nothing. I pinched myself to check if I was dreaming. Nothing. While shaking out the pain, I understood. This is real!... but how? "Uhm, I'll look into this further tomorrow. But I can't do much about it now. Follow me, I'll show you my room". As I reached the stairs I could tell he was following due to his prosthetic clicking against the floor. I let out a huff in disbelief. How is this real? Once we reached my room I stepped inside and turned around, facing Hiccup. "This is my room" I explain as I help my arms opened wide. His eyes wandered around my room, "Uh, you can enter if you want". He chuckled awkwardly before taking a few steps inside the room, still investigating it. "F-feel free to look around. I'm just going to get you a blanket and a pillow" I said before heading down the hall.

As I was on my tippy toes, trying to reach the pillow that was set on the highest shelf in my parent's wardrobe, a scream made me jump. "Hiccup?" I yelled back in a worried tone. Even though the unexpected sound lead to me losing my balance and fall to the ground, I quickly jumped up and ran to my room. As I reached my room, out of breath from my marathon, I saw Hiccup laying on the floor while looking terrified at the TV he some how manage to turn on. I sighed in relief and went up to pick up the remote beside Hiccup to turn it off. "W-who is that and how did they get inside of your house?" he asked, still shook from his traumatizing experience. I giggled at him before continuing to explain what a TV is, and how it works. Well, as good as I could. He was still doubtful but didn't ask any more questions. I went back and picked up the pillow and blanket I'd abandoned on my parent's bedroom floor. "Okay, so this is your temporary bed. It's not much, but after tomorrow I hopefully got some answers and, if needed, then can update your sleeping spot" I explained as I dropped the mattress we use for guest on the ground next to my bed. Hiccup laid down on the mattress and let out a moan "This is so comfy! It's way better than my bed at home. Thank you, (y/n)" he smiled up at me. I blushed at him saying my name, also for that unexpected moan. Holy thoughts, (y/n), holy thoughts! I went on with my night routine, and when I came back to my room Hiccup was already asleep. Spread out on the mattress, fully clothed, blanket being kicked off. I smiled at the sight, before entering my own bed to go to sleep. Though I was struggling. My mind caught up with the weird events of today, leaving my mind wandering. I tried to guess what Toby's answer would be, but ended up making my mind even more confused. As if that's possible. I guess my exhaustion got the best of me, making me fall asleep.

_

I woke up by someone shaking my shoulders while repeatedly saying my name. "What?" I said, trying to adjust my eyes to the bright room. "I think your house is about to explode!" Hiccup yelled. I looked at him confused, just now being able to point out his features. "Don't you hear that sound? My gods! It might be too late!" the panic being clear in his voice. I reached for my phone on the nightstand beside me, and pressed the button to turn off the alarm. "It's an alarm, Hiccup. It's meant to wake you up when you've got something important to do". He relaxed. I only now noticed he's sitting in my bed... on my lap. Don't blush, (y/n)! "What's the important thing you have to do?" he asked, while his hands falls down in his lap. "School" I answered, while stretching. "Oh, that's why it's been ringing for half an hour?" I nodded "Yeah, exac- wait! HALF AN HOUR?", Hiccup nodded. I flew up, throwing Hiccup off of me in the process, leaving him right beside where I was just laying. "No, no, no, no" I continued while throwing on my clothes and packing my backpack. I turned to Hiccup, who's still laying in my bed "Uh, you're coming with me, sleeping beauty". He raised his head, "What? Why?" "Because we're talking to Toby today. I don't have time to come home and get you after class, so you're gonna have to come with me from the start. But I only have once class, so you won't have to wait that long". Hiccup threw back his head against the pillow with a groan "But I don't want to" he whined. I grabbed his wrist while dragging him down the stairs to the hall. "Don't seek any attention, okay? Just be quiet and follow me", Hiccup nodded. While looking at him I realized no one would be fooled. He's literally wearing Viking-clothes. I would need to erase anything that would possibly make people turn their heads.

I tossed him my white, oversized, winter jacket and instructed him to put it on. Hood up. I noticed him struggling with the zipper, so I gave him about five minutes until I slapped his hands away and did it myself. In an attempt at hiding his prosthetic I gave him a pair of grey sweatpants of mine. Considering his skinny legs, they fit looser on him than they did on me. I let the sweatpants-leg fall over the prosthetic. Not satisfied, I tossed around in our closet, finding my dad's old Nike's. They were from his "prime time", as he'd like to call it. He outgrew them about 20 years ago, and considering his age at the time I thought they would fit Hiccup perfectly. And I was right. While letting him put on the shoe on his regular foot, I attached the other one on the prosthetic by knotting the laces to it. Backing up, I admire my creation. This could work. I tossed him a pair of gloves. After all, I didn't want him to freeze even though I think he's been through way lower temperatures at Berk then a chilly day at Stratford. I grabbed my other, dark blue, winter jacket and put on my own shoes. I opened the door and motioned for Hiccup to get out. I locked the door before jogging down the porch to catch up with Hiccup again. There wasn't much talking throughout our walk to my school. Mainly due to me being so stressed not being able to reach school in time. But we were doing good. I need to say something. "H-how is your peg-leg doing? Do you still get some grip?" I asked while looking down at my little construction. He chuckled "It's a bit difficult to keep my balance. The end of my prosthetic keeps slipping inside the shoe". I gave him a sympathized look while grabbing onto his arm to help him balance. "I'm sorry. I promise this won't happen again, you just can't stick out from the rest. I can't risk someone recognizing you". "Stop", Hiccup held up his hand which made me stop, "Recognize me? People know me here?". My eyes opened wide. Should I tell him? "It's, uh... it's... a bit... complicated?". Hiccup looked at me, intrigued to hear my answer. As my school glimpsed not far away I quickly said "I'll tell you about it another time". I could hint his disappointed face as we entered school. Mission: Find Toby. I looked at my phone, fifteen minutes till my math class starts. Mission: failed. New mission: attend math class THEN find Toby.

I need to find a place to "hide" Hiccup while I attend class. We're usually allowed to sit anywhere around the school under the math classes. So it won't be hard for me to meet up with him after informing my teacher where I'll be sitting. I grabbed Hiccup's wrist, making sure he'll keep up with my pace. We ran down the hall to the library. I found a table that's a little hidden by all the selfs around it and told Hiccup to take a seat. "Uhm, could I take off this jacket? It's really hot in here" he innocently asked. I sighed, his "regular" clothes would draw attention if anyone just looked his way. I tried my best to come up with a solution with the short amount of time I had. You're not making it easy for me, Hiccup! I remembered the oversized t-shirt I'm wearing under my hoodie. I'll survive without it for one class. As quickly as I could I pulled off my hoodie and t-shirt. Hiccup's eyes widened as he saw my bare chest, only clothed in a bra. But I couldn't care less. What mattered to me now was to get to class in time and not kill Hiccup by a heat wave. I threw Hiccup the t-shirt and grabbed my hoodie, threading it over my head... again. It didn't cover up much of his armor, but it's better than nothing. "Let's remove these too" I said while removing his bracers. Hiccup just watched while I slide them off and tossed them in my backpack. "Okay, Hiccup. You stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes. While I'm gone, don't talk to anyone. If someone asks you why you're here, tell them you're waiting for your friend (y/n). Okay?", he nodded. As I was about to leave I stopped at a nearby bookshelf, grabbed a random book and tossed it to Hiccup. "Make it look like you're reading" I finally said before running to class.

I attended class in time, but just barley. As I entered the classroom I went up to the table Emelie sat with her current boyfriend, whatever his name was. "And where have you been? Had a rough time last night? First night parent-free". I chuckled "Yeah, it was quite... eventful" I answered, not referring to the same "eventful" she was referring to. She raised and eyebrow at me "Really? You know watching the how to train your dragon- movies and fantasize about that Hiccup-guy isn't 'eventful', right?" I stiffened at the mentioning of his name, but quickly laughed it off. As soon as the teacher was done with the rollcall I went up to him and told him where I'd be studying. I went back to my table to grab my backpack and say my good bye to Emelie, much to her confusion. Before heading out the door straight to the library. When I arrived I went up to Hiccup, who tried his best to look as interested in the book as possible. "Time's up, DiCaprio. No need to pretend anymore" I said while grabbing the book, knowing too well he wouldn't get my reference. I put the book back on its shelf before setting up my math book to start studying. Even though Hiccup's too polite to complain, I could tell he was bored. I can't blame him. Who would enjoy looking at someone doing math if they didn't have to? "Hey! You like to draw, right?" I asked with a warm tone. Hiccup looked up at me and nodded. I looked inside my backpack and picked up my sketchbook and my pencil case. I liked to do some fribble-drawings when class was too unbearable. So I would always bring a sketchbook and some pencils. I open a fresh page and zipped open the pencil case. I couldn't help but smile as he happily began to draw. Now I can finally focus on my work.

Next Chapter

[themculibrary]

Texting Masterlist

After the Tone (ao3) - bozuri (Poljupci) G, 1k

Summary: Peter sort of, kind of accidentally forgot his half-finished lab report at the Tower the other day. There began the tricky, convoluted and delicate process of trying to arrange for his report to be returned to him in a timely manner.

or: Nobody calls these days. Voicemails are (somehow) still a thing. And Tony is exasperated(ly fond) beyond belief.

All's Fair in Love and Basketball (ao3) - janonny steve/tony G, 1k

Summary: Tony is hiding in his workshop and his teammates are hassling him with text messages after a game of basketball with Steve goes wrong. Can’t a bunch of superheroes let a fellow superhero lick his injured pride in peace?

Beat That (ao3) - AuroraWest loki/stephen E, 2k

Summary: It's morning in New Asgard and the middle of the night in New York City, but that doesn't stop Loki and Stephen from having a…stimulating conversation via text, complete with photos.

Booty call (ao3) - Just_Bill steve/tony M, 3k

Summary: Tony inadvertently messages the wrong number, thinking he's chatting with someone he met on Grindr. It's Steve's luckiest break all week.

Crossing all the Lines (ao3) - Cobrafantasies sam/bucky E, 9k

Summary: Sexting, phone sex and the real thing. Sam and Bucky cross all the lines.

eat or be eaten (ao3) - TheSistersBread G, 1k

Summary: Accidentally messaging MJ when Tony Stark turns up in his apartment is the best mistake of Peter’s life.

OR

Peter trolls Tony Stark with his two enablers- I mean friends. Tony just doesn’t know what he did to deserve this.

Grilled (ao3) - cincoflex pepper/tony T, 975

Summary: Texts between two people on two different levels.

If You Need Me (ao3) - poetically_ordinary steve/tony, wanda/vision G, 1k

Summary: Steve doesn’t know what he was expecting fully when he sent Tony the letter and the phone, but it's safe to say that this wasn't it.

Lightbulb (ao3) - smol_bird peter/wade, background steve/tony T, 8k

Summary: wHY THE HELL ARE YOU TEXTING STRANGERS AT 2 AM WITH LIGHTBULB JOKES?!

I’ll do you one better: why the hell are you responding to strangers who text you at 2 am with lightbulb jokes?

---

The one in which Peter Parker was brought up not to talk to strangers but does it anyway; and hey, it's not like it goes too badly.

No Place I Can Be (ao3) - tictactoesws steve/tony T, 2k

Summary: When Steve leaves at the end of the movie, Tony slips him a phone with his number programmed into it. A story of resolving issues through excessive texting and (eventually) Halloween costumes.

Peter Parker Is Night Monkey (NOT CLICKBAIT!!) (ao3) - vague_witchy_powers mj/peter, ned/betty G, 12k

Summary: The events of Spider-Man: Far From Home, as told through the text messages of Peter Parker and his friends.

While Peter has to save the world, navigate grief and stress and anxiety, and try to tell MJ how he feels... his classmates set out to prove that he is Spider-Man.

Mr. Harrington and Mr. Dell just want to get everybody home alive.

So Parker's a Stripper... (ao3) - VaguelyAnnoyedWriter T, 2k

Summary: The Academic Decathlon tries to figure out Peter’s secret. They come to the wrong assumption...

Telephone (Long Distance Love Affair) (ao3) - kiss_me_cassie clint/natasha T, 2k

Summary: I fucking love you! I would reciprocate the feeling if i knew who this was.

And the rest, as they say, was history...

Texting Gone Wild (ao3) - Sparcina loki/tony, steve/bucky E, 1k

Summary: Tony clicked on ‘Sent Messages’. There, just below that text to ‘Cap’, was…

1h55. Tony: God, Steve, I want Loki so much. Preferably on top, fucking me brainless. I don’t even mind if it hurts.

He had sent that goddamn message, he really had. But not to Steve. He shook his head, trying to shuffle the letters in some other order, but L, O, K, I didn’t form that many meaningful anagrams. Ikol? Okil? Loik?

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” The irony was not lost on him. He was going to die tonight, thrown through another fucking window, because he was texting the wrong guy.

In which Tony texts his (lethal, godly) crush instead of his friend, and it's both a mistake and the best idea he's had in a very, very long time.

The Baffling Case of Theo G (ao3) - lcy2 N/R, 1k

Summary: spiderman: THERE ARE MULTIPLE QUICKSILVERS????????

scarletwitch: this is far more entertaining than expected

—

short chat fic that’s exactly as self-indulgent as my other works.

think of me once in a while (ao3) - etoileslarmoyantes sam/bucky N/R, 1k

Summary: He sits on his couch and takes his phone out of his pocket. "11 new texts from Sam" is what the screen indicates. He takes a deep breath in and opens his message's app. -- or : after Steve died, Bucky secluded himself and Sam tries to be here for him nevertheless.

Where Your Heart Lies (ao3) - Shuufleur tony/bucky T, 2k

Summary: After the Accords, everything was a mess. Then Tony received a lot of files. Then he and Barnes were texting. Then things started to get better.

who needs sleep when you have family? (ao3) - starkskypines G, 3k

Summary: Mr. Stark had said that Peter wouldn’t be coming into Stark Industries on his spring break. He was a kid, he needed to live a little, or something like that. Peter didn’t know how to explain that going to Stark Industries was fun, so he agreed to not come in this week. So there shouldn’t be five missed text messages on his phone from Mr. Stark.

Peter opens those first as he wanders through the apartment toward the kitchen.

What do you think the life expectancy for cats would be on a world with a different gravity level? Like longer or shorter? We think too much gravity would be detrimental right? The daily wear and tear, but what if it’s not? What if it affects cats differently? Cats are weird little freaks. You can’t trust them. They’ll stab you in the back. But they’re also great cuddlers when they choose. Humph. Maybe I should start calling Natasha a cat.

Had Mr. Stark actually typed out the word “humph?” And did he just imply that the Black Widow is a cuddler?

or: Tony texts Peter while sleep-deprived. hilarity ensues.

works of modern art (ao3) - notcaycepollard sam/bucky E, 1k

Summary: About a minute after sending the text (you like what you see, sweetheart?) his phone vibrates.

why the fuck did you text me a picture of your dick, Barnes

Oh no.

Oh no.

Oh fucking Christ, no.

holy shit i am so sorry, he sends hurriedly, wrong number i swear to god, we don’t have to talk about it or mention it ever again. for the love of god please don’t tell Steve.

no, man, we’re cool, Sam replies, and Bucky feels himself breathe, relax back a little against his pillows.

thanks, he types in. Thinks about what else to add, and while he’s hesitating, another text comes through from Sam.

you know, not that I’m criticizing or anything, but you can do better than that pic, Barnes.

Wrong But Right (ao3) - merelypassingtime clint/bucky T, 1k

Summary: In which Bucky receives a text from a wrong number and doesn’t mind at all.

[randomscropio]

Finding Out and Coming Out

A pre-cannon Inanimate Insanity fic I made from a writing prompt generator. Warnings: Humanized Object Shows (II), yelling, doctors, mild swear words (I think they're mild at least), anxiety (mentioned), gender dysmorphia (I don't think I wrote it very well, I'm sorry!), enbyphobia (in the sense that the character with it thinks that there are only two genders (male and female) and that other genders are unessassary and are just people who want to be labeled), she/her Paintbrush (only until they realize they're nonbinary, then they use they/them pronouns)

"What the hell is the condition of my child?" Paintbrush's father yelled, Paintbrush flinched and pulled the hood of her hoodie over her head.

"Look, sir. There is nothing wrong with your child, other than the fact that she may have anxiety." The doctor said in a voice that was calm but firm.

"This was a waste of time." Paintbrush's father muttered to himself.

"Whatever! I don't need a goddamn doctor!" He yelled.

Yeah, it's not like they spend years earning their degrees and know more about the human body than you do. Paintbrush thought sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"Come on, Paintbrush." Paintbrush's father grabbed her wrist.

___

She looked in the mirror. "God, my body looks wrong. What's wrong with me?" She asked herself. She had been asking herself this for a while. She didn't feel like a girl or a guy. Was there a secret third option that she didn't know about?

"This is your fault, Paintbrush." She told herself. She blew a piece of blond hair out of her face, the purple that she died her tips was fading out.

Maybe she should die it again. That wasn't the point. She went into her room and pulled out her phone. "Why don't I feel like a girl or a guy?" She said slowly, typing the words into Google. As usual, there were many results. She looked at one of the terms ", "nonbinary, and copied and pasted it into the serch bar.

She clicked a drop-down on one of the "people also ask" things that read "What is the literal meaning of nonbinary?" genders that don't fit into two categories, male or female." She muttered. Her eyes widened.

Am I nonbinary? She asked herself. I don't feel like a girl or a guy, so I am nonbinary, right?

___

"Hey, Lightbulb?" "What's up?" Lightbulb asked. "I did some research last night and, well..."

"What is it?"

"So, you know how you were born a guy but feel like a girl? Not that you aren't a girl, you are it's just!-"

"Painty, I understand what you're saying. Continue on!"

"Well, I don't feel like a girl or a guy, and my body just looks... wrong. Again, I don't feel like a guy or a girl! It's just, ugh! It's so confusing!" She made a lot of big motions while speaking, which happened whenever she felt strong emotions.

"Ooooh! It's c isnt it!?" Lightbulb asked.

"...what?" She asked. Her voice was soft. She hated how her volume immediately lowered whenever she asked a question.

"It's another way to say nonbinary. Which, I'm pretty sure, is what you are!"

Paintbrush nodded. "Okay, thanks. I wasn't sure if I am or not..."

"No problem, Painty!" Lightbuld patted Paintbrush on the back. "Are you still comfortable with she/her or..?"

"Honesty? I don't know why but, whenever she/her is used on me it doesn't feel right, but it's the same thing with he/him, and I don't know if there are any other pronouns!"

"There are tons more! But how about they/them?"

"That sounds a lot better." Paintbrush nodded

"They/them it is then! Make sure to tell your parents."

"Thanks."

___

Paintbrush sighed.

"Come on, you can do this." They whispered to themself. "Mom? Dad?"

"Yeah?" The two parents said at the same time.

"Can we... talk?"

"Sure, Paintbrush." Their mom responded, for both herself and Paintbrush's dad.

"Okay, meet me upstairs, please." A few moments after Paintbrush sat down on the couch, their parents came in. "Okay, so I've been questioning what my gender is for a while and finally figured it out." They took a deep breath. "I'm nonbinary."

"...what the hell does that mean?"

Paintbrush's mom looked at their father, mouth agape. "Pallet!" She said.

"It means that I'm not a girl or a boy."

"Those are the only two genders, though!"

"No, they aren't! There are many more!"

"Ugh, whatever. They're all unnecessary."

"Well, please use they/them on me..."

"No." Their dad said simply. "Paintbrush, you are either a girl or a boy."

Paintbrush wanted to cry. "Forget this, forget I said anything." They said, walking down the stairs and to their room. They curled their knees up to their chest.

"Paintbrush? Are you okay in there?"

"Leave me alone, please." They said, just barely loud enough to hear through the door.

"Okay."

"What's going on with her?" One of Paintbrush's two younger brothers, Acrylic, asked.

"Them." Their mom corrected gently. "Your father said that they shouldn't be referred to as they/them, he thinks it's unnecessary."

"Oh. Are they going to be okay?"

"Hopefully."

"Yeah." Painrbrush muttered to themself, "hopefully"

[ehh-is-the-name]

Finally all caught up in inanimate insanity! I gotta say, when I first watched s3 I didn’t get any of the references to the old seasons since it had been years since I watched them last, but watching them all in order (and in one siting...) made it all click. Especially with the new ep!! 

[after this point it just goes into s2 and s3 theory insanity]

Mephone4 with the anxiety from A.D.A.M being made by cobs and such: 

OR the part where he says that he gets to lengthen his vacation

(I’m showing my bias aren’t I?)

Since I watched it all in succession, I’ve been connecting s3 to s2 a lot more than I did upon watching the s3 eps the first time around. And because of that, I’ve been making theories!! (Or well, at least strings of thought.) I was first thinking that Mephone4 erased his memories again and started another season, because (I think) he was talking to Mepad about that, but with the newer s3 eps yeah that was a dud. (Plus there was this bit, but a fan can theorize, right?)

 I also think there was a part about him saying he needed a vacation in s2, but I can’t find the part so... Source: Dude, trust me. Which would play into him wanting to extending III for at least just a bit longer. (Or even forever since he said that in s3 ep8:

Which I think is interesting, since for a good chunk of s2, it seemed like he just wanted the show to be over.) I think because II s2 got really heavy for him, he just started another one on some middle of nowhere island away from his issues. He just wants to go back to a time before it was beyond the game... same dude. ANYWAY, I’m getting ahead of myself. With s3 already getting some foreshadowing for being over fast (s3 ep10), I think we’ll get more insight into him as the season goes on. I’m praying we do tbh. And a bit away from Mephone, what the hell happened to Mepad? I think we’re a good distance into s3 to at least figure out if Mepad is still in rest mode with Taco using their(?) teleporting power. I hope this’ll get addressed at some point. 

Moving along from these Meeple products, GOD I WANNA KNOW HOW LIGHTBULB IS DOING!! We literally left her alone without her rag-tag team! That was, like, a huge deal!!! In s2 ep14, we literally got a ref to her “I drink when I’m depressed” line and other telling lines:

(for context, Test tube and Fan walk through the portal for OJ then this scene:)

-

I also just think that this (^) scene is a little ironic since we don’t see her again, but more importantly, you see what I mean???

Lightbulb is still in s2, and idk if that means she has/had access to the hotel during the two years between s2 and s3 or not, but I’m assuming she didn’t because... idk I just am. But with LB in s2 and literally all her friends either in OJ’s hotel (Fan), Indefinite Island (Test Tube), and III (Paintbrush), how’s she fairing alone? From these pics, it’s clear that it would be really getting to her...

I remember the first time I started watching s3 eps back in like, what 2021? I was thinking that they weren’t as deep as s2, but after getting all the context. DAMN! I’d say it’s just as deep but maybe not so depressing. 

Also, I whole heartily get why that one post said that these two just started making out as soon as the got to the island...

S3 made them gayer than they were before and I need to know how Baseball and Suitcase would react. 

Over and out.