#I have to get an A in ao3 dot com

[pouroverpaloma]

Editing this chapter AGAin because I’m so worried my free and anonymous video game erotica is hamfisted in places

[lady-harrowhark]

if they want me off this website they’re gonna have to kill me first

[cheswirls]

i get the reason why but it does suck that you can't get asks from non-registered users anymore. tumblr used to be 100% accessible w/o an acct which made it convenient to use. now i feel bad that essentially the only way to contact me (besides comm email) is to make a tumblr

i feel more and more like artists that only allow you to contact them for work thru twt dm. not a good feeling !

[eightpackdiaz]

90% of the pop culture references that i understand i literally only know them from fanfiction. i probably havent even consumed the media where they came from and YET

[andhumanslovedstories]

for people who also have a mild impulse shopping problem, I've found it useful to identify the itch I want to scratch: is it spending money or is it getting things? If it's spending money, I trick my brain by paying off something I owe. Like a few years back when I was feeling dangerously shoppy, I would drop a big chunk of change as a student loan payment. When I was buying an entire new mouth of teeth, I'd transfer money from my checking to my secret ultra hard to access tooth account.

If paying myself or paying a debt doesn't work, I find a charity or gofundme that's worth supporting. (You gotta be careful with that last one, it's really easy to be spend way more than you should, budget-wise, because it makes spending money feel good morally, which can be an incentive to keep going.) I also like to keep cash on hand so if I see someone who needs money, I can give it to them. It's a financial decision made impulsively for an opportunity I won't get again (giving $20 to this exact person at this moment of need). All this soothes the spending beast inside of me, and I don't deal with the Money Shame that comes with $100 of amazon orders.

If I want to acquire things, I download a lot of research articles I know I probably won't read, or I get an enormous stack of books from the library that would be impossible to finish before I have to return them, or I'll download a bunch of albums I tell myself I'll get to someday. Sometimes it's enough to just make a list of things of things I want to do or own. A list of one hundred movies I've curated from best of lists that in this moment I feel motivated to watch. Add tv shows to my watch list on netflix. Add fics to my "to read" list on ao3. Anything that feels like I'm adding to a hoard.

If I still want to shop, well, I'm probably gonna spend more money than I mean to, but I at least make sure I'm deliberate about my spending. If I'm gonna blow my cash on something, it should at least be worth it. That means either very cool or very useful. And honestly, the things you tell yourself are useful while in the shopping haze are never that useful, so you might as well go for very cool.

This is all to say I fell into a trance last night and this morning woke to receipts and tracking info from etsy dot com. And I am like "yikes." But I did get something that is so so so stupid that I can't wait to show it to you all when it arrives.

[parfaitblogs]

peace ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you self isolate, and spencer knows better than to let it get too bad. 

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: established relationship. suicide ideation? ("i want it to end"). depression. lots of stuff that coincides with that. brief mention of reader not eating/having no food. please be aware of your triggers. i think i mention reader as a girl somewhere? word count: 1.9k a/n: i finished this then relistened to peace (taylor swift) which was the og inspo for this, and added a section in the middle so if it feels weird its because i failed at integrating it! this was supposed to be out two days ago. all my relationship insecurities in a fic. lol how embarrassing here's my heart tumblr dot com!! anyways enjoy ily all

also posted here on my ao3 !

Three consistent raps against your front door was the only sound that got you up that day, pyjamas that you had not shed from your body in a week hanging off a frame that could probably be described as lifeless — with the nearly dead-looking face to match.

In fact, the only thing to prove you were still a living human being aside from your movement, was the pink hue around your eyes, on your nose, and above your lips, indicating how much you had cried recently. 

Usually, it isn't this bad. You just need a day or two of rotting in your apartment and doing nothing but scrolling on your phone until it died, staring at the wall, or — on the better days — watching reruns of a 90s sitcom that you don't really watch. 

But it was exceptionally bad this time around, for some odd reason, and not one part of you actually wanted to get up and out of bed for long enough to be productive about your day. Your phone had died again, after charging it two days ago, which meant you were on day six of no communication with anybody. Which might partly be why it was so bad now. 

You had a blanket wrapped around your body, dragging against the floor as you wiped your eyes and let out a small sigh, unlocking your front door and opening it, completely unsurprised by the person standing on the other side. 

He was the only one who ever paid enough attention to your disappearing act when you were like this. 

His eyes softened at the sight of you — which is kind of amusing, considering you thought you looked like death reincarnate currently. 

Neither of you said anything as you stepped aside to allow him in, the door clicking shut behind him as he placed down the leather bag he had slung over his body, turning back to you as he finally allowed the frown to appear — one you knew he would've had the entire way here.

"Have you eaten today?" was the first thing to break the silence — the question coming out so gentle you were sure you'd break down again at some point in the next few seconds. 

You wordlessly shook your head, and he nodded his own, saying nothing else as he walked into your kitchen, knowing you'd trail behind him no matter what. 

He opened your fridge first, before closing it when he was greeted with the alarming sight of nothing. Doing the same with your pantry, at which he turned around to look at you.

"Angel, you have no food," he said. And while it held no malice in the tone of his voice, you could tell he was slightly annoyed at the fact. Your heart ached. 

"I know. I'm sorry," you mumbled, and his eyebrows creased inwards. 

He didn't mention your apology — arguing with you about your vast use of 'sorry's' is futile. "Do you want a pizza?" he asked instead, and even though you, mentally, did not, you knew he wasn't actually asking. So you only nodded your head, and found a place at your countertop, the blanket falling from your body and pooling to the ground in a heap.

He ordered a pizza, and then he was nudging your knees apart, standing between them while you stayed sat on a stool, his chin atop your head, that was buried into his chest. 

And he said nothing, as he held you like that until the pizza arrived. And then he ensured you had at least eaten two slices, the remainders going in your fridge for the next meal you needed to eat. 

He was so kind to you, with his every movement, as he dragged you into the bathroom to help you shower. 

It was heartbreaking, the love you could see in his eyes. The tenderness in every stroke of his fingers against your scalp as he washed your hair, the softness in his touch as he did the same to your body. He gently dried you, told you to stay there, disappeared, and returned with one of his many t-shirts left in your apartment drawers. 

That was when you cracked. When he pulled the shirt over your head, that smelled so painfully Spencer and you. The mix of his clean scent and your own laundry detergent that you were so accustomed to, triggering something in you.

So, you crumpled to the floor of your bathroom, and he followed soon after, his arms wrapped around your body once more, firm enough to keep you still as you sobbed into his chest. 

You weren't sure how long you stayed like that for. Long enough for your head to hurt, and your eyes to sting, and hideous snot bubbles to stain his cardigan. 

When your sobs subsided, he spoke. 

"You wanna talk about it?" he said, quietly, and you shook your head. 

"Don't know what to talk about," you mumbled, and he knew that all too well.

He nodded his own head. "Did something happen?"

"Lots of little things."

"Yeah? You wanna tell me about them?"

You hesitated, because you didn't know where to begin. But then you nodded your head wordlessly, swallowing the lump — and, by extension, the sob — in your throat. "I fell down on the stairs at the train station in front of everybody. And then I missed my stop, and I was late to work. And I had a huge project due, but I didn't finish it, and I forgot I hadn't finished it, and I was anxious about it all day. And I think my friends are just pretending to be my friends, because I keep trying to make plans with one of them, and she keeps blowing me off for her boyfriend. And I'm just really sick of being sad all the time, Spencer. I want it to end."

With the onslaught of your bad vignettes throughout the past month coming back up, you broke down, again. Another sob escaping your lips as you pushed your fists down into the tops of his thighs.

If it hurt, he didn't say anything; simply continued to hold you against his chest, on the floor of your bathroom, that, if it were any other time, he would be having a field day rambling about the germs you both were currently sitting on. 

He also didn't say anything for a while as you sobbed, instead his fingers entangled gently in your hair, and he peppered kisses along the top of your head. 

"I don't want it to end for you," he finally said. His hands slid down from your scalp to your face, holding your cheeks with such tender, pulling you back so he could look at you. 

You sniffled. "I'm so exhausted."

"I know, my love. I know," he sighed, thumbs caressing over your cheekbones. "Ending it won't fix that. You know, logically, however you die is the state you'll be in, in the afterlife. So if you die while you're exhausted..."

"You don't believe in the afterlife," you answer, but his words still cracked through your tearful expression, and your lips twitched with a small smile. 

He returned the small smile, nodding his head. "That's true. But I also don't know anything about post-death. I could be wrong."

"How terrible," you mutter, and he laughed, quietly. 

"I know," he mused, falling silent for a few moments longer, with only both of your quiet breathing to break the silence. 

His fingers ran through your hair once more, and you sniffled audibly, your brain wandering away from the small content you had felt in that exchange, and back to one of the many reasons why you had isolated in the first place. 

"Why are you still with me?" you said, slicing through the silence all at once. 

You watched the smile fall, and his eyebrows furrowed, and his lips part as he went — and hesitated — to say something. "What do you mean?"

"I'm difficult." Your voice is impossibly small, and it breaks a crack in his heart as his eyes soften. 

"No. You're not," he reassured. 

"Yes I am," you breathed out — and then the tears came back. "I get sad and then I stop responding and stop seeing you, and you don't get any warning even though I know you should, and I feel so awful every time but then that makes me feel worse. And I'm sad all the fucking time, Spencer. I mean, I get upset when you aren't at home and you have to deal with all those messages and calls even though you hate texting, but then you get home and I'm isolating myself because I'm sad, on top of all the other things that make me sad, and you deserve better. You deserve someone who can give you their all and—and—"

"Hey," he cut you off, as did the sob that was ripped from your throat. "No. That's not what we're going to do. Do not sit there and tell me what I do and don't deserve." 

"But you do deserve better."

"No," he sighed, resting his forehead on your own, warm breath fanning across your face that usually made you scrunch your face up and pull away, now comforting you. "Do you love me?"

"What? Yes, of course I do. Why would you even—"

"—That is the only requirement I have for you," he said, oh so simply. When you didn't reply, he pressed, "Okay?"

"Okay," you murmured, and he relaxes a little.

More silence fell between you, your tears subsiding and your shaking body relaxing a little more. 

Then, "Did you hurt yourself when you fell down?"

You nodded your head, reluctantly pulling back from him so you could show him. You pointed to a yellowing bruise just below your knee, and the grazes on the bottom halves of your palms. 

"Oh, wow. Look at these," Spencer said, running a thumb gently over the grazes on your hands. "You're braver than me. These would've taken me out."

You laughed, and you saw his face light up at the progress he was making with you, and your mood. 

He then pulled you back into his chest. More silence, but less anxiety, and you sat comfortably in his arms for a few moments longer. 

"Did I worry you?" you say. "Not responding?"

You were so close to him you could hear his breath hitch, and you prepared yourself for a lie about how he wasn't worried at all. Except; "Honestly? Yes."

"Oh."

He exhaled, shakily, and you were kind of glad he couldn't see your sadder expression, half-buried into his chest. 

"You've never gone that long without checking in," he then explained. "The first two days I got what was going on. By the fourth I figured you still needed space. Today I just had a gut feeling."

"Just a gut feeling?" you echoed, and you felt his head nod against your own. 

"Thought you might need someone."

You sighed. "I hate that you're a genius."

"No you don't."

"No, I don't."

His fingers entangled in your hair again. "I also didn't figure you needed me here because I'm a genius."

"No? Then how?" you asked.

"It's simple," he murmured, tugging your head back oh so gently so he could look at you again — puffy eyed, and tear-stained cheeks and all. "I just know."

"That's the most illogical sentence I've ever heard leave your mouth."

He laughed, and you smiled again.

"Come on," he then said, untangling your limbs and pulling the both of you up to your feet, hands ghosting your waist to hold you steady. "I am willing to sit through whatever awful movie you want me to watch."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

The head of the GDA sees an opportunity but things don't go as expected. [Invincible Variants x reader]

TW: Sinister is a walking sexual harassment lawsuit. Implied abuse.

I ain't calling him Sinsiter in yns head because what kind of name is that. Header art's mine, will be posted in full later.

[Part one]  [3] [Ao3] [5] [Full Piece Here - It's My work]

4 * Bomb Dot Com [5.3k]

"I'm so fuckin horny circling in for the kill,

I'm a duffel bomb wired up propane off the grill,

My throat is roadkill burger raw,

In the season of the Benadryl."

Meat Carcass Evaluation - Go Hang Music

        They collided in a hot heap. The Viltrumite's heels cracking Emperor's back. Lensless's fist twisting his jaw hard to the left. Mohawk tackling his midsection. Phantom's arms close around the space where you'd just been. 

        The fight goes out about a minute before all of them catch up like Phantom had. You're gone.

        Mohawk grabbed Shoulder Pads by the front of his suit, "What'd you do?"

        "Nothing! It was that old man." Shoulder Pad replies, blood drooling out of the corner of his lips. He shoves Mohawk, surveying their surroundings, all the zombies had dropped dead in piles of flesh. Coating the drug store ruins in blood, making a new graveyard. Puppet strings cut.

        "What old man?" 

        Phantom rises above the city. Their bickering falling away with the thinning atmosphere. Pulling up his digital map of the world, scanning for the dot that was you. It took a moment before you reappeared in the heart of the pixelated Pentagon. Your vitals were slowing. He had noticed unusual shifts after you'd drank the bottle of that substance. But he had to deal with the threats you'd thrown at him first. He was going to help you- why did you have to leave?

        With you gone, the Viltrumite uniformed version of himself floated to the sky. Hovering close, watching Phantom from behind his back. 

        Your location changes again to the middle of the Southern Atlantic. He waits, seeing if you'll be shipped anywhere else, but your dot doesn't move.

        He shot off right as the remaining screens in Times Square light up with Cecil's face. The Viltrumite follows silently at his heels. 

        The message blares through the city. To haunt the survivors as they pick their guts off the ground and try to keep their friends and family from dying in the rubble. "Invincible, the people of Earth surrender..."

        ***

        The muzzle won't budge. You press the back of your head to the pole to try and loosen the straps. They're reinforced, unwavering even as you slam your head back in frustration. The power-cuffs are just as unrelenting. Slamming them into the concrete block holding up the light pole did nothing but send vibrations up your arms. 

        Your head swims. Nose burning from the Narcan and body shaking with a cold sweat. Two bottles of codeine in your pocket but no way to drink it, no one to use your powers on. 

        You scramble to get your legs under your ass and stand. Looking up, you find the pole reaches up ten feet. Ending with a simple cage that housed a dead bulb. If you could shimmy up somehow, you could get your arms in front of you. Not like you hadn't escaped handcuffs before. However, these things trapped your entire hand and were way sturdier.

        You try. Wrapping your legs around the pole, holding it between your shoulder blades. Three inches is all you get off the ground before your boots slip and you fall. You try again. Six inches. The power-cuffs lose their friction on the pole. Again. Two inches. You're weak. Again. You don't even get your legs properly wrapped around the pole.

        You slump. Going back to banging the cuffs and trying to push the stopper out of your mouth with your tongue. 

        Minutes pass. The sun dips lower and lower on the horizon, overlooking the sea. Reds and yellows painted on rippling deep blue. So pretty, you're absolutely sure you're going to die. People don't get good things like sea breezes and private islands without dying right after. Just the way of the world. 

        Silver-lined clouds burst apart. Waning light at his back, framing him in red-gold. He comes down so quick the abandoned pavement cracks underfoot, a burst of wind stinging your eyes.

        "I was wondering where you ran off to." He prowls closer. In the light you can make out his shape, not his uniform colors so you couldn't scale exactly how fucked you were.

        His cape billowed in the breeze. Narrowed it down to two options. Sexual harassment guy or the vague head smasher. 

        Only inches in front of you, he lowered to his haunches. "Is this how your little GDA friends treat you here? Instead of a leader you're just some piece of meat to dangle in front of my nose. I mean, you were before, but this-" he gestures to your slumped form, "this is gratuitous."

        You couldn't tell if he was disgusted or intrigued by your predicament and you didn't want to know. You looked anywhere but at him, didn't move, didn't breathe in the humid mask- like he was a dinosaur in a movie. The only reason you'd lived so long under Machine Head's thumb was by shutting the fuck up (no other option at the moment) and staying still, unnoticeable, until you didn't have to be.

        His hand reaches forward, bloody fingers under your chin and forcing your head up.

         "Look at me." You only do out of fear of him snapping your neck. 

        Eyes immediately fall to his lips. The right side of them in particular. The gash deepset into his muscles, pale pink and pulling at the skin around it. Up close you could really see the damage. His mouth couldn't fully close. Sections of top and bottom lip gone entirely, exposing too-long canines and deeply rooted gums that rolled up into scar tissue down his chin and up his cheek. 

        Ah, the sexual harassment lawsuit. Somehow you felt you'd lost the really shitty lottery not getting the other guy.

        "You did that." He says, following your gaze, "Dropped all the quantum bombs your planet had right on my head and all I came out with was this kitty scratch." His tongue darts out, running over the exposed teeth and gums. "I think it's nice to have a momento of the fight you had in you before I fucked it right out." A thumb comes up from under your chin, tracing down the mask, mirroring his scar. "I killed every useless little human in your little club." His voice is deceptively sweet, sickeningly sweet. "And I was going to kill you too but you begged so pretty. Said you'd do anything." You don't see but his cock stirs at the memory. "So much for the head of global defense." His laugh is mocking. You want to scream at him, tell him you know he's lying. You'd never.

        He goes on, "I paraded you around that planet. I showed the world who you really were and you fucking loved it." 

        You don't care. You don't give a fuck if you were his sugar baby in another world. Your head reels back and cracks into his. Your own skin splits open, a single tear of blood dribbling down your forehead. 

        He is unfazed. Somehow more manic than before. "It's good you're angry. I was almost sad when you gave up and killed yourself in front of all those people. I was just about to cum too." He sighs, rolling back on his heels, "You knew I'd kill the whole audience if you pulled a stunt like that but you did it anyway. Did you think you were doing them a favor making me kill them? Does it make you feel heroic?" He's in your face now. Breath rolling over the muzzle. Not talking to you, but some sad dead thing.

        "I didn't come back for you, you know." He whispers like you're surrounded by people when you're clearly alone. You already knew he was fucking crazy but him leaning into your ear made your skin crawl, a tremor in your body. "I came for something else, but you? I was hoping you'd be alive so we could do things right this time." Cold fish lips press to the shell of your ear. He sways back, speaking normally, "So, who's head hauncho here? Cuz clearly, it's not you." He makes no move to release the muzzle. He has no idea what you can really do. Wasn't there when you killed Seventeen. He knows you can pull out truths at best. To him, you're a harmless bug. 

        "I can't kill the guy who did this to you if you don't speak up." He laughs at his own joke, at the hatred in your eyes. "Wait, don't tell me. It's Cecil, right? He's normally better at making plans than whatever this is, gift wrapping you just to drop a nuke on the both of us, so obvious."

        At that you stiffen, more than you already had. Nukes?

        His fingers crawl up your muzzled cheeks, squeezing them through the material. "Aww, poor thing. Did they lie to you? Say you'd be okey dokey?" 

        Cecil had. Offered a job even. You shake your head anyway. Of course, you hadn't fully believed him but still, the betrayal, obvious and clear as it was, stung. 

        His thumb rubs circles into the mask. Smile mocking as he acted out soothing. "Shhh, don't cry. It'll be alright. You know more than anybody bombs don't do shit to me." You pointedly look at his lip. "Please- I let that one hit me head on just to see how it'd feel." Under the black lenses his eyes crinkle with delight, "Like a kiss."

        You doubted that.

        "So, we've got a few minutes 'fore at least a half dozen of the other me's show up." His fingers moved from the front of the muzzle to the clasps. "How 'bout we pass the time," under his most feather-light touch the metal started to bend, "a little," you lean forward, faking eagerness, "bit," he grins at your compliance, "faster?"

         The first buckle is about to break when the sound barrier does. You feel the presence behind you. Only see the red glove come over your shoulder, tightly cinched over a yellow glove. 

        "Don't touch my wife." Comes the assured voice. 

        Scars (because hey, the guy needs a name that isn't Mark and it's as good as any) snarls. Trying to pull back, both of their arms shaking, pushing back and forth staying at an uneasy equilibrium. "Don't you think we should have a pissing contest where we don't accidentally kill her?" Scars says.

        "I'd prefer not to do anything unnecessary," the other Mark says, "but the way you were talking to my wife leaves me little choice."

        "Your wife?" Scars laughs. "You never met the bitch and now yer engaged?"

        "Do not call my wife that." A growl breaks through his even innonation at the end. 

        Scars leered at the challenge. "Or what? You'll put me in time out?" He throws out his other arm, caught by the red. You're caged in by two powerful bodies, shaking with force, barely contained restraint. "Really shows how much you love 'er if you're gonna fight me right here. Isn't the bitch dead in your universe too? Haven't you learned your l-"

        The red gloves fall away. Scars falls toward you, expecting the sudden loss of resistance. But he doesn't fall on you. A fist under his jaw launching him into the air made sure of that.

        Scars bounces on and off the ground, spinning. Whereas the newcomer hovers where Scars had just been. He turns to you, gelled hair shining in the remaining slips of daylight. "Are you okay? He didn't harm you, did he?"

        "Nowhere close to how I'm about to beat the shit outta you!" He's back. A bumblebee blur that catches his doppelganger by the midsection and sends them careening off into dilapidated buildings. 

        All you can do is watch. Hope they don't come crash landing onto you.

        They almost do. Spinning through the air, trading blows, tangled together like a human bowling ball coming straight for the pin that was the light pole. You braced for an impact that never came. At the last few feet, your savior had dug his heels into the ground, stopping the both of them two feet shy from crushing you. 

        Scars laughs, ready to lunge again but pauses when his counterpart dips down to your side.

        Mentally, the Mark bearing his father's colors beats the shit out of himself. He noticed too late. He could've lost you again. He wants to hold you. Love you. Tell you it's going to be okay, but he can't. 

        Instead, his arm comes out to the side, slicing through the air like a blade. "Apologies."

        You wait for your head to roll off your shoulders but instead the pole comes down. Cut a razor's difference above your head. Thrown to the side like it weighed nothing.

        His hands, thick and wide and gloved, come to your sides, help stand you up. "How did you get here?" He asks like there's not a guy right behind him he just tried to murder. "Who did this to you?" 

        You can't answer. Eyes sliding to the O on his chest. Remembering what you saw on TV months after the breakup. You wonder if they're on the same side. If this... Omni-Mark or whatever the fuck is just as evil as his daddy.

        "Of course." He reaches for the straps.

        You move. Not voluntarily, but because someone came barreling into you. Slow for a Viltrumite, dizzying for a human. White sleeved arms coil around your person, squeezing.

        "God." He says, head buried into your shoulder. "God, oh God." You're crushed against a wall of absolute muscle. "I thought I'd be too late."

        Your feet are off the ground. Kicking at his exposed heels. You reel your head back much as the hold would allow and deliver an awkward headbutt to the top of a warped bald head.

        The grip loosened, he raises his head. Skin discolored, stretched thin in some places, piled on thick in others. Black lenses heat-fused into his skin. He's wrong, like the others, disfigured, but unequivocally, Mark Grayson.

        He sets you down gently. "Lemme get that thing off of-"

        A hand shoots over your shoulder. Grabbing him hard by the throat with a blue-clad hand. Baldie is sent off, thrown to the sky. "Well, what do we have here?"

        ***

        "How many can you get those on in the next," Cecil checked his watch, "three minutes, Sinclair?" 

        The man's head whipped so fast Cecil was surprised it didn't crack. "Three minutes? You want all of them with these things? Are you daft?" Cecil watched him over the railing, the pimply, weaselly little man he'd recruited into the GDA ranks almost five years ago. At first working with him was impossible. Delusions of grandeur so thick he cut open fourteen people's heads with a garden saw before being caught by Invincible.

        "Not all of them, just enough." Cecil says, eyeing the tech spread across the operating tables. "We need as much man power as we can get if we're going to pull this off."

        "I'm not sure if you've noticed Cecil, but half my lab was just on fire. I have bigger problems to deal with than putting speakers on my re-animen." Sinclair spat but still, he worked away. Wiring the speaker to the corpse's mechanical chest.

        Cecil's eye twitched. "Just tell me how many re-animen we have left."

         "One, two, three, four, five," his finger bobbed and bobbed and bobbed, counting over twenty before he said, "not nearly enough. I need more time."

        "Two n' a half minutes before we need them at the teleporter."

        ***

        You were spun around to see another, unsurprisingly, version of your ex-boyfriend. This one had the sense to hide his hair under a skin tight blue swimcap- or whatever it was- he looked like a bowling ball. An evil bowling ball.

        "Man, I haven't seen you since I killed you!" He laughs, contempt boiling in eyes you can't see behind black goggles. "You really shouldn't have broken up with me."

        Many'a time after you and Mark were done, you found yourself in the shower. Acting out the breakup, flipping the script, breaking up with him instead. Being the one on top. Once the last of the water spun down the drain and you stepped out, you were back to reality. Where you were the loser who got broken up with. 

        You headbutt him hard as you can. Feeling your skull vibrate. The cut on your forehead deepening. When you open your eyes, you're hoping his lip would be busted or his nose would be bleeding. It wasn't. He grips your shoulders harshly. "Didn't work then, won't work now." Fingertips dug in, he started to pull, barely at first, then so hard your skin started to stretch. "I'm going to enjoy this." He was going to rip your arms right off your body. Let them drop, still attached by the power-cuffs and you couldn't do shit about it.

        You're dropped before any real damage can be done. A white blur rams into Swimcap. Ramming him so hard into the ground, they shattered abandoned foundations. You don't wait to see who it is, you get your feet under you and run. Slowly, awkwardly, arms heavy behind your back. Weighed down by the cuffs.

        You get maybe five feet. Before someone swoops from above and lifts you off the ground by the midsection. "Let's get you to safety." You recognize the even tone, the red gloves.

        "Where do you think you're going?" You know it's coming. Another wave of violence, because that's all the last hour had been. You're braced for impact but it's still a shock. 

        Someone punching your savior in the back, cracking something inside him. The arms holding you give involuntarily. You drop, wind whistling in your ears. He'd climbed so high so fast, a hundred feet, two maybe, either way, when you hit the ground you were going to paint it red.

        The aggressor snapped down, catching you like a fairytale princess before you could crack open your skull. "Can you believe that guy?" Scars sneers, "Trying to take you away before the bombs even launch?" He lands, dirt kicking up in a ring around his boots.

        You worm wriggle in his hold. Chewing on the muzzle bit, trying to tell him to die. 

        "Say we've got about a minute before things get party girl crazy and I don't want you to miss that." He cradles the back of your head. Cape swirling around you both. "You used to love dropping bombs on all your problems, it's only fair you have to stay for the show."

        ***

        Cecil watched a handful of the other Marks reach the island. Some hovering ahead, assessing. Some searched, (Y/n) no longer on the pole. Some touched down, curious. Looking to the sky, waiting for the very obvious bomb to drop.        

        The plan didn't hinge on just the nukes.

        Still, he said, "Send everything we've got." Tech's entered in codes at their computers, opening missile silos across the world. Some hidden in barns, some underground, others in plain sight. Air quality around the globe dropped a percentage, but Cecil couldn't care. This was their best shot.

        The remaining re-animen stood in line before the teleporter. Sinclair fussing over them one by one. Psychopomp waiting as the techies ironed out the kinks. 

        "Can you revive them remotely?" Cecil asked.

        "No," she said, "I'll have to be there as well."

        He was expecting an answer like that. A well-rehearsed request was on the way off his tongue when she said, "I'll go, but you better pull me out before those bombs go off."

        "I'll need you to get a hold of (Y/n)," Cecil said.

        Psychopomp frowned. That Dregs bitch was lying about her brother, she could feel it. She also stole her cat. There was no reality in which she wanted to save Dregs from a nuclear blast but there was only one way to get the truth about her brother. For Dregs to face justice, much as she enjoyed watching you squirm on screen. "Fine, but I won't guarantee she'll be alive when I do."

        "Is that a threat?"

        "I'm not so stupid to kill the best shot the planet has." She says, "But they are trying to destroy it- so."

        ***

        "The fuck are you doing with my girlfriend, piss boots?" 

        You were swung around, still in Scars arms. Bound and gagged. 

        "Piss boots?" He says, "Is that the best you can do?"

        Mohawk hovers above the earth. Hair wild on his head with the speed he had to use to get from New York to the southern Atlantic. Fingers twitching to fists. "I can do a whole lot worse if you don't put her down right fuckin' now."

        Your captor grins, scar stretching on his cheek. "What're you gonna do if I don't, tough guy?" Which was a much better jab than piss boots. Sure, his boots were yellow, but come on. 

        Mohawk's knuckles crack. Chest heaving with exhaustion. Muscles rippling under his skin tight suit. 

        "Cracking your knuckles won't kill me, you know. Which I doubt you can- I'm better than you. All of you."

        They were going to wind up fighting, killing you in the crossfire. So you do the only thing you can. Lean your head on Scars shoulder and look at him with batting lashes. Rubbing the side of your head into him so he could feel the straps. A quiet suggestion with a hint of affection to soften him up.

        "See, even she knows it." His arms shift, going for the buckles. You breathe in the last of the humid, leathery air inside the muzzle. Finally.

        Scar's wrist is seized by a hand over shoulder. "It's on her for a reason." Emperor looks down at you from over his doppelganger's shoulder with mingled disgust and disappointment. At least he's not trying to pop your head off anymore.

        "Let him take it off," Mohawk says, "let 'er tell this dick how much she really likes him." He catches your eye, his own glittering with mischief and malice. "Won't you, babe?"

        You don't nod or shake your head. The whole point of the ruse is for Scars to feel bad. To take the mask off without thinking. Now he was thinking, looking down at you through his lenses, gears turning.

        "I was so excited I forgot what a manipulative thing you can be." Scars hand falls from the clasp. "Did you really think you could bat your eyelashes and make me forget what you made me say?" You don't react, don't move. Terrified that if you do, they'll converge on you like hungry animals. 

        "I like this look on you anyway." Scars says, "Makes you look as pathetic as you really are."

        "What look?" A new voice, cherry when the situation was anything but. Lensless came from the sky, landing in a trot that stopped him by Mohawk's side. He tapped the throbbing wound in his head, "This one?"

        You look anywhere but at him and his cum-stained suit. Finding more of him in the sky, looking down at you. A pair, Swimcap and Baldie, duking it out by the shore.

        "You." A hand grabs Scar's shoulder, veins pulsing.

        "Me." Scars doesn't let you down, doesn't even look at the man bearing Omni-Man's sigil on his broad chest. 

        "Let her down and let me take her to safety." Omni-Mark reasons, another fight brewing in the air. More being passed around like a ragdoll to come, oh joy.

        You wondered when this prolonged torment was going to end, when the first missile head pierced the clouds.

        Many Marks surge for the bombs. The air splits in blue-white wounds over their heads, dropping machined flesh atop them. Thickly, muscled, mostly skinless monsters that took them to the ground with a crash. Then they were everywhere, coming out of holes in reality. Battle cries an unholy screech. 

        Scars drops you on your ass. "Stay here." He hisses before shooting forward. Splitting one of the monsters in two with a single punch. The rest of your company had already started to shred. Keeping the closest monsters away from you through death. 

        The Marks taken to the ground ward off their aggressors. The Viltrumite uniformed warrior and Phantom try to shoot into the sky to stop the bombs, curb them away but the re-animen leap. Grappling their feet, hanging. They could keep flying, deal with the threat no problem, even with the re-animen clawing at their ankles. Except- for the piercing sound that came out of their torsos.

        The men drop like flies, hands clamped tightly over their ears. World-ending strength or not, all of them drop like flies.

         Groaning, backs arching, kicking at the ground uselessly. The bombs fell. So many of them, the sky could be a connect-the-dots puzzle. The re-animen pounced. Two per Mark, sometimes three. Pistons hissing under their muscles. 

        You don't run because there's no fucking chance you'd get anywhere. You were done. No shitty apartment. No cat. No job at the GDA. No life.

        The best chances you had for living were all getting beat so bad that-

        The screeching lessened. Your eyes shooting around, searching for the cause of the partial quiet. You find it in a gloved hand punched through a metal chest. Mohawk was still being walloped by another re-animen, but he didn't seem to care much now. His personal speaker-shrieker dropped dead. 

        The other speaker-shriekers, two by the sound of it, went on. Weakening him and his counterparts, but far enough away he was able to understand. Was able to dislodge the other re-animen atop him. Barley, but at least he wasn't about to get his brains splattered anymore.

        The others didn't see, but caught on. If the thing on top of them was shrieking, kill it. They did. Alone at first, then together when there was only one left. Just barley able to manage moving. Sighing in collective relief when it stopped. They'd be fine, just had to toss the bombs into space like it was any other weekday.

        Across the planet, Cecil Stedman frowned. He didn't want it to come to this but he knew it would.

        Not all the re-animen came out. Some sat in reserve waiting for this exact contingency. They came now, zapping into existence right behind you. Arms thrown overhead ready to come down and crush you into putty. 

        "No!" You don't know who said it. Don't know who was flying to your rescue because again, your ears were being assaulted by the horrible ringing coming from the monster's chest. Your potential saviors fall to the ground, groaning, but this time with a twinge of hysteria. This ring louder than the others, so high pitched you could barley hear it, but it made your ears twitch.

        "You think this can stop me?" Scars peels himself off the ground, muscles pulsing in his arms, coated with blood so old it'd gone black in the re-animen's bodies. He flew toward the thing, cringing, nose bleeding, much slower than before, but certain to take the cyborg down. "I'm fuckin-" A re-animan rose from the ground, grabbed him by the leg and smashed him face first into the concrete. With the sound weakening him, he couldn't get up. 

        You jump barely out of the way as the re-animen's arms come down for your skull. Knocking into another re-animen who'd come into existence behind you. The Mark's notice. The Mark's that can move, move. The Mark's that can't, try. The bomb relocation missions is abandoned in lieu of saving you.

        Phantom was on his way. A device laced in his suit's ears able to block out the noise. He knows he can save you. Knows he can withstand just the one remaining shrieker.

        Beside you the air split apart. Psychopomp stood, arms out, palms glowing. The dead re-animen rise again. Grab ankles of moving Mark's. Slam them down. Pounce, tackle, bite, distract. All the while you're running from the sole re-animen set on killing you. Versions of your ex give the best chase they can before being tossed aside or thrown into another fight. The bombs are going to go off any second. None of them can get away to move one, let alone the whole fleet. 

        Despite death on it's way, the pain and inevitability of it all, so many of them look to you. Wishing to burn your face into their eyelids. Wanting to see you one last time before you're gone, again.

        The first bomb goes off, setting off a chain that lights the night sky all the way from Madagascar to the coast of Chile. 

        You're not there to see it. To get your skin burned off your bones. Because you're on your knees in the control room of The Pentagon. Psychopomp's hand falling off your shoulder. 

        You watch as all the screens monitoring the detonation go white. Most lost connection. 

        Behind you, the weight around your hands and wrists falls away. Clinking to the ground. Followed by the feel of the muzzle tipping forward. Falling off your face. Spit congealed white on the bit. Your lips chapped, indents on your wrist. 

        You turn, ready to kill, to get revenge for whatever the fuck that was. 

        "You can't talk faster than my boys can put a bullet in your head, so save it." Cecil says, hands in his pockets. Black and green clad armored men on either side of him. The fool wasn't wearing his noise canceling headphones. You swallow nothing, mouth gone dry. "After getting Narcaned you're definitely too weak to control more than one person. Think, kid, it's not gonna work."

        You nod, shallow and slow, just so the gunmen know not to shoot when you open your mouth. Still, their safety are off, muzzles pointed between your eyes. "What was that?"

        "The best we could do given our current situation." Cecil says. "Hopefully all that radiation'll kill the little bastards but-" he looks to the screen and sighs, "God damn it. Somebody zoom in."

        Your attention follows his. To a sole camera capturing dissipating dust and atmosphere. Silhouettes float above where the island had been. Now just a hole with ocean water rushing to fill it. Some shapes wait for the debris to clear. Some are rushing through the wreckage, diving into the hole. 

        "They're looking for you." Cecil clicks his tongue. "Somebody get that cuff off her ankle."

        An energy pulse fired from the guard's gun cracks against the metal. Pushes it hard against your ankle but the bracelet Phantom had thrown at you falls away. Lights inside ceasing their blinking as soon as a solider crushes it underfoot. 

        "Sir," a half-man, half-robot approaches, "what are we going to do?" You don't ask but he helped you up. Leads you to lean on an unoccupied desk for dignity's sake.

        "I don't know, Donald."  

        You watch the screens clear. Watch them search the island, whooshing around, landing momentarily. Flies on shit.

        It makes you think aloud, "Where's the real Invincible?"

        That gives Cecil pause, "Come with me."

[fordtato]

Emergency commissions/donations to help me move!

Hey all! I'm in a tough financial spot with a very unexpected $1000 move-out fee, and I need some help!

So I am offering fic commissions AND background/landscape art - That's right, writing AND art, for the prices below! I also will accept donations, but I feel more comfortable offering art, etc.

Donations:

I will accept donations if you just wanna help out! If you'd like to pay for a commission, keep scrolling.

If you would just like to donate without a commission, here is my Ko-Fi!

Fanfiction commissions:

Won't write:

fandoms I know nothing about (DM me if you'd like something outside of Gravity Falls work, though I'm sure that's where most of my following is)

gore

any type of thing that would get me cancelled on twitter dot com (come on guys, im a YouTuber now)

Will write:

Just about anything else tbh. OCs, melodrama, angst, hurt-comfort, you name it.

NSFW (for adult customers only. im not writing this for teenagers. do your homework)

Rates: $25 per 1k words, with a 150 word buffer. (Meaning, if I write 1150 words, I'm not charging you extra, it'll still be $25)

Send an ask or a DM if you are interested!

Note: I will not be posting these on Ao3, due to Ao3's "no money for fics" rules.

Examples of my fics, if you want to check out my work:

Note: Jersey Boy is my oldest fic (literally 8 years old and still going). The first couple chapters are pretty rough imo. The latter chapters are more in line with my capabilities. Also, yes, this fic is still being written, it's just being written between jobs and between work on YouTube vids, and I have less available time for it than I used to. Pay me to finish more of Jersey Boy (/s)

Background art commissions:

So, 90% of the artists I know tell me that background/environment art is one of the parts of the process they dislike the most. But it's actually my favorite thing to draw!

I actually don't feel comfortable enough in my drawing of characters to feel good about charging people for those, but I think I can consistently do some background art!

Examples of my art/pricing below!

Simpler color palette/lighting, and fewer details: $20-30

More detailed digital paintings: $40-50

For anymore detail then what you see above, we'll have to work that pricing out!

Example of heavy detail that might cost more:

Send me details on what you'd like in a digital painting and we will work out a timetable!

Send an ask or a DM if you are interested!

Donate/pay here: My Ko-Fi

I appreciate you reading, and if you can't help out, please share!

[cdroloisms]

always absolutely fucking hilarious when sbiers in their self-righteous need to assert themselves as better than everyone else in the same way they've done since 2020 even when they're apparently 'out of the fandom' and consider the whole thing cringe and dead (skill issue, methinks) go all um acktually no one cared abt any of the lore except for c!sbi. like well for one thing i don't know of a c!sbi personally speaking i'd like for you to point out to me where character sleepy boys inc ever like, existed, because it certainly wasn't in any dream smp i watched like is there even a single moment where the four of them interact together alone??? and secondly, it's always reeeeeeally obvious when they mean this as a diss on The Other Side Of The Fandom (read, dream team and co) when two-thirds of the dream team just did nawt have any interest in being part of the 'main characters' in the first place and would much rather do their own thing and roleplay in ways that wouldn't get picked apart for ages on twitter dot com, and the other member of the dream team played a character so integral to the lore that even c!inniters will often name him before they name their own goddamn guy because they cannot keep his name out of their mouths (see, the meme i saw like literally just yesterday that boiled down to me, after learning the dream smp lore: i need to kill c!dream). like bro yall are c!inniters you're not fooling anyone you think that the entire story revolves around this one teenager being abused and then completely ignore the months of abuse that was shown on screen for us before exile. "c!sbi" like cmon now guys the ao3 pages are like, right there, we all know who ends up being the villain for ur sbi fanfic that has its foundations in a dynamic that literally never existed in canon.

like "no one cared about anyone's lore except for wilbur and tommy--" well yes they were in fact some of the main fucking characters. imagine someone going up to you and going "well no one cared about the lore in the star wars original trilogy except for luke and leia" like damn really?? (now imagine this same person trying to convince you that darth vader's role was unimportant, actually.) like yeah the dream smp involved a lot of separate storylines and each of those storylines might've had their own "main cast" of characters but i'm also not blind bro, the story that started at the start of the fucking server and the start of the fucking lore was ABSOLUTELY the "wilbur-dream-tommy" triangle that is, in fact, the story that the l'manburg revolution was built on and the story that remains the throughline literally until tommy and dream have their confrontation with a nuke coming down over their heads, something that the characters themselves acknowledge with the repetition of the idea of tommy and tubbo against dream. LIKE ALKJSDFKJSADF yeah bro there were main characters in the tommy-dream-wilbur story an that's also the story that people tended to be invested in in the beginning, to the point where even other self-contained stories in the dream smp absolutely referenced and emulated it (cough cough, las nevadas). like, why are we acting like it's at all groundbreaking for people to be invested in THEEE fucking story the one that first started to exist because at the time basically no one else was part of The Roleplaying Trio and then slowly got padded out and developed as the server developed more and more into the lore server?

and it's the fact that none of these people, too, would deny that they care about ex. c!schlatt in manberg, right, or c!quackity in relation to c!wilbur's deal, etc etc whatever. like breaking news you gaf about The Story as a dream smp fan wow am i supposed to be like, surprised. do you want a medal. LIKE LKJASDJF

[montparnasse]

average adam faulkner stanheight fan: if adam isn’t in saw xi we riot! @lionsgate @kevingruetert @jameswan #adamlives #justiceforadam #corpseinconsistencies

average john kramer fan: What people don’t realize about John, is he’s such a genius that even when he makes mistakes, he planned on making the mistakes. He is the greatest villain of all time

average jill tuck fan: Appreciation post for the Women of Saw 🩷 [the same ten photos that get posted once a week]

average lawrence gordon fan: last night i watched a 2004 tv movie about serial killers called ‘the riverman’, followed by the cheesy family rom-com ‘a castle for christmas’. today my friends and i are going to binge the entire third season of netflix’s ‘stranger things’. none of us have seen a single episode of the rest of the show and we don’t plan on it. then we might rewatch ‘another country’ together

average amanda young fan: sorry i haven’t been online in 4 weeks i’ve been too busy trying to get the new pig cosmetic in the rift [posted 7 weeks ago]

average mark hoffman fan: [underneath a gifset of costas mandylor in a republican christian propaganda ‘sci-fi’ movie] #hes so fucking hot #i would give anything to put him in a sports bra and make him do jumping jacks in front pf me i would literally do #ANYTHING #i need to make him into a marionett and fist him lol

average daniel rigg fan: Here’s a quick low effort doodle I did of Daniel! I just love him so much ❤️ [a literal masterpiece, the best art you’ve ever seen in your entire life] [3 notes]

average allison kerry fan: i am hardcore attached to ONE ship which is probably either allison/amanda or allison/lindsey and my whole blog is devoted to them. there are dozens of us DOZENS

average lynn denlon fan: okay so i know bahar is a realtor now but in her last instagram post where she’s congratulating her son on some new achievement, both the first and last words in the post have 11 letters, AND there’s an X and an I visible in the background of her post 👀?? is this a reach???

average jeff denlon fan: No seriously let me finish seriously when you compare him to the other shitty men in Saw he’s NOT that b

average david tapp fan: i’m 39k away from publishing my 40k tappsing Everybody Lives AU <3 this is going to be epic [account has been deactivated for an indeterminate amount of time]

average brit stevenson and mallick scott fan: Hey I stayed up making this instead of writing my thesis paper for grad school. Here’s a 30,000 word document about the implications of Brit’s promotion within the Marshford group and how it would lead to her eventual demise and also how she rose to the top in her group. It also delves into her relationship with Mallick, whose existence, I believe, is an obvious literary reference to an ancient Roman play read by only me and three other people currently alive. I translated relevant passages and included them in my work. I got understimulated around page 8 so I did take a break to pierce myself in the same spot that I believe Mallick would have a piercing. If you read my fics on AO3 you will already be familiar with the location.

average peter strahm fan: haha peter does CRACK cocoaine haha i think he sniffeds some drugs! why else would he be so MANIC HYPER CRAZY!!! i love my crazy JUNKIE man LOL get him some andderall STAT!! if hoffman didn’t kill him the SPEED certianly would of! LOL!

average lindsey perez fan: i love lindsey perez i’m such a big fan of the character lindsey perez

average matt gibson fan: i literally would eat garbage out of a dumpster

average ezekiel banks fan: holy shit i just finished spiral what a good movie what the hell!!! what a cool addition to the saw universe! i bet everybody else loves this as much as i do! let me take a big drink of water as i check tumblr dot com to see all the nice things people will have to say about darren lynn bousman’s Spiral

average william schenk fan: my hobbies include: being a fujoshi,

average cecelia pederson fan: [pic of cecelia yanking on the metal loop around her neck and smirking] https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vT3f5IIzt5PG-M7G9_Z-gjY4gZaiUneTdMlYrFAcdBGcJo0-N-RDQcj2JfxOaBTxKa6J_DiDQNgqVpg/pub

average logan jigsaw fan: What people don’t realize about John, is he’s such a genius that even when he makes mistakes, he planned on making the mistakes. He is the greatest villain of all time

[nomorezerocomments]

I do have a question! So there's been a problem lately on Ao3 of spam comments. For example, here's one I received recently:

Hi! I just finished reading your story, and wow—your writing is so rich in detail and emotion. I really enjoyed it! You have such a creative mind, and I think your story would make an amazing comic. Would you be interested in discussing that idea? I'm a paid artist with friendly rates, and I love bringing stories to life through visuals. I'd be excited to take your story to the next level! Feel free to reach out to me via Discord (my username is (florabelle_89911) or by email (florabelle357[at]gmail[dot]com). Hope to hear from you soon

As you can see it doesn't mention anything specific about my story, the characters, or the fandom. This comment could work on literally any fic. And as a PSA to everyone that writes on Ao3: this is spam, they're trying to steal your money, do not commission with them. Notice the broad language that is copy and pasted onto comments of recently updated fics. There's not Instagram or TikTok to see their art portfolio. If they do mention one of those, it probably doesn't have any art from the fandom you wrote. Please don't get scammed!

Anyway, onto my question. I don't consider these to be real comments since they are merely copy and pasted and meant to scam the author. So can a fic be included on your spreadsheet if it's only comment(s) are spam comments? To me that would make sense but I thought I'd ask!

yup, even ive been getting spam comments recently, which has never happened to me before.

if you report the comment as spam, i believe it gets deleted from your fic and you go back to being a zero comment fic. so the short answer is, yes, but if i see a fic get submitted that has a comment then im probably not gonna put it on the spreadsheet (i unfortunately dont always have time to check the nature of the comments). if you submit it through the form, you can mention that this is what has happened so i know and i can add it. or you can dm me directly and we can do it that way, whichever is easier!

[nightlyrequiem]

Be Still My Heart

Chapter 22- Briefing

Masterlist AO3 Next Previous

New Chapter Every Saturday

You're the best in the meth industry but a new product suddenly pops up. You and your boss, Valeria, must figure out who is making it so you can take back the market. All the while tension is building between the two of you.

A/N: I haven't been posting a lot recently but I swear I have more projects!!! A few oneshots, Canary Cage, DIGEST. There will be more.

Tags/Warnings: Illegal Substances, Boss Employee Relationship, Angst, Some Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Manipulation, Suggestive Themes, Smut (But Only in CH19.), Dual POV

Valeria leans over the splintering, lopsided wooden table in the basement. The singular lightbulb off to the side casting a dim, dull light. Making the shadows on everyone's faces seem denser and malicious.

"I have twelve men coming from Las Almas." She speaks. "I'm assuming Doug will have more but twelve will be sufficient enough for us." She turns to Rick and gestures for him to step forward. He steps in between Valeria and Alain, planting down a piece of looseleaf. There's a crude sketch of what the compound looks like from above. A rough estimate.

There's a rectangular line around the other structures. Labeled as 'the fence.' Dots indicating guards where the front entrance is labeled. Within the perimeter is a house and a barn. Though it's clearly not being used as a barn. As said by Rick. No animals except for dogs, heard by the barking but he's not sure if they're big or not. He assumes so, saying they 'barked big.'

Valeria points to each side of the fence except for the entrance.

"I'll have two men on each side, waiting for the signal to cut their way in." She tells them. "There's two cliffs either side of the compound, yes?" She looks at Rick for confirmation. He nods. "I'll have someone on the higher cliff to be our eyes and sniper. He'll take out the two guards at the front." There's many uncontrolled variables and it makes Valeria feel a little discomforted, but she's not going to back down or risk waiting.

Valeria does her best to avoid looking at you. Instead choosing to pretend you aren't there anyway. You're not even a part of her plans. You have no combat training, she's not even sure if you've even ever held a firearm let alone shot one. Something knocks a box over, startling everyone. A large rat runs out from the dark. It's long pink hairless tail trailing out from behind it. Even the least squeamish among the group take a step away from it with disgust, giving it wide berth. It's either sick or stupid, as it runs towards Valeria. Without thinking she lifts her foot and crushes it. Feeling it pop beneath her feet.

Out of the corner of her eye she notices the somber look of disapproval on your face.

"Hey... what the hell man." Mark says weakly. He's not so appalled by her killing of a rat but by the mess it left behind. Gray and pink insides leaking outside. Valeria kicks the rest of the rat away and scrapes away the residue left behind on her shoe.

"This is kill on sight." She continues pointedly. "Don't just kill who you see, seek out people to kill. I don't want any of them remaining but Doug. I'll deal with him myself."

"When are the others getting here?" Alain pipes up, scratching his stubbly chin. 

"They'll be here in a couple of days." Valeria tells him. "I'll relay the plan to them again when they arrive. You're going to be our sniper." She decides. 

Alain has always had amazing aim. He and Valeria used to serve together in the Special Forces. He was a loyalist who saw Valeria's potential before any others and followed her commands without protest, he was one of the few who helped her in double crossing La Araña. Second to Diego, and formally you, he's one of the few people she could almost consider to be a friend.  She looks at Rick.

"I want you to be with me for the main raiding party." She says to him. He's not as stealthy or as smooth with combat, but he's decently sized and at the very least will make for a very decent meat shield. "Our goal is to capture Doug, destroy the compound, and go home."

Valeria sighs tiredly. Feeling the weariness in her very bones. 

"We'll go over everything again when the others arrive." She says. turning and walking upstairs. Trailing traces of rat around with her.

"So, I'll get a little something extra for housing all these extra people, right?" Mark asks from behind her, following her up the stairs.

"No." Valeria says flatly. annoyed by him. She finds herself excited by the prospect of leaving this place. She's missing the familiar culture of Las Almas.

Mark tries to argue but very quickly gives up. The smart choice, since arguing won't change her mind, only piss her off. Valeria walks into the kitchen, in need of a drink. She digs through the cupboards, sniffing the dubiously smelling glasses. It takes her awhile to find a clean one but she finally does and finally gets her water.

"Did that make you feel tough?" A voice speaks up from behind her. Valeria turns and looks, brows furrowed with confusion.

"Pardon?" 

"Did stomping that rat make you feel tough?" You clarify. "I know you like throwing your weight around. Especially towards things smaller than yourself."

Valeria sets down her glass. Feeling agitated by you.

She leans back against the counter and grips it tightly.

"It's a pest. Spreads disease." Valeria says warningly. Though that's not the reason she killed it. She's not entirely sure why. It was an impulse she had and one she listened to.

"I can think of another thing that spreads disease." You mutter.

"I'm not diseased." She snaps. Are you accusing her of having an STD? Is that what you think of her? The thought upsets her.

"Not what I meant." You shake your head. Shoulders dropping as you lose that combative attitude. "What am I supposed to do? In the plan, you never mentioned me."

The first droplets of rain begin to hit the window. Gentle for only a few seconds before turning into a violent flurry.

"You're going to stay here. I don't need you." Valeria says. 

"You don't need me." You repeat. Sounding surprised and offended. "You dragged me out here just to cast me aside?"

Valeria scoffs. "You're the one who fought me on coming out here."

You look like you're going to say something but think better of it.

Valeria has a point. She didn't originally plan on bringing you, but you wanted to come, and she wanted you with her. And it was good, for a bit. But even before you found out about the lie, you were never included in her plans. Simply because you'd be a liability, and because she wanted to keep you safe.

"I'm not useless." You say quietly.

"I didn't say you are." She replies. Rubbing a hand over her face. That nicotine craving is starting to flare up. She needs a smoke. Needs to get away from you.

"You've said it before." You press, stepping forward. "And I know you still think I'm not as important or impressive because I don't fight, or because I've never killed anyone. But I'm not some meek little wallflower, I'm not a child. I can take care of myself, and I can follow orders." You tell her sternly.

Your words make her uncomfortable. She wants to deny that she thought that way about you... but it's partially true. You mean something to her, but a part of her can't help but look down on you. To her, you're not someone capable of defending herself. 

"You want to help?" Valeria relents. "Fine. I'll get Alain to teach you as much as he can about guns and I'll set you up on the other cliff. You'll be additional support." Valeria doesn't like giving into people who argue with her. And she especially doesn't want to jeopardize you or the mission.

But little harm could come to you or the mission if you're posted up out of the way. You seem appeased at the moment. Content now that you're included. 

"Thank you." You say civilly. Valeria relaxes. Perhaps you're starting to forgive her.

"Hey." She calls out as you turn to leave. You stop and look at her. "When we get back to Las Almas I'll take you out for dinner. As an apology." The words feel awkward and out of place in her mouth. She wishes she just kept quiet. You don't respond right away.

"I'm still upset with you." You say. Then walk off without another word. Leaving Valeria in the company of the rain and your rejection.

[holybasementdweller]

wanted to add my two cents because shipping discourse is just all over recently. Forgive me rambling a bit here. I have a lot of thoughts on this topic and would like to get them out there in some form.

Stop harassing CC's about their boundaries.

Would you go up to a random person whom you've never met before in your life, who has never met you either, and likely has no idea who you are, purely to ask them if you can draw/write/ship them with one of their co-workers?

No! It's a wildly uncomfortable question to a lot of people, it puts them on the spot, and some CC's may not care as long as they never see it. Now that the concept has been shoved in their face, they're forced to view the idea.

I feel like a large part of the issue is the divide between younger, newer fandom members and older, traditional ones. Primarily the concept that fan content is not intended for CCs, but for fans specifically. Most 'traditional' and older fandom participants follow this view because that's what fandom is. You get to make cool things, and ramble about different head cannons and ideas with your friends and maybe find other fans who become your friends along the way. Maybe you want to throw these characters you really like into this elaborate superhero AU, or draw them in costume, or explore relationship dynamics because it's fun and you get to ramble with fellow fans. It's called a fandom for a reason!

I'd like to clarify here that this post is not meant to target anyone in particular; it's going off a general trend I've noticed.

There's been an influx of people who create fan works or fanart that seems to be aimed more to gain clout or to be noticed by CCs. It's something they wanted to make, but is leaving the realm of "by fans, for fans," in a sense that it seems to have lost more of that "for fans." The work is then shoved at the CC more aggressively than if it was just for friends.

There's a reason that spaces like AO3 and Tumblr exist with such large fan communities- because the communities are meant for fans. It's all well and good when CC's decide to take a peek or participate in said fan spaces of their own volition. They're the ones making the choice to engage. It's NOT all well and good when someone, as a fan, is trying to make that choice FOR them by shoving fanworks at the CC begging for clarification on what is okay with them. You're not going to help anyone in that way. Fan spaces exist separately from the CC spaces for a reason. The CC is a person behind the screen who you don't know. The character or role they play in the series you watch? You might know just about everything there is to know about them!

If a CC has laid out a boundary that they aren't comfortable with X Y Z, then there's a really, really simple solution here. Don't show it to them.

Don't put it in main tags, don't tag them in the post, hell, block the CC so you know they won't be able to view something that makes them uncomfortable.

There's a lot of what comes across as almost puritanical virtue signaling I've seen lately, where people are talking about CC boundaries everywhere and trying to police fanwork. I will again refer you to the point above. The fanwork is not made for the CC. It is made for fans, and if it is something the CC isn't comfortable with, then don't go posting it where they might regularly look at things (such as main fanart/fanwork tags.)

Yes, there are CCs who are over here. Yes, they look through fan works. This app is primarily a fan-oriented space and it has tags that CC's (or anyone else!!) can block to avoid things they are uncomfortable with. Though at this point the few that are over here either were already gay dot com natives or have basically become one.

I may have gone a bit off my original topic but TL;DR:

KEEP FAN WORKS TO FAN SPACES, AND STOP HARASSING THE CC'S PLEASE. LET THEM EXIST IN PEACE.

[mukipookie]

got asked why i ship ajawnich and honestly it's not a straightforward answer, i have to tell you THE VISION. okay.

honestly. fun fact. i stan billford. bill cipher and standford pines my beloveds tbh.

so when i heard that people were shipping ajaw and kinich, my reaction wasn't the like "oh..!" that most people would probably have, but rather it was "wait that's kinda funny lmao" I genuinely found the ship hilarious from day one. They're literally billford dude. anime billford is all they are.

and so i kinda let it sit there yk: hey this ship exists and it's kinda funny lmao.

then i got curious. (uh oh, right)

so i searched the tag up on twitter dot com naturally. and boy lemme tell ya. there was some of the cutest fanart ever dude, like no you CANNOT just hit me with that and make my day so much better as I sit on break at my fucking parttime job at Walmart.

IT WAS SO CUTE AND FOR WHAT? there was a lot of like... ahem. as well iykwim but like even so it was banger af. Plus ALL THE HUMAN AJAW DESIGNS???? HELLO????

so then even more naturally i searched the tag up on AO3 (funfact, ajaw x kinich is currently natlan's most popular ship based on AO3 fics) and read some of the fics there.

mind you this was like a few weeks after 5.0 was released.

and.. okay they were mostly smut but like HELLO???? some of the most banger smut fics I've ever read, pun intended.

WHY WERE THEY SO UNCANNILY IN-CHARACTER??? WHY WAS IT SO BITTERSWEET??? WHY WAS IT SO ANGSTY YET SO FUN AT THE SAME TIME???

W.

okay, it was a pure W.

so then after a while i was completely okay with the ship cuz genuinely peak content 100% of the time. And then, after seeing even more human ajaw designs, i finally caved and was like, "ykw, im gonna make one too"

so i made one.

and at first i was like "omg what a silly guy"

but the moment i finished his first concept, i looked at him. then at kinich. and then, like a little girl playing with her dolls, i picked them up and smashed their faces together.

"NOW KISS."

cause like

let's be so fr here for a moment.

wtf else am i gonna do with a human ajaw design other than make him kiss kinich senseless??????????

like there's only one logical thing to do and that is to draw them making out aggressively like one of them's getting drafted tomorrow.

and now they're my sillies.

[askewhammer]

I'm sorry but it's really fucking weird yall are outing luigi mangione as bi. all yall say that it's important to not put anyone out for their own safety but as soon as it's some guy you've developed a parasocial relationship with its okay?? you all are sick actually. even if he's not actually bi you all are still sick.

as a matter of fact most of the shit everyone is posting about his PERSONAL LIFE is sick. he hasn't even fucking been sentenced yet and yet both the media and everyone else here is leaking every single detail about him?? have we forgotten the phrase "innocent until proven guilty"?? Don't you know you're supporting the cops narrative by doing this?? That you are actively participating in the smear of a man who's just been detained. I mean shit even if he's not innocent don't you think this is like the slightest bit immoral?

call me a sensitive little naive soul all you want but that man is a real living man that has suffered under the cold steel grip of the manipulative practices that American Healthcare upholds, and its really telling about your character and person by saying shit like "ugh I want to suck his cock so bad and eat his ass out like cake<33" stop treating him as if he's a commodity. as if he's a silly little blorbo from your favorite show. like be so fucking for real with me right now. you are a grown ass adult on www dot tumblr dot com.

this isn't me saying that we should halt all jokes and edgy memes about the situation. hell no. "Snitches get stitches and my Healthcare plan probably won't cover that" is funny as shit. The fact that people are saying that his attorney Tom Dickley is a deadringer for columbo/peter falk is funny as shit. What I'm saying is that we should treat this man with dignity. With both empathy and sympathy. With seriousness for his actions. To not treat this full grown man that harbors such calculated hatred as a little funny celebrity from a boyband that you write horny fanfiction about on ao3 and develop a parasocial relationship with. I know this is the piss on the poor media literacy website but be so serious with me.

also saying this for good measure TERFS step the fuck offff I've seen yall try to squeeze your narratives into this situation you are NOT slick

[afantasyoffiction]

a lil intro :)

hi hello to anyone who's checking this out!

i’m caitlin, an aspiring fantasy writer and maybe poet, english literature nerd and general fandom weirdo who likes to talk a lot about all my many many obsessions :)

i'm new to actively participating on this site as opposed to watching thru the window of pinterest...but now that i write more and 9-1-1 in particular doesn't post on pinterest so much, i'm on here too rip

i talk about: writing, procrastinating writing, reading writing and characters in writing who drive me insane!

my writing: i write poetry which i will post on here occasionally! but my main writing that is intended for other ppl to read is fanfic, and my fantasy wip:

my fics that you can go read literally right now if you want:

just to sit outside your door - buddie post-hiatus wip

if I glued myself shut (you would find your way in) - buck's pov during the 'are his concerns your concerns', feeling realisation

you've haunted me, so stunningly - eddie pov during the post -lightning convo w buck, based on that amazing edit making the rounds rn

just to sit outside of your (ipad screen) light - eddie post-hiatus mini fic, feelings realisation

the witches wip: a ya fantasy book (one day trilogy i hope!) about a world where witches are gone, but persecution of them isn't. trying to save her innocent sister from execution, my fmc gets dragged into a storm of political plotting, conflicting agendas and strange powers beyond her comprehension. a book about family, and realising that what you thought was a bedtime story might still be around to haunt you... tagged with #the witches wip

my ao3: a_fantasy_2 - all the good stuff is copied above! tags are #shameless fanfic plug and #caitlin's original writing

main fandoms: i have been in a ridiculous number of fandoms so this is not all of them but these are my main ones - bold are ones im currently in the trenches abt :)

9-1-1 (pls no ship war content tho i just cannot)

marauders (my og loml one true fandom its a canon event i fear)

good omens (book and tv show changed my life)

anything leigh bardugo but SoC and RoW especially

supernatural (its been a while but then again i'm fandom posting on this site so its kinda a given)

anything by chloe gong....(message me PLEASE. best ya fantasy writer and my literal writing idol)

EPIC the musical - i love this so freaking much, if you don't know what this is go find out u won't regret it

hamilton (i am in fact hamiltrash, unfortunately)

aftg (im not writing that out. if you know what that acronym is thats on you.)

tagging system: i got one of those creepy teeth 'frequent poster badges', so i think it might be time for me to get one of these. ahem. on an incoherent blog, i declare order:

#caitlin writes and yaps abt it - writblr content (these will almost always have the 'writblr' and 'writers on tumblr' tag as well)

#caitlin's homebrew hallucinations - any writing or OC content from my wips or poetry i share

#the witches wip - specific wip content!

#caitlin the english major - literature posts

#caitlin reblogs from even cooler blogs and/or #caitlin's moot besties - reblogging my moots or other cool ppl!

#caitlin does ask games / #caitlin does reblog games - making a separate tag bc i LOVE these

#shameless fanfic plug - fics that i write on ao3 and want to share here

#caitlin rambles miscellaneous - anything else thats incoherent

fandom posts will all be tagged with their fandom and with #caitlin a fandom nerd

sound good? let me know if this actually makes this blog make any more sense mk team

please send me: asks/posts/comments about these fandoms, short fic writing prompts within these fandoms, writblr content, writing questions, or literature thoughts :)

(pls don’t send me requests for money or ai content. i will block and delete, here’s why. )

basically reach out if you just want to ramble about any of these things because what else is tumblr dot com for ... seriously what. actually what was this site made for it beats me