#I look back on it with a familiar fondness of the old internet

[vocowboyloid]

Remembering the "creepypasta fansong" era of early English Vocaloid songs... Rugrats Theory, man.......

[f1tyreslightmyfyre]

Immortal Artistry - Ch. 7

Series Main List

A Vampire AU F1 Fic Featuring Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader, George Russell x Fem!Reader, hints of Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader, Lestappen, Sebchal, and Sainzell (or Russainz?)

Also on AO3

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! The notifications on this fic bring the biggest smile to my face 😊

Ch. 7 Warnings: Language

2023

The walls of your office stare back at you, both familiar and unfamiliar now that your world has inverted. Just four days ago, you met Charles Leclerc. Just four days ago, Xavier was still alive. Just four days ago, vampires didn’t exist. 

And now?

Not only do vampires exist - they want World War II looted artifacts, and you’re caught squarely in the middle through no fault of your own.

Indeed, life can sure be a bitch, but honestly, you never thought it could come to this.

How could it? Supernatural creatures of horror films didn’t exist, except that they clearly do, and clearly, they have plans, factions, and goals. It probably shouldn’t surprise you since they were all human at some point in time, and humans have been warring in factions to accomplish goals since the dawn of time.

But priceless artwork? Missing since World War II? And treasure maps? It sounds too fanciful to even possibly be real.

The cursor in the blank email window blinks back at you, taunting you. With a sigh, you re-read the email at the bottom of the chain but still find no clarity to draft a response. Instead, you open a browser window and let your fingers loose with the questions spinning in your mind.

WW2 treasure

Looted treasure during WWII

Austrian salt mines treasure

How much art lost during WWII has been found

Authorities trying to recover lost WWII treasure

Unfortunately, most of the links take you back to film The Monuments Men that you barely remember, but the stories from the men who lived to recover the stolen cultural artifacts fuels your speculation. Perhaps George was one of those men? Charles already told you that he died – err, transformed – in 1940, so he would have learned about the location of the looted treasures during the war, if not after. But Carlos said that Charles got there first, before at least he arrived… and George, presumably. So, what gives them the right to claim the stolen treasure for themselves instead of Charles?

You didn’t think to ask this morning when Carlos had been transformed. Or is that too personal of a question to ask a vampire? The idea flashes in your mind to google vampire conversation etiquette, but you refuse to have that in your internet search history. But perhaps Carlos and George were both on a cultural artifact recovery team and encountered Charles as he was… doing what exactly? Stealing stolen art? Looting looted goods?

“I have certainly studied art,” Charles said as he continued to scan and sign the array of papers. “I suppose one could call me a collector of art, but while I claim paltry skill with a brush, I do favor myself for having an appreciation of beautiful pieces.”

Slowly, you nodded as he recapped the pen. “It sounds like you have seen a lot of interesting pieces over the course of your studies and search for beauty.”

His eyes flashed with something you couldn’t place – something predatory, something fond, something satisfying. “Yes,” he said at length as he rose. “I have seen much, with much still left yet to see.”

The memory creeps a shiver down your spine. Has Charles actually been honest with you from the start? Thinly-veiled and vague as it was, but he didn’t lie… maybe that’s the wisdom gained from living 83 years while still looking like a 25-year old.  

You stared up at Carlos. “Assuming you’re saying what I think you’re saying? That Charles has some World War II treasure map that George wants for himself?” The words sounded no less ridiculous as they rang in your ears, but honestly, life stopped being normal since that first meeting with Charles Leclerc.

“That is exactly what I’m saying,” Carlos confirmed. “Except, George doesn’t think Charles has it – he thinks that you have it.”

Your eyes widened as you nearly choked on your coffee. “That’s impossible – Charles has given me nothing.”

You push up from your desk chair, exhaling heavily to try and make sense of the memories that plague you. Or maybe you’re trying to outrun the sense of dread knotting your stomach. Because perhaps, maybe… just maybe, Charles has given you more than you realize. At least in terms of verbal truth, if not physical objects. But surely nothing he’s said to you could possibly be a clue or the key to finding a stolen World War II treasure hoard.

An incredulous grin lights your face, matched by a soft laugh as you shake your head. Or maybe the answer is more simple and you’re just losing your damn mind.

Your feet carry you aimlessly towards the private executive conference room. As you push the door open, in your mind’s eye, you can still see Charles’ sleek, polished form seated at the table. The overhead light had danced in his mercurial eyes with such intriguing temptation and the cut of his suit complemented the lean lines of his body, and… god, as a human, had he been that handsome?

Heat rises in your cheeks without permission as you cross around the large table and pull out the chair in which he previously sat. You drum your fingers against the polished tabletop, trying to put yourself in his shoes. But how can you possibly hope to have his decades-long perspective? How can you possibly understand the depth and breadth of his plans? Especially if he’s been able to outwit every modern-day digital identification device and legal system to be at least three different versions of himself over the decades. If he can indeed live forever, how long will he have to go on changing his legal name and signing paperwork?

Will he someday be Charles Leclerc, LXIV?

Your eyes roam the tabletop, studying the rings in the wooden surface, the leather stitching on the edge of the company branded coasters, the caddy of pens that –

Wait.

Just what…Your mouth goes dry as one pen doesn’t match the rest. A pen that looks way too fancy for anything your firm would buy – a black capped pen with gold accents that looks eerily familiar.

Charles reached into the interior pocket of his suit jacket. He withdrew a sleek, black capped pen with gold accents and deftly unscrewed the cap. Glancing up at you, he offered another cute, almost shy smile. “You’ll forgive me if I’m a little old-school,” he said as a gleaming gold fountain tip came into view. “Ball point pens just aren’t as artistically satisfying.”

A gasp passes your lips as the memory slams through you. You could have sworn that Charles put the pen back in his jacket after signing, but the truth of it stares you in the face. Your hand trembles with anxious anticipation as you reach forward, feeling the pen’s cool metal against your fingertips. Is this somehow it? Could this possibly be the answer?

The pen has a deceptive weight as you turn it over in your hands, studying the light reflecting off the polished surface. You unscrew the cap to reveal the sharp fountain tip, and you wish you had a notepad to confirm that the pen still works. You saw it for yourself that night – so it must have some inkwell inside it, but… is that all? Rotating the pen, you search for another way to open it – some seam, some screw top – and the case yields with a hard twist, unscrewing from the body. Setting the cap down in your lap, the pen disassembles to reveal the ink cartridge and… something else.

A small, slim canister falls into your lap, and heart-pounding anticipation seizes you. Do you dare open it? Perhaps it’s booby trapped? Or maybe it’s… empty? You wet your top lip nervously before giving the canister a gentle shake. The contents rattle as the object inside knocks against the bottom and lid of the canister.

Would opening it be a step too far? Or are you already implicated enough?

Exhaling an uneasy sigh, you pop off the canister’s cap and out slides a roll of… film? With the prevalence of digital technology, you can’t recall when you last saw a physical roll of film, let alone one so teeny-tiny small. Your brow furrows as a distant thought surfaces – classic movie spies always use small cameras to take photos of clandestine documents. Hell, even today libraries still rely heavily on microfiche and microfilm for archiving purposes.  

But is that what you actually hold? Working a nervous swallow down your throat, you unfurl the roll of film and risk holding it up to the light for a better look. Squinting closely at it  - crude, hand-drawn lines snake across the image of a page, like roads… like a map. A circle that looks suspiciously like a compass rose rests in the upper left corner of the image, and your stomach drops to your feet. The rest of the details are too small for you to make out, but writing accompanies the drawing, and… oh fuck.

Did you actually hold proof of a World War II treasure map in your hands?

Your heart pounds as you quickly roll up the film and shove it back in the canister. Your mind reels as you screw the pen back together and replace the cap. With trembling fingers, you set it on the table as if holding it any longer will burn you.

Just what the fuck do you do now?

You could always keep it. Tell Charles you have it and ask him what he wants you to do with it. What was Xavier going to do with it anyway? Store it? Destroy it?

Those seem to be the only two real options.

You could keep it – maybe even use it. Could… what would happen if you give it to George? Does that fundamentally shift the pieces on Charles’ figurative chessboard?

But what if you destroyed it? The rubbish chute sits at the end of the corridor hallway, and rumor has it, it feeds straight into the building incinerator. If neither Charles nor George have the map, then neither of them have an advantage. Or does that somehow play into Charles’ plan? Does that set the chess pieces in the formation that Charles wants?

Indecision cripples you as you stare down at the pen – at the crux of this whole damn mess.

Just what are you going to do?

Keep It - Chapter 8 (targeted for 11-Dec)

Destroy It  - Chapter 9 (targeted for 11-Dec)

Tag List: @fictional-l0v3r @hollie911

Series Main List

[taeyamayang]

HOME / CHARACTER DETAILS

♡ click "HOME" to see details of this otome-style interactive fiction

♡ poll is located below the chapter

♡ additional information/details are indicated below

taglist: @thechaosoflonging @alienvarmint @phoenix666stuff

a/n: i'd like to take this opportunity to thank miri, @shut-up-you-guys-are-12 , for being my beta reader! you signed yourself up for hell (aka my messy drafts) but i'm very grateful for the help. as selfish as it may sound, i am glad you're with me on this ♡ sooo readers *wiggles eyebrows* before you begin everybody say THANK YOU MIRI!!

anddd without further ado, let's go.

NEW BEGINNINGS

Loading Version 1.0

It could be that you’re still half asleep that you’re seeing peculiar things, or perhaps drinking too much chocolate milk last night has caused you to derail your thoughts (does cocoa even affect cognitive thinking?) but whatever it may be, the relentless buzzing of your phone and friends tagging you on a video you’re all too familiar with is too hard to believe. Hence, with eyes wide akin to an owl and mouth gaping into an ‘o’ you declare to an empty room, 

“Holy shit! I'm famous!”

The effect of your newfound popularity has not worn off despite the long walk to the bus station. In fact, you feel elated as though the spotlight is on you, literally and figuratively. You can hear the compliments from strangers commending your talent, their eyes glimmering with astonishment, and rounds of claps as each user hit the like and share button. Holy fucking shit this must be what celebrities feel on a daily. It is such a huge boost to your frail ego and the more you think about it, the more it becomes surreal. 

And it doesn’t help when you see an old friend from a distance walking towards you and the bus station.

“Good morning.” He greets you first, and rather flatly. 

“Daichi,” you call, turning your head to him in the most dramatic way, fake flipping your hair in exaggerated swoop. “Do you want my autograph?” 

A light scowl plastered on his face and accompanied by a confused “Huh?” It is enough to make you snorts like an airhead, “Daichi, your dearest friend is a celebrity. I am internet famous.” As he stares at you his scowl deepens, eyes squinting as he reaches to the exposed skin on your arm to pinch.

“Ow! What d’ya do that for?!” you rub the sensitive skin as you shoot him a glare but he shrugs it off.

“To wake you up from the false reality you’re living in.”

“I am awake and I’m not making this up! I know what you’re thinking, Daichi Sawamura.” You pull out your phone as indignation takes over you. 

The bus arrives in the midst of you searching for the video on the social media platform. Consumed as you are by your phone, Dachi acts as the guide and eyes for the both of you. He places a hand on the small of your back and leads you inside the bus, scrolling through hundreds of notifications to fetch the said video. He guides you by saying “watch out for the stairs” when climbing up the entryway of the bus and “take the window seat” when he finds an empty booth for the both of you. Once settled in your seats, you shove the video at your friend’s face.

“Look. One hundred thousand likes for a video of me singing to a street musicians’ guitar ensemble. I wasn’t aware someone was taking a video until it found its way to me when my friends keep tagging me in it.” 

Daichi watches the video, taking your phone from your grasp as a grin gradually crept up his face. He listens to your voice intentlyㅡa sound he grew fond of over the years. In the video, when you reach the chorus of the song, Daichi could see you loosen up. It was evident that you were enjoying the music as your body unconsciously swayed to the soothing tune from the guitar ensemble. He sees the performer in you that you’re wary of showing. You belong to the stage and Daichi has always been your number one supporter. He felt the urge to tease you about the video, but the feeling of pride overrules it.

“You see, I was right all along. You do belong on stage. I’m very proud of you, (y/n).” It would've been much easier on your heart if Daichi teased you. You’re weak for him. You know that every compliment that comes out from him is laced with sincerity. Of all the people you know, Daichi is the only person who truly understands your struggles of being mute under the pressure of anxiety. The itch on your throat. The begging of your voice box to sing, but your mind telling you don't. You couldn’t perform under watchful gazes because you’re too afraid, too worried about mistakes. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” You turn to look at the window to blink away the tears beginning to pool on your lash line. Achievement is sweet but it tastes even better when you have someone close to you to celebrate it. You’re more than grateful to have your best friend with you. You sit in companionable silence for a couple of minutes until Daichi decides to break it. 

“Have you decided on an extracurricular?”

“I'm already a member of the Anthropological Society,” you murmur, holding your chin on your palm as you look through the window.

“You’re required to join your course’ club. (Y/n), you know what I mean.” Is we already back to sassy Daichi that makes you want to put him in a chokehold everytime he nags? God, it has only been a couple of minutes but you miss supportive Daichi.

When you turn to meet his eyes, you see exactly the face you had imagined; Eyelids are drawn downwards, lips pursed, and the tiny dent on his face, which you love to call a dimple forehead, appears between his eyebrows whenever he’s either in a deep thought or nagging you about something important (as he claims it to be) just like the situation at hand. 

It would have been easier if you excelled in a single field, and didn't end up mediocre in just about anything you tried. You aren’t like Daichi who, even in the early years of adolescence, showed great aptitude for swimming. He’s an athlete whom everyone expected to be part of the national team when he entered a University which he was able to pull off. Upon graduation from high school, coaches from different Universities across the country tried sweet-talking the oh-so-famous swimmer from Miyagi into a winning contract until he finally settled on Tokyo University.

“I don’t know, Dai. I haven’t given it much thought yet.” A heavy sigh rolls out from your parted lips. You rest your head on his shoulder as though the pressure has caught up to you. Daichi drops the topic and lets you off the hook. (Well, for now). 

Soon the bus comes to a halt and you’re tailing behind your best friend as you both make your way to the entrance of the University. Upon reaching the intersection which separates your college from his, you bid him a farewell.

“Hey! During lunch, let's eat together. Tell your fans I have you reserved.” He jokes as he waves at you. 

“All yours.” He chuckles when you shoot him with finger guns. 

Walking forward as you look over your shoulders and converse with someone backing away from you is not the best way to trudge through a crowded hallway. You’re reminded of that when you accidentally hit someone shoulder-to-shoulder. Well… not really. You aren’t sure if it's their shoulder because the next thing you see is a bowed head with dark strands falling at the side of his face making it difficult for you to see their face.

“Sorry, I wasn’t looking.” As an apology, you picked up a pen that had fallen from the books stacked in his arms. The boy is extremely jittery, shifting all books to one arm as his free hand pushes the black rim of his glasses back to the top of his nose. His shaky fingers rake his hair up clumsily whilst giving the fringe over his eye careful taps as if worried he’d ruin his hairstyleㅡquite an odd one if you would describe it.

“N-no, it’s, uh, fine. Yeah, it’s fine. No worries.” He stumbles in his words. He glances at you quickly, as if afraid that your eyes would burn holes through his skull and hurriedly shuffles his way in the opposite direction. He was quick on his feet and the next thing you know you’ve lost him in the sea of students in the morning rush. 

Meandering your way to your classroom with your mind clouded with endless possibilities of joining clubs or any extracurricular activity that will give color to your resume hinders you from noticing strangers, two of them to be exact, gawking at you. They’re leaning their back on the wall adjacent to the door of your room. 

The slightly taller boy nudged the other in an obvious (not to you) way when you walked past them, and said boy sadly does not know how to whisper. 

“Rintarou’s connections are on point! That’s them, right?” The other shushes him, warning him to tone down his voice. The loud one tilts his head to the side, confused. “But isn’t getting their attention the entire point of this?” 

He did have a point. 

“Why do I have to fucking do this-” The slightly shorter boy with style worth turning heads mutters under his breath. Not to mention the metal pierced through his right brow and the inked art behind and below the shell of his ear. He curses as he watches you place a bag down on one of the tables connected in an L-shape before helping yourself to a seat. 

“Because it’s your idea.” He buoyantly states matter of factly. His already-arched eyebrow shoots up at the same time drawing a corner of his lip. “It isn’t that hard when you come to think about it. You’ll just have to ask. Simple.”

“If it's that simple then why don’t you do it, Bo?” 

“We swore in front of the source of my musical prowess; the cymbal, the drumsticks, the empty mic stand, and the god of music. Whoever goes against their promise will be guaranteed bad luck on the next performances.” Bo paused to look at his friend in a rather dramatic and comical way. “Do you want that for yourself?” He speaks in a ominous tone as though it did the job.

“Whoever made that up is a total dumbass.” His spiteful remark earns a muttered “ouch” from Bo. 

After a moment or two, the taller finally drags out an impatient sigh. He declares, “Alright, I’ll help you out because it seems like a certain Miya has lost his edge.” 

Before the blonde could say anything else, he was already being pulled inside a classroom he has never set a foot in. His friend leads him to the person they have been eyeing since they arrived. 

As if your morning could get even weirder like the viral video from this morning, two dudes with a hand connected to the other’s wrist stand before you. They both didn't say anything when you turned to look at them but eventually, the boy holding the other in place clears his throat and flashes you a beam worth remembering. His intimidating auraㅡthe black streaks on his gelled up hair and the silver piercing adorning his lips coupled with a pair of bold brows and a pair of stunning round flaxen eyes exudes his amiableness. 

“Hi.” He begins, never letting go of his companion’s arm. “I am Bokuto Koutarou and my friend over here, Miya Atsumu, has something to say.” He nudges his friend using his elbow and whisper-shouts “There I made my intro. Now, your turn!”

“Shut it, Bo.” Atsumu wriggles his arm from Bokuto’s grip. His Adam's apple bobs as he displays an expression between unfeeling and constipated. He purses his lips. “This might sound sudden but we want you to sing.”

Baffled with his request, you look around the room before gazing at the blonde with a concerned face. “Like, right now?!”

“No, not now. We, uhm…damn it.” Atsumu sucks in the air, closing his eyes briefly as though to keep himself calm. After which, he continues. “Bokuto and I and the other two members of our band, The Labyrinths, found your viral video and I think your voice range and style fit our band’s style. So, we’re thinking maybe you would like to consider joining our band as a vocalist.”

Seeing your attention hooked on their offer, the rest of Atsumu’s nerves finally wear off, and the blonde continues explaining. “Try a song or two with our band. You can back out anytime but to tell you the truth…,” he rounds his shoulder, anchoring a hand on his hips. “...we don't usually recruit members this way. Consider yourself special.” 

You stare at Atsumu, and your clouded thoughts turn hazy. You don’t know how to respond to him. Do you want to give it a try or do you want to play it safe? Atsumu is well aware that you’re interested, (it's written all over your face) and decides to take his game up a notch, classic Miya style. 

“So,” Atsumu utters in a low tone, mouth stretching into a brazen smile. “Would you like to join us?”

well, well, well, it's time to decide! butt before we do that allow me to explain a few things. below is the love meter. as you can see there are white hearts next to the characters' names. one after the other, the white hearts will turn into red hearts if you made a choice that lead to developing a closer romatic tie with the character. so if you want y/n to end up with a character let's say, Daichi, the goal is to have 5 red hearts and it should be consistent over time.

LOVE METER:

♡ Sawamura Daichi: 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

♡ Atsumu Miya: 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

♡ Kuroo Tetsurou: 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

♡ Tsukishima Kei: 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

♡ ?: 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

now that's settled. here is the poll!

tumblr cannot handle a heavy post. it wouldnt let me include it here :(

[unicorncoalition]

number 9 for the fanfic writer ask game

five people asked for number 9, "What’s your favorite line(s) or scene(s) that you have written?" so i'm picking five lines/scenes lmao @bitterleafs @solomonara @kennexara @justtoarguewithyou @inqorporeal 

1. bucky and steve spend their honeymoon in northern quebec during winter and see the milky way and the northern lights from don't threaten me with a good time.

As they emerge from the forest, the sky opens up. Bucky inhales so sharply his breath freezes in his lungs. The rich night sky touches every corner of the horizon, yawning infinite above them. Bucky can’t chance another breath, fearful of disturbing the aching silence. The sky is choked with them, more stars than Bucky has ever seen, dense clusters of light spilling across the heavens. “Oh,” breathes Steve, breath condensing in the cold air. “Wow. Never seen it like that before.” He gestures vaguely at the expanse. “The milky way.” Bucky thinks maybe he has. Real or photograph, books, the internet, he’s—it’s familiar. The staggered stars, the deep awe, the tight squeeze on his heart that isn’t just the clear, cold winter air filling him up; it’s a beloved sight. When he looks up from wherever he is, the sky offers release and comfort. Different angles, maybe, from different places, but when he doesn’t know anything else, he knows the sky. It’s better like this, Steve shoulder to shoulder with Bucky, mittened hand clutched in his. This is the best view he’s ever had in his life. Standing together in this muted landscaped, muffled soft by thick blankets of snow, Bucky is full to bursting. He’s warm, overcome, eyes prickling with tears. “Okay,” Bucky says shakily, sniffling. “It’s not the worst honeymoon destination you could have chosen.”

2. I've always loved dick and jason's argument from chapter 5 of hate that you know me so well. the whole fic was building to the angry kiss that comes after this.

"I'm giving you the chance to bow out gracefully, birdy," says Jason. "Before you make us both regret this." "I don't," says Dick. "I don't regret anything. I don't regret anything with you, Jay." Something terribly sharp and vulnerable flashes across Jason's face before his expression hardens. "I regret everything with you," Jason snarls. It's such a typical response that Dick wants to laugh. Jason always takes what Dick offers, weaponizes it, and throws it back at him like a grenade. It's so transparent that Dick is surprised he never clocked it before; Jason doesn't mean a word of what he says. "You know what I think?" says Dick. This time, when Jason advances on him, he holds his ground, parrying the jab Jason throws at him. Jason huffs and redirects his aggressive posturing, trying to use his weight to push through to the door, but Dick blocks him again, grabbing him by the front of his suit and pulling them nose-to-nose. "I think you're jealous."

3. slade using a decade-old phone and dick mocking him for it in see your sadness, share your pain.

"I need to borrow your phone," says Dick. His voice only wavers a little. The trucker doesn't look at him as he extracts an honest-to-god Motorola flip phone from the pocket of his jeans and hands it to Dick. A fossil, Dick thinks. He didn't know they still made these things. "Thanks," he says dryly. "You sure you have enough minutes on this brick?"

4. i'm very fond of the claustrophobia i wrote into the opening scene of if you want me, let me know.

"Why aren't you on patrol?" Jason's expression sours further. "I had a weird feeling." "So you decided to bring that weird feeling here?" Dick scoffs. "To weird feeling central? Fine, don't tell me. Keep icing me out. I know you don't want to talk about what happened, but—" With the heavy clunk of the breakers flipping, the lights go out, plunging them into darkness. Dick goes very still. "Shit. Of course. Backup power should kick on in a second." The generators do not kick on. There is nothing but darkness, thick and impenetrable, pressing down on Dick like a physical thing, and suddenly Dick is not sure Jason is still beside him at all. Was Jason ever here? Did Dick make him up? "Jay?" Dick says quietly. "Are you there?" "Where the fuck else would I be, Dickhead?" Jason's voice is gruff. Relief inflates Dick's tight lungs like a balloon. He holds it for a second, then exhales slowly. "Just checking."

5. i miss disaster hawke from here comes the spark. there's lovely art of this scene, too.

“Good night, Hawke,” says Fenris. He’s wearing a worn sweatshirt over his pyjama top, now, and the sleeves are too long, Hawke notices. They cover his hands. Unbearable. “Not unless I successfully hibernate like a bear for the next six months,” says Hawke cheerfully. “But thank you. I appreciate the sentiment.” Fenris’s eyebrows are so mobile. Very expressive. “You’re welcome,” he says flatly. Then he turns away and continues on to the bathroom and Hawke lets out a slow breath. “Marry me,” he whispers. “What?” says Fenris, half-turning. “What?” Hawke practically yells. “I said good night!” He slams his bedroom door and leans against it, heart pounding. Smooth. So smooth. Hawke is a walking disaster.

[doorplays]

Door Reviews: Hypnospace Outlaw (2019)

Sometimes I find myself wanting to return to the past. In the face of a lot of troubles today, the past, by comparison, is wonderful. The climate was cooler, everything was more affordable, and the problems don’t seem as big as today. And most of all, the past is just… familiar. It’s set in stone. We know what happens, so we can relive it at will, with our own memories. Nothing can hurt us beyond how much the past already did. It’s no wonder people are fond of nostalgia.

Tendershoot harnessed that nostalgia for something rather specific: late-90’s internet culture. They’ve crafted something that is very reminiscent of the days where everyone can make their own site and make their own rules, a time before Facebook was solidified as the de facto social network. And what they’ve made, I found very charming! So: let’s review Hypnospace Outlaw!

What’s it about? In an alternate universe, Hypnospace has replaced the internet as the nascent technology that brings people together. You have enlisted as a sort of volunteer moderator for the company who made this space: Merchantsoft.  You enforce their rules and note down offenses ranging from copyright infringement to extralegal commerce. It sounds boring, but at its heart Hypnospace Outlaw is an investigation game where you try and find the content that you should be removing by going through Hypnospace, bouncing from one page to another, experiencing the rich worldbuilding along the way.

STYLE (Gameplay, Graphics, Music)

Starting this game I instantly remember one thing: the Windows 98 era. You go on your computer, boot it up, turn on your internet, hear that modem sound, then visit various websites. Exploring all the websites has that funny vibe because a lot of them look so ridiculous yet still looks like it wouldn’t look out of place in the late 90’s! The style is just perfect and I find it so charming and endearing.

Gameplay revolves around you exploring sites relevant to the cases given to you by your handler. You will be given access to certain zones, each with a certain number of websites you can access from there. You have to inspect the websites to see which one of them breaks the rules of Merchantsoft, embodied by the acronym CHIME: Copyright Infringement, Harrassment, Illegal Activity, Malicious Software, and Extralegal Commerce. When a site element (text, picture, or hyperlink) falls under these categories, you will then report them to your handler and mark them as Violation Points.

Each penalty you mark gives you HypnoCoin, which you can use to buy various things. You can use them to buy wallpapers, songs, stickers, and other things you can use to decorate your Hypnospace desktop. And there are a LOT of these you can discover, ranging from silly wallpapers from hotdog companies to vaporwave-esque songs by underground artists.

The cases that you have to solve are of decent difficulty all in all. Solving them reminded me of Her Story (2015) by Sam Barlow. I made use of the in-game search functionality a fair bit, and had to root through a lot of sites to understand what I had to do next. They were fun to solve!

There’s music in most of the pages and a lot of them have different vibes. All in all, they definitely fit with the so-bad-it’s-good vibe they’re going for. Have you ever had music playing in your Friendster page or whatever social media you had back then when you were a teen? Well, that’s the vibe. Some are so over the top, some are just funny, and some are plain good.

All in all, this game’s style is perfect for what it’s going for. It really brought me back to the days of Windows 98, and all that I associate with it. It’s funny and charming! I love it a lot.

SUBSTANCE (Story, Characters, Impact)

I had a false start with this game. I understood that I ended up being a sort of moderator for Hypnospace. But I wasn’t quite prepared for what it entailed. And let me tell you, penalizing old people for small mistakes they don’t quite understand felt really bad, so bad that I stopped playing this game the first time I played it…

I picked it up again this month though, and I pushed on, and I was very much rewarded for it discovering all these in-game websites. Most of them are shitty webpages, but the fact that each one was made by a person in the game made it feel more real. Like, of course it’ll be shitty, most of these people don’t really know how to do graphic design! And there’s also the physical limitations of the hardware!

There’s the overarching story, which is pretty good, but there’s also the small stories you see browsing Hypnospace. A lady running for community leader, a widowed biker who just wants friends, some geeks just trying to protect their space, a religious child who loves this world’s version of Pokemon, there’s a lot to see!

It’s a strange mix of mocking yet earnest. It plays up the shittiness of websites of the past and puts a lot of care into how personal they can be for the people making them. The people feel real. The world felt real. I found myself getting amused at the antics played out, and caring for the highs and lows of everyone.

After I finished this game, I really had to pause and just… digest everything. I think I will remember this game for a while.

VERDICT

Y2K may have let me down, but this game has not. If you are looking to relive the nostalgia of late 90’s internet, play this game. If you’re looking for at least a decent investigation game, play this game. If you are looking for something very unique, play this game!! It’s charming, funny, and earnest. I am very fond of it and wholeheartedly recommend it.

Door Rates Hypnospace Outlaw: 4.5/5!

[seobacklinkes]

The Importance Of Back Links For Your Online Success

There are different types of linking strategies

When it comes to linking strategies, beginners who aren't familiar with SEO strategies can get lost. Before we discuss how to get the best links, we should first define what linking strategies are.

1. One-way links. One way links are considered the best type of link you can get. A one-way link is a link that links to your site, but you are not required to link back.

2. Reciprocal linkage. Reciprocal linking is when you win a link on a website and display that link on your website. Search engines are not fond of reciprocal linking, according to many people. As you will see, this is not true.

3. Triangular linking. Many webmasters use triangular links because they are afraid of possible penalties for reciprocal linking. Site A links to Site B. Site A will link to Site B. Site C will then link back to Site A.

4. Multi-linking. Multi-linking is similar to triangular linkage, but involves multiple websites.

One-way links are the best option, because they have the highest weight in the hierarchy.

How to get one way links

It's still possible to do it the old-fashioned way by asking other webmasters for a link. The internet has changed into a landscape where "you scratch my back and I scratch yours". If you can't provide value to the webmasters, it will be difficult for your link to appear on other websites.

Some strategies work well for acquiring one-way links. They are:

* High-quality content. The webmasters are constantly on the lookout to find high-quality information. They will link to such unique information if it is available. Content is the embodiment of information. You'll get many links if you deliver unique content in an eloquent and clear manner backlinks for sale.

* Article marketing. The webmasters are also always looking for new content. They often get the content they require from the numerous article directories on the World Wide Web. You can still leave the link, as they will not be able to reproduce the article without the resource box.

* Affiliate program. You can create an affiliate program to provide links for your signups if you are selling a digital item. Signups can promote their affiliate links and, since they will include your domain, you will be able build back links for your website.

Why you need to build back links

Search engines will generate 80% of your traffic. The more prominent your website is in the search engine results, then the more traffic you will be able to gain.

Search engine spiders are robotic creatures that index your website. Before they can index your site, they have to be able find it.

[tfemby]

Neovim - A journey in the wacky world of text editing

Lately I've been sick of my old Vim config. I set it up close to decade ago and have been putting off updating the config since before a certain virus found it's way to all of our doorsteps. So many of the plugins I've been using are ancient and flat out don't work with Vim8 or just kind of suck.

For years, it worked fine for the perl, bash and odd rakudo scripts I wrote. I remember spending hours looking around for plugins that helped me solved issues but sadly, many aren't cutting it anymore. Thinking seriously about spending a dozen or more hours doing that again, I said,

"Screw it, I keep seeing people talk about Neovim online, what's all the buzz about? It sucked the last time I used it. What's changed?"

The last time I tried out Neovim was around 2015/2016 and it was pretty much the exact same as Vim with one caveat - many of the plugins I wanted didn't work with it well and the darn thing constantly crashed. It's been enough time, right? Probably everything is fixed?

I opened up my Vim one last time, wrote a quick note in my config file which simply read the date, and I finally said goodbye to Vim. I had a whole world of possibilities to explore!

Neovim: Endless possibilities

So where to start... Vim is known for having a configuration file which uses Vim's own language; aptly named Vimscript. Vimscript works fine but you'll only ever use it for Vim and nothing else. Some of the issues I've had with Vimscript were that it just feels as old as it looks. Want to make your own custom additions to a plugin? You're going to mentally have to go back to the days where everybody was on IRC and Neocities was the default for personal webpages. It's a language that definitely feels it's age.

Neovim in comparison has come up with a solution to this and allows you to use Vimscript but there's an interesting twist. Lua. The infamous programming language that everybody has heard about from their favourite games but never looked into. I have some fond memories of opening gmod and joining a server then waiting a solid 40 minutes for everything to load in. In that progress screen, I saw many mysterious .lua filenames as I cursed about Aussie internet being so garbage. There were so many mysteries behind what those scripts could have been but peak gamer laziness got the better of most of me, and likely many of you reading (for non-millenials, it's Roblox that's likely associated with lua).

Gaming tangent aside, Neovim allows you to configure your text editor with a fully fledged programming language. I've seen old vim scripts do some incredible things but boy, was I in for a world of overwhelming complexity, confusion, dopamine and just pure euphoria.

Looking through the world through the lua looking glass

I know, I know, there's plenty more stuff to Neovim besides it using Lua so I'm quickly mentioning that the Neovim API has been wonderful. It's insanely well documented and mix that together with Lua, you can probably write doom in the thing... including making it work as multiplayer since the editor has the capability of tcp/ip. This exists to allow you to remotely control you editor from elsewhere, perhaps from your phone?

So what did I do when I first installed Neovim? Well I obviously went to the website page and immediately didn't understand a single thing. Everything was foreign and I had 0 idea about Lua. I went to my old and trusted vimscript instincts to get some basics up and running such as indenting, line numbers, column highlighting and so on.

Once I had something that felt vaguely familiar, I went and took a look at how to implement these things in lua. It was surprisingly... easy. Take the following couple of lines of Vimscript (from my vimrc) and compare it to my nvim/init.lua.

.vimrc set smartindent set cursorcolumn set cursorline

.config/nvim/init.lua local options = { smartindent = true, cursorcolumn = true, cursorline = true } for j, k in pairs(options) do vim.opt[j] = k end

As you can see, the lua version is a bit longer but effectively everything you're used to in vim is easily accessible via vim.opt.. I am lazy and put all of the options into a loop to prepend all of them.

You also have the option of vim.cmd('command') if you want to just want to copy and paste your old configurations in. The looping trick also works for vim.cmd.

Lastly, on this post, I will say that there is vim.g for things you're previously use let g:<action> on in old vim.

I may post more as I have interesting things setup with LSP, linters/formatters/code actions and more.

[fruitalike]

OFTEN || ELLIOT x WILLY SMUT w/ PLOT

pairing: elliot x willy

rating: explicit (18+ obviously)

tags: trans elliott, implied/referenced/internalized homo/transphobia, not that much though it’s fine, it’s really just sappy smut i swear, vaginal fingering/oral/sex etc., gentle sex, elliott’s 40 + willy’s 55, brief alcohol + drug mention (extremely brief)

________________________________________________________________

“What parts of ya are off limits?” He nipped at his ear as his hand slid under his shirt.

“None… as long as you’re gentle.”

“Of course.” Elliott’s clothes were off rather quickly, leaving him completely naked in front of Willy. Most of Willy’s clothes were stripped too, in turn, but Elliott never felt exposed in his presence. He did feel naked, of course, but comfortable. Willy’s eyes traced down his body and bit his lip, “I guess ya really are a natural redhead.” Elliott huffed.

READ ON AO3

OR

↓ ↓ ↓ ↓

As Elliott had gotten older, he began to both finally enjoy and bitterly regret his reclusive nature. He’d turned forty recently, and while he was more than grateful for another day to celebrate the gift that he felt life was, he became painfully aware of how few friends he had when he received no congratulations on the date. 

Truthfully, he knew he had friends– well, a friend, singular–in Willy, the fisherman just down the beach from him. He did know other people in town, though he wasn’t as close with them as he was with Willy. There was something about him that felt familiar to Elliott, something that he had noticed in Harvey and Shane from town as well, but they never even approached the topic. But it remained different with Willy. 

He was far enough along in life, from a far enough away period that Elliott knew when he was in the company of those who shared his natural affections for his fellow man. He’d known that about Willy probably from the day he met him. Surely it was obvious, an older man living in solitude without ever having been married, without ever having children? One may assume that he had taken liberties with his such assumptions, but when he found himself attracted to the older man, and he returned with a reserved, easily denied public affection, he knew very well the man that Willy was. 

And what a man Willy was. Certainly, a little too hardworking but also the kindest man Elliott had ever known. Anxious in a new town, he’d found himself gladly accepted by Willy, his warm embrace and a hearty pat on the back made him feel like he had a chance at belonging in Pelican Town–even if he still wasn’t too sure about the rest of the villagers yet. 

Out on another month's long fishing trip, Elliott was left missing him deeply. Day in and day out, he'd sit in front of the window in his cabin, waiting for the lonely vessel to finally pull back into port.

He brushed his hair as he looked out of the window, thinking of the times Willy had invited him onto the boat. Willy recently fixed up the vintage cabin inside, and he had been so eager to share it with Elliott. The memories that they made on the boat were some of Elliott’s most fond. 

They’d leave early in the morning and have breakfast out on the open sea. Willy would catch a fish for lunch, preparing it differently every time. Then, they’d retire to the cabin of the boat and drink beers as the afternoon heat became too much to bear. It wasn’t possible to run any kind of cable TV or internet service onto such an old boat, so the large television within ran on DVDs and VHS tapes. The pair often preferred the movies they feared in their youth, enjoying the absurdity of the practical effects used long before CGI. 

As much comedy as they derived from the ancient horror classics on the screen, Elliott still found the exchange often romantic. They usually cuddled while the movies played, Willy’s arm stretched across the back of the coach, and Elliott’s head on his chest curled into him. At times, Willy would even play with his hair, so it wasn’t as if he was ignoring him or that Elliott’s actions made him uncomfortable, he’d frequently initiated the affection!

Maybe he was just touch starved or lonely, but things steered sensual at times, too, Elliott thought. They were always rather close to one another on the small couch, sharing a blanket brought them closer still, but sometimes Willy’s hand would move from the back of the couch and around Elliott’s waist. Sometimes even to his thigh! Sometimes, Elliott would put his hand on Willy’s chest while they watched movies, and he never resisted. Wordlessly, Willy would move his hand to rest on top of Elliott’s, intertwining their fingers even for just a few minutes, though that was rare. Surely that meant something, right?

More often than not, he would look up at Willy from his chest and feel like he should kiss him. It seemed like Willy felt that way, too. But he never made a move, and quite frankly, Elliott was scared to make the first move. Willy was his dearest, closest friend, not just in Pelican Town, but certainly in the world; not once in his entire life had Elliott had a friend like him. He was scared to ruin that. He felt that he was obvious enough about his affections that if Willy wanted to make the first move, he would, or at least he would know that he could.

Part of him was also afraid that maybe Willy had shared his affections before all the time that they spent on the boat. Sometimes they’d get a little tipsy, maybe a little high, and they’d just talk, and talk, and talk. Talk about anything and everything. Perhaps it was unfair to say that Elliott and Willy had a similar reclusiveness, and that was never clearer than when they had these long-winded discussions. Willy would talk about anything except himself. Elliott didn’t feel the same; the relationship they had, however romantic or platonic it was, made him want to share so much of himself with Willy, so he did. 

As a result of this mindset, Willy became the first person in town that he told he was trans. In fact, to date, he was still the only person in town that knew, as he found it difficult to trust anybody else with such sensitive information. He didn’t take the revelation poorly, either. Willy gleefully shared stories of men he’d known in the ’80s that were trans as well. The few times that he would share stories about himself, they were about his time as a sailor. The way that he spoke about the men he knew then told Elliott once more that he was correct in his assumption of Willy’s gayness. But the sudden flashes of sorrow and even fear that crossed his eyes prevented him from pressing further– he’d known the feeling all too well to contribute to it. He’d tell him if, and when he was ready, he was sure. 

As much as Elliott could worry, he was also sure he was safe with Willy. He was a good man, and he did not steep in whatever hatred he could have picked up on in the past. He congratulated and encouraged him in his transition. He understood his need to keep his cards close to his chest, and all of Elliott’s secrets were safe with him. He understood his uniqueness, his easily perceived pretentiousness, and his flamboyance were not indicative of his falseness; indeed, it was proof that his truth ran so deep he could not help but fall deeply in love with his queerness. So much so that it overflowed in all that he did. Willy understood how important that was, even if he was scared to express it. Perhaps even a little envious at times, maybe the 15 years between them had a more profound effect culturally than he thought it did. 

Elliott had stopped brushing his hair by now, watching the waves crash against the beach as the sunset. His heart ached for the fisherman, his eyes shutting and letting him ponder more fanciful things. He often wondered just how Willy had ended up in the valley when it was so obvious by his accent and dialect that he was from somewhere in Louisiana. He wondered how long it took for him to become accustomed to all four seasons– he was pretty sure it didn’t usually snow that far down south. For a moment, he wondered the same about himself, how exactly had he ended up in the valley, instead of where he was before, instead of in his hometown. Did he even have a hometown anymore?

He sighed as his thoughts began to feel too serious again. Elliott watched as the sun set quickly, and he worried about Willy in the oppressive heat that stuck around even as summer moved into fall. He hoped that he would hurry up and return soon. 

 As the evening sunk into the darkness of night, Elliott gave up and retreated to bed. Even without the sun in the sky, it was too hot for a blanket. He soothed himself with nothing more than a flat sheet and hoped that he'd see the trawler return with the sunrise. 

Elliott rose before the sun did, following his usual morning routine. He brushed his hair, he brushed his teeth, he showered, he brushed his hair, he put all the creams and tonics on his face that made him feel like he could control the hands of time. He brushed his hair; perhaps it was becoming compulsive at this point, but he couldn't manage to care.

Soon enough, he found himself at the window sill once more, almost pouting as he waited for Willy to return. He sighed; maybe it was time to admit that their relationship was closer than he'd let himself believe. As much as he cared for every friend he had, he'd never missed one this much before. But he'd certainly missed lovers this deeply. Were they that close? His eyes struggled to stay open as his lids got heavy; it was too early for this. 

He awoke to the sound of the crashing waves and the sun rising. He shook himself back into reality, again looking out the window. The small fishing trawler could be seen just over the horizon. Elliott slightly trembled with excitement. 

He managed to pull himself together just in time for the boat to pull up to the dock. With nerves somehow eased by caffeine and an outfit he was sure was put together but not too formal, Elliott headed out to meet Willy as he arrived. This was their typical routine, there was nothing to be worried about, he assured himself as he wrung his hands. The walk down to the pier was brisk and uncomfortable, the morning's air much cooler than the season called for. 

Willy greeted him with a smile and a hug, welcoming him into the small fish shack. Elliott helped bring in the coolers of frozen fish, while the majority had been sold off at a fish market before he returned to the valley, it was still a two-man job. They talked about Willy’s voyage as they worked, both men thankful that it didn't take much to supply the valley with fish. 

Once they were finished, the two continued with their usual routine and headed to the spa to ease the stress– and frankly, stench– of their early morning's work. They walked and talked quietly as they made their way through town, not wanting to awaken any of the other townspeople. 

At the spa, the two showered before entering the pool. They relaxed quickly as they floated in place, the intense feeling of healing keeping Elliott’s usually wandering eyes to himself. It didn’t take long for the two men to be fully restored, and ready for their trek back to the beach, but they floated in the water anyway. As lovely as it was to live on the beach, the pool's water was much kinder on the skin than the ocean's salt. 

Eventually, the two did make their way back to the beach. Elliott made a fresh salad for lunch, opting for something cool to survive the heat. Willy joined him, which he didn't always do, but Elliott was glad to have the company. They enjoyed their lunch and sat on the couch to relax even more.

Willy sat with his arm across the back of the couch, and Elliott rested his head on his shoulder. Even after showering and soaking in the spa’s pool, Willy still smelled heavily of the sea. Elliott wasn’t complaining, no, in fact he rather enjoyed the smell, having to fight the urge to bury his nose in Willy’s shoulder and breathe in deeply.

Elliott’s arm began to fall asleep, so he moved his hand to rest on Willy’s thigh. With his arm outstretched he regained feeling in it and Willy didn’t seem to mind his closeness. Elliott stayed there, snuggled up to Willy as the small television droned on in front of him. He couldn’t help but smile to himself as Willy absentmindedly played with his hair. “Were you worried about being alone at my age, if you don’t mind me asking?” Elliott spoke suddenly, feeling vulnerable.

“Never wasn’t worried about it.” Elliott pouted, that wasn’t quite the answer he’d expected or wanted to hear.

“How do you learn to cope with it?” Elliott sat up straight.

“Day at a time. Spend more time with who ya got.” He smiled slightly.

“Oh.” Elliott nodded. It was still more of a melancholy answer than he had hoped for, but he was glad to be part of the group of people that Willy ‘had’ nonetheless.

Willy suddenly snapped his fingers and stood from his place on the couch, startling Elliott more than he’d like to admit. “Speaking of…” He said, moving to retrieve something from his jacket that hung on the back of the cabin door.

He returned to Elliott’s side with clasped hands. “I remembered ya birthday.” He smiled, opening his hands to reveal a small gift box.

He flushed a deep red, standing and accepting the gift. “Thank you.”

Elliott gasped as he opened the small box, the most delicate and beautiful little duck feather inside, encased in resin to preserve it. It even had a little plaque at the bottom with the kind of duck it had come from, and its name: Wuffy. What a name! he thought. “Willy, this is a beautiful gift! Thank you!”

“Glad you like it!” Willy grinned as Elliott carefully set the gift down on the coffee table before hugging him tightly. Willy reciprocated, of course, patting him on the back.

They lingered in the hug as long as they usually would, though that was much longer than they would with anyone else. Elliott couldn’t help but think of how warm Willy was, and how good he smelled, and how genuine he was, and… he kissed him. He didn’t have it in him to care anymore; if this was the end of their relationship, so be it! At least he could say he tried. At least he appreciated who he already had.

To his surprise, Willy kissed back, his hands gentle but firm on his waist. Elliott blushed profusely as he desperately kissed him. When Willy moved to deepen the kiss, he welcomed it. They moved together in perfect harmony, both aware of how badly they needed each other. Elliott becoming acutely aware of how delicate his skin was as Willy’s beard rubbed against his face.

They pulled away from each other and tried to catch their breath. Elliott smiled as Willy caressed his face, “I wasn’t so sure you’d feel the same way about another man.”

Willy just chuckled, “As gay as the day is long.” Elliott giggled and kissed him again. As the kiss became more heated Willy sat back down on the couch and Elliott sat on his lap.

Willy kissed him deeply, his wandering hands slipping under the hem of his casual attire. Elliott began to wonder how far they’d go as he realized how much easier it would be for Willy to undress him in his house clothes. Willy’s hands slid up and down his back, stopping to gently caress his waist from time to time. His movements pulled Elliott closer, and Willy’s arousal became apparent.

Elliott huffed when Willy carefully moved his hair but moaned as he kissed his neck. He wrapped his arms around Willy’s neck, needing to be even closer to him to feel satisfied. Large hands groped at delicate skin, trying to elicit more of a reaction out of Elliott. His small moans and whines made Willy twitch. 

More and more of Elliott’s skin turned purple as time went on, hickies spreading from behind his ears to below the collar of his shirt. He was sure what skin was left unmarked would be red by the next day, Willy’s beard burning his skin every time he moved to suckle a different part of him. But he didn’t care about that right now, his eyes rolling back as every part of him tingled. 

Willy snickered against his neck as he continued to squirm. “Would you feel better if I touched ya?”

Elliott immediately nodded and whined, guiding Willy’s hand into his sweatpants. He slipped his hand into his boxers and began to jerk his small cock. Elliott went from kissing Willy desperately to hiding his face in his neck as the room spun and he gently bucked his hips. It had been so long since he’d been treated to such a lustful encounter… oh what joy he felt. 

Willy’s fingers moved expertly between his legs– he’d obviously done this before. That fact only made Elliott tingle more. It didn't take long for Elliott to be clinging to him and trembling, his orgasm quickly approaching. He huddled close to his ear and begged Willy to let him cum. The fisherman gladly obliged, reveling in how his feelings of ecstasy made him moan and grab at the back of his shirt. 

He continued to rut his hips into Willy’s hand even as his orgasm passed. He huddled close to Willy as he tried to collect himself. Willy rubbed his hand up and down his back again, which helped ease Elliott back into reality. His gentle kisses help distract him from the fact that his hand was most definitely still in his pants. “How do ya feel?”

“Mm. That was delightful.” 

“Shall we move to the bed, then?”

“That would be nice.” Willy picked him up and carried him to his bed, setting him down and crawling on top of him. He began to kiss his neck again, taking careful effort to mark him up even more. “What parts of ya are off limits?” He nipped at his ear as his hand slid under his shirt.

“None… as long as you’re gentle.”

“Of course.” Elliott’s clothes were off rather quickly, leaving him completely naked in front of Willy. Most of Willy’s clothes were stripped too, in turn, but Elliott never felt exposed in his presence. He did feel naked, of course, but comfortable. Willy’s eyes traced down his body and bit his lip, “I guess ya really are a natural redhead.” Elliott huffed.

Willy’s kisses trailed from his neck to the rest of his body. He moved down his chest and to his nipples, softly sucking on the left as he toyed with the right. Kissing across his chest, he made his way to his right nipple teasing him in the same way again. He moved further down his body as Elliott whined for more. Back arching against the bed as Willy settled between his legs. 

Elliott gasped as Willy started to suck him off, sliding his fingers through his hair and encouraging him. He tugged on his hair as he bobbed his head slightly, his moans egging Willy on. His head was already spinning again, that familiar feeling pooling in the bottom of his stomach; but when Willy cautiously pressed a finger to his entrance, he pleaded for him to continue. 

He groaned as Willy obliged, his cunt so wet that he couldn’t even feel the calluses on his fingers. Elliott opened up for Willy easily, taking one finger, then two, then three. Willy continued to suck his dick as he pumped three fingers in and out of his tight cunt, making Elliott squirm. One hand grasping at the sheets, the other pulling on Willy’s hair, pleading with him not to stop. 

Willy built a world ending rhythm as he pumped his fingers and flicked his tongue. He used his free arm to hold Elliott’s hips down as they continued to jerk upwards. He couldn’t help but smirk at how desperate he was for him. He groaned as his hair was pulled, pushing his face even closer to Elliott’s eager cunt. 

The sounds he was making told Willy that he was close again. He had to put even more of his weight on his hips as he got closer and closer to the edge, trying to counter the near dangerous jerking of his hips. Still, he continued, careful to follow the waves his hips made trying to avoid a bloody nose.

“Oh, Willy!” Elliott moaned, his back arched again, his orgasm overwhelming him. Willy kept on as he fell over the edge. He whimpered as he ejaculated. He wasn’t embarrassed, no, but he suddenly felt timid. He hadn’t exactly warned Willy that that was a possibility. He hadn’t expected it to be. But Willy just hummed.

Willy kissed his thighs and rubbed them softly as he came down from his high, again. Elliott didn’t know that he could still go at it like that. Even worse, he still wanted more. He gave Willy a look and he seemed to understand right away. He rose to rest on his knees, still rubbing his thighs. “Wanna go again?” He asked, smirking.

Elliott just nodded, his head rested on a pillow, his eyes half-lidded. He was beginning to tire, but he still had one round left in him. “Whaddya wanna do this time?”

He turned his head to face him better and pouted, “I’d appreciate it if you’d fuck me already.”

Willy blushed but quickly took off his boxers, caressing Elliott as he retrieved lube from the nightstand. “Either I wear a condom or I cum in ya, y’know that right?”

“I am adequately barren for such an endeavor.” Willy nodded, accepting the bottle when it was passed to him. 

He moved closer to Elliott, putting his thighs on top of his own so that his legs were spread even further. He slicked himself up and began to tease Elliott, rubbing his tip against his overstimulated cock. Elliott couldn’t help but moan, but he tried to glare at Willy anyway. He got the message and slowly began to push into Elliott. 

He pushed in further, and further, and further, until he was completely engulfed by Elliott. He groaned as he once more found himself kissing Elliott’s neck, “Ya the tiniest little thing…”

Elliott whimpered, “You’re huge.” 

Willy pressed their foreheads together as he began to gently rock in and out of Elliott’s tight cunt. They groaned together as he set his rhythm. Propped up with one arm, Willy held onto Elliott’s hip with the other. He gently groped at the soft tissue. He gently thrusted in and out of Elliott. He gently kissed him when he pouted. He was so gentle. He was all that Elliott could comprehend right now. He gently caressed his face, “Harder.”

“Harder?” 

“Mhmm.” Elliott’s eyes rolled back as he fulfilled his request.

“Faster.” Willy responded immediately this time, picking up the pace. 

His eyes rolled back again, his back arching as he still held onto Willy’s face. His cunt squeezed him every time he plowed all of the way in. As hard and as fast as he was getting fucked, it was still profoundly gentle. Willy was hardly fucking him, really, he was making love to him. And Elliott was smitten. 

Elliott wrapped his legs around Willy’s waist, causing him to need to use both arms to stable himself above him. He enjoyed how much closer he was. He rubbed his thumbs in circles on Willy’s face. He was able to gaze into his eyes just long enough for him to pound into his g-spot. 

He threw his head back and screamed for Willy, his cunt squeezing him desperately, begging him to continue his onslaught of deep, slow thrusts. He thrust his fingers into his hair and slid his other arm around his neck. He whined everytime Willy moved inside of him. 

“You’re so good to me.” Elliott whispered, his body trembling as the pleasure became so great it was almost painful.

“S’perfect.” Willy whispered back, hardly able to form an intelligent response. A low groan escaped him as Elliott pulled him down further, pulling on his hair harder, and scratching at his back. He took the opportunity to grab one of his thighs so that he could get a better angle to pound his g-spot with.

Elliott squeezed him hard, and began mumbling incoherently. The only thing Willy was able to make out was him pleading with him once more. He knew his lover was close again and his own orgasm was rising quickly. He kept his pace as steady as possible, moaning with Elliott in unison. 

He tried to hold himself together as Elliott grew incomprehensibly tight, knowing that he was over the edge, but failed as he felt him ejaculate again. He thrust rapidly and haphazardly into Elliott’s tight cunt, filling him with his cum. He let go of his bruising grip on Elliott’s thigh as his thrusts became slower and less jagged. He deflated as his orgasm eased, letting part of his body weight rest on Elliott. 

They caught their breath and tenderly kissed. “We should do that more often.” 

[karalora]

On Disney's Live-Action Remakes

A thought occurs to me, as I read all the emphatically well-deserved snark aimed at the Cruella movie, especially the aspects that make little sense in connection with the original animated film…what Disney is counting on, when they release these live-action remakes and perspective flips, is that the majority of the audience hasn’t watched the original any time recently. That we have fond memories of watching as kids and instantly recognize the characters, but aren’t actually what you’d call familiar with that source material. In fact, they are relying on us being more familiar with the pop-cultural osmosis version of these movies and characters—with the discourse—than the actual portrayals.

Why make an origin movie about Cruella DeVil? Why, because she is the MOST EVIL of all the Disney Villains—she wants to kill puppies!—and wouldn’t it be just fascinating to discover how she got that way? Never mind that anyone who actually watches Disney movies and thinks about it for more than five seconds will realize that most of the Villains want to kill people at one point or another, and that any decent system of morality rates killing people as worse than killing puppies (at least if, like Cruella, you don’t know the puppies are sapient beings)…puppy-killing is memetically The Worst Thing, so Cruella’s backstory is deemed The Most Intriguing.

How about Maleficent? Well, people have seen a lot of well-meaning but superficial discussions about the Disney Princess brand and sexism much more recently than they have watched Sleeping Beauty, so what they remember is “the Princess sleeps through her own movie” and therefore it is Unfeminist and Bad. Therefore, they are primed to accept that turning the story on its head to be about the wicked fairy, who is an empowered woman, AND making it a rape-revenge story on top of that (awareness!), is More Feminist and also The Truth All Along.

Never mind that Sleeping Beauty, on its own, is a perfectly serviceable feminist movie, because the major movers and shakers of the story on both sides are all powerful women (and indeed, Maleficent can’t reckon entirely without the Good Fairies…so it makes them cowardly buffoons, diminishing three women in order to elevate one. Much empowered. So feminism. Wow).

Or take Beauty and the Beast. Now, that is one that adults actually watch frequently enough, so they couldn’t get too screwy with the plot and characterization, but boy oh boy did the internet discourse rear its head. You know how people are always noticing that Disney Princesses never have moms? Well, we’re gonna explain what happened to Belle’s mom! (She died. Of a disease. This of course changes our understanding of Belle on a fundamental level oh wait no it changes literally nothing) You know how modern people living in individualistic democracies criticize the Enchantress for punishing the Prince’s servants for his jackassery? We’re gonna explain that too! (See, it was sort of their fault he turned out so rotten, because they didn’t raise him better, which is definitely something the hired help in a monarchy has any control over). And on and on it goes, laser-focused on addressing what people think they know about the movie rather than being any sort of meaningful examination of its themes a generation later.

Hell, this mentality is even seeping into the animated features now. People are wondering where Elsa’s powers came from? Fine, make a sequel that explains it. Any sensible and confident creator would be able to say “It’s not important why she has powers. That’s not what the story is about. You don’t need to know where her powers came from anywhere than you need to know where Peter Pan’s powers came from.” (Except that apparently people have been asking where Peter Pan’s powers came from, because there’s an entire cottage industry dedicated to writing Peter’s origin story.)

I’m starting to drift, so I’ll wrap this up. Not only is Disney buying up every media empire under the sun to mine for new material since they can’t be bothered to make up their own anymore, they’re doing the same thing to their own back-catalogue. But that only works if the audience doesn’t have any more respect for the back-catalogue than the company does. So do yourself a favor, you with the Disney+ account that you only use to watch the new stuff as it comes out: Go back and watch the classics. When you hear that Disney is gearing up for another live-action remake of a decades-old animated feature, watch the animated one. Take it as it is, on its own terms, instead of looking for stuff that Cracked.com would have a field day with.

Disney can’t skin the puppies if people are still petting them. Go pet those puppies, and you’ll know to say no to the fur coat.

[baldwinboy5ive]

I call this Cobra Drive. AU where a sad boy meets another sad boy in his building elevator and they just stare longingly at each other for extended periods of time. (Daniel LaRusso, who made the crane kick famous, gets to add to his repertoire of bird karate moves by stomping Mike Barnes to death in the same elevator like a secretary bird.)

I also wrote some crap for this AU, even though I am not much of a fanfic writer. However, it’s not that bad. It’s just regular bad. 

“If I drive for you, you get your money. You tell me where we start, where we’re going, where we’re going afterward. I give you a five minute window when we get there. Anything happens in that five minutes and I’m yours. No matter what. Anything happens a minute either side of that and you’re on your own. I don’t sit in while you’re running it down, I don’t carry a gun, I don’t do karate - not anymore. I drive. Do you understand?” 

The well-rehearsed speech was delivered in an accent that was undeniably East Coast, but from a man who knew well the 100,000 streets of Los Angeles. Daniel ended it every single time with a secret tribute to his beloved mentor, whose life lessons were always punctuated with “Understand?” 

And Daniel did. He always understood what Mr. Miyagi had told him, and replied “Yeah, I understand,” even if some of his lessons had taken awhile to really make their impact on him. 

-----

Daniel moved frequently. It was routine now for him. Funny how things changed. He often remembered how monumental that first cross-country move had been, how the course of his entire life had shifted that summer of 1984. Now, his moves were quick, efficient, and all within LA. 

On his second day in his newest building, Daniel returned to his apartment by elevator. Another building resident stepped in with him, hauling a basket of laundry from the basement. 

He was familiar. Daniel kept his eyes trained at his feet while he felt the familiar man’s gaze on him for a moment. He allowed himself one quick glance, but didn’t manage to time it as well as he’d wanted. The golden-haired man who now shared a building with him was still staring back at him. 

His eyes were beautiful and sad. 

It was Johnny Lawrence. 

-----

“You just move back to LA or something?” was the question Johnny finally settled on after he and Daniel hauled his groceries into his second story apartment. There was too much he wanted to ask. It had been 34 years. Something in those 34 years had hardened the look in Daniel’s eyes.

“No, I’ve been here for awhile.” 

“So just new here?” 

Daniel nodded. 

“What are you up to now, LaRusso?” 

“I drive.” 

“Like, those internet car things?” Johnny asked, a touch of confusion on his face. 

“No, for the movies.” 

“You mean all the car chases and stuff?” 

“Yeah.” 

Johnny let out a soft laugh. “Isn’t that dangerous?” 

Daniel fully met Johnny’s eyes, and stared challengingly, the words “Oh, now you care about my safety and well-being?” hanging between the two of them unspoken. Daniel’s lips quirked into a slight grin. So did Johnny’s. Then Daniel knew. Johnny remembered it all. 

The intensity of Johnny’s bright blue eyes and the pain they carried eventually became too much for Daniel, who was the first to drop his gaze. He broke the silence by saying placatingly, “It’s only part time. Mostly I work at a garage.” 

“Where?” 

“Reseda Boulevard.” 

After a few more beats of silence, Daniel nodded his head towards the teen boy sitting at the kitchen table doing his homework, as if only just noticing him even though he’d rode up in the elevator with them. “He yours?” 

“They sometimes just come with the apartment. Old place here is infested. Overrun with roaches, children, teens. You might want to check under your kitchen counters and shit if you haven’t already, LaRusso.” 

The boy snorted, not offended in the least. “I’m Miguel,” he said. 

A door in the apartment slammed open, and another teen boy wandered into the kitchen. “Who’s this?” he asked, pointing at Daniel.

“This is LaRu- Daniel. Daniel, this is Robby.”

Daniel stared at the two teenagers. Neither of them resembled Johnny. Perhaps Johnny hadn’t been kidding about them surfacing from under the kitchen counters. 

-----

At the garage, a sly smile spread on the face of the man who’d given Daniel all of his jobs. “Oh, you and the kid know each other,” he said, gesturing rapidly between Daniel and Johnny while leaning over the open hood of a car he’d been working on. 

“Don’t,” Daniel warned. He stalked off, but not without grinning at his employer. 

“Uh…” Johnny began. A “He kicked me in the face when we were teenagers, but I did sort of deserve it a little, and it’s actually at least a 126 minute-long story” died on his lips. 

“We’re neighbors,” Johnny said. 

“Ahh,” said Daniel’s employer, as if that was all there was to know. 

Johnny explained in more detail what was going on with his Firebird, and was told that the repairs would take a few days. 

“Miguel, call us one of those car things from your iComputer.” 

“It’s an iPho-” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” cut in Daniel’s employer. “You and the kid are neighbors! He’d be happy to give you a ride.” 

Johnny met Daniel’s eyes from across the garage. He did indeed look happy.

---

“Hey, I know you. Come on, we met last year! Well - met again. It’s me. Snake. You drove me and Dennis back from Palm Springs. Hey, I got this sweet job planned out --” 

Fury blazed in Daniel’s eyes. Someone both recognizing him and talking to him about his jobs was more than enough to make Daniel disappear for a few months, but this wasn’t just any someone. This was one of Terry Silver’s men. Over the years, Daniel had done everything he could to be free of Terry and his mob. But every time Daniel thought he was safe, eventually, Terry would always come back. And there would always be a job. 

Terry’s man - and therefore Terry himself - reappearing in his life would have been bad enough before, but now? Now he had Johnny. He couldn’t just pick up and leave. He realized with anger burning up in his chest that he didn’t want to pick up and leave. 

Daniel cut Snake off with a low whisper. “How about this? Shut your mouth. Or I’ll kick your teeth down your throat, and shut it for you.” 

All Daniel had wanted was to finish his dinner and coffee in peace, until it was time to drive Johnny to the bar for his night shift. Daniel stared at Snake, never taking his eyes off of him until Snake quietly retreated from the diner. Only then did Daniel feel comfortable returning to his food.

-----

Daniel’s face took on a detached and aloof manner when he addressed the man Terry had sent. 

“When you get your money, his debt’s paid. He’s out for good. And you never go near his family again. Do you understand?” 

-----

Daniel did everything in his power to keep his voice even. Confident. Balanced. But that voice on the other end of the phone would always terrify him. Some things never changed. 

“I’m going to give you a time and a place and you’re going to come and get your money. Do you understand?” 

Terry barked out a laugh. “What do you get out of it, Danny boy?” 

“Just that: out of it.” 

Daniel hung up. For once he had the satisfaction of dictating terms with Terry Silver. 

-----

“They came to my apartment. How did they know where I live?” 

“I told you, I was going to call Kreese, I just wanted him to know that… that it wasn’t about the money… that you’re not interested in the money… that you just did it for him.” 

Daniel exploded at the man who had been his longtime employer. So this was how Kreese and Silver and known it was him. “Why?! You told them about Johnny! Why did you tell them about Johnny?!” 

“Calm down, kid. Just calm down.” 

“I should fucking kill you - you told them about Johnny! That’s how they figured it out, you know - that it was me. You told them about Johnny and then they knew it was me.” 

“I just wanted him to know… that as soon as you returned the money, that was the end of it, that’s all! I didn’t know. I didn’t know. How was I supposed to know?! How was I supposed to know… that everything led to Silver!” 

Daniel’s voice was breaking as he screamed at the old man. Daniel’s eyes were wild and he was breathing hard. Breathe in, breathe out, echoed the voice of his dear sensei in his head. Soon, his racing heart slowed just enough for him to calmly tell his employer, “They came for me, and now they’re going to come for you, too. You have to get out of here. Do you understand?” 

-----

John Kreese pleaded with his lifelong friend. “Anybody finds out you stole from the family, we’re both dead. The money always flows up, Twig. You know that!” 

Terry Silver fell uncharacteristically quiet amidst their shouting match. He looked at Kreese ruefully. “That’s why this driver’s gotta go, Johnny. That’s why he’s gotta go. He’s gonna tie me to this robbery.” 

It was too bad. Terry had always been fond of Daniel. 

-----

Daniel hoped he would never again have to fear for Johnny’s and his kids’ lives. He flicked his eyes up to the rearview mirror. Miguel and Robby were fast asleep in the backseat - and safe. Alive. 

Daniel did, however, find comfort in knowing that he didn’t have to pretend anymore, didn’t have to keep his karate hidden and tucked away. If Johnny ever needed it again, Daniel would use it. He’d help Johnny remember his. He thought fondly of the way Mr. Miyagi had once insisted that only Daniel’s root karate came from Mr. Miyagi, and had urged him to make his karate his own. 

If Daniel could do it, so could Johnny. Johnny’s Cobra Kai would be better - different, new. A product of the goodness Daniel was confident Johnny had inside of him. Johnny would use that goodness to teach Robby and Miguel. And Daniel vowed to be there with them. 

If anyone ever again tried to hurt any of them, the four of them would be ready. 

Another Mr. Miyagi lesson surfaced in Daniel’s memories as he continued driving. Back in 1994, Mr. Miyagi had returned to Daniel in LA after a long stay in Boston, and over the course of several days, had told him all about Julie Pierce, and the lessons he taught her. The final lesson had been: “Fighting not good, but if must fight - win.” 

That was what Daniel had done. 

Daniel smiled at the beautiful man in the passenger seat next to him, whose sadness never left his eyes, but who, despite this, could now smile back warmly at him. Daniel checked the rearview mirror once more, never taking his attention from the road ahead of them. Miguel and Robby were both still asleep. 

Daniel turned his gaze back to the road for a moment, feeling the hum of the car around him and those he loved. 

“I’m yours. No matter what. Do you understand?” 

-----

OH SHIT i forgot to mention, the idea for the cobra on the back of the jacket AND for including Robby both come from @idontknowkaratebutiknowcrazy !!!! Thank you for your moral support and help on these concepts! I always knew I wanted Daniel to be the Driver, so it didn’t even OCCUR to me to have the cobra on his jacket, until @idontknowkaratebutiknowcrazy said it, and then she said he can give it to Johnny later (even though it won’t fit him haha!). Just a note - I changed up the cobra design from the Cobra Kai logo though because the original logo looked kinda goofy as a silhouette. 

[bi-bard]

Are there still beautiful things? - Duke Crocker Imagine (Haven)

Title: Are there still beautiful things?

Pairing: Duke Crocker X Reader

Song Drawn: seven

Word Count: 801 words

Warning(s): mentions of troubles

Summary: Old memories bring back old connections as a familiar face rolls back into Haven.

Author's Note: I have known that I was going to make "seven" about Duke since I first started this series.

----------------------------------

I let out a small sigh as I looked up at the boat that Nathan had told me about.

I left Haven years ago. I wanted to pursue a life outside of the little town that too many people seemed to get stuck in.

I was doing well. I had a job and a nice apartment. I was happy.

And then something happened.

I was doing some work from my apartment and got stressed. I let out a small yell of frustration and the lamp on my desk almost exploded. I would've passed it off as a coincidence but then it happened again when I watched a sad movie. As soon as a tear fell, my TV started freaking out.

I got online soon after. I traced occurrences like this back to Haven years ago. So, whether I wanted to or not, I had to go home.

My first instinct was to find Duke. We were best friends... we were everything to each other.

Nathan told me about how Duke was staying on a boat.

I was walking up to the boat when I caught sight of someone doing a handstand on the deck.

I furrowed my eyebrows as the legs dropped.

"Hey," I yelled up. In a few seconds, a head popped over the edge to look at me. I smiled at him. "Duke."

"I'll be damned," he replied. "(Y/n)?"

"In the flesh," I held my hands out to the sides.

"Hold on," he called before running off.

He was soon hopping onto the dock and jogging over to pull me into a hug.

"God, I missed you," he mumbled in my ear.

"I missed you too," I replied before I stepped back. "Gosh, look at your hair."

"What's wrong with my hair," he asked.

"Nothing," I chuckled. "It's just longer than I remember."

"It's the style."

"I'm sure," I rolled my eyes. I looked at the boat again. "So, do I have permission to come aboard for a drink?"

"Yeah, of course," Duke nodded before leading me to the boat.

Soon, we were sitting in chairs on the deck of his boat. We shared some coffee and told stories from when we were younger.

"I remember when your dad came out looking for us," I said. "He was so angry because we had been out too late for two kids."

"When he had been the one to tell us to stay put until he came to get us," Duke added as he leaned back in his chair. "He was... something else."

"That's an understatement," I muttered.

There was a moment of silence between us.

"I have to ask... you don't seem very... fond of him," I started.

"I'm aware," he nodded.

"Why keep his boat," I asked.

"Well, you know me," he shrugged. "I've always wanted to be a pirate."

I rolled my eyes, "That's the secret behind the hair, then?"

"How long are you gonna go on about the hair?"

"As long as it bothers you."

He chuckled and then fell silent for a moment. He was just looking at me.

"What," I asked.

"Why come home?"

I froze for a second and looked at the ground.

"(Y/n)?"

"I... I have one," I muttered. I cleared my throat and looked back at Duke. "A trouble."

"Holy shit-"

"I didn't know where else to go," I added. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be sorry-"

"No, I just absolutely threw that on you and I know what your dad did," I rambled. "I figured it out as soon as I started looking into troubles on the internet. I shouldn't have- I should just- I'm sorry."

I got up, put my cup down, and went to leave as fast as possible.

"Hey, hey," Duke grabbed my arm so I would stop. He put his cup down and sighed as he stood up. "Come here."

He grabbed both of my arms so I would look at him.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," he said. "I am so happy that you're back. Your trouble is new and it's scary, but that doesn't make me hate you. I want you here. That's all I've been able to think about since I watched you drive out of town."

I looked down for another moment.

"Let me help you," he mumbled.

After another moment of silence, I looked back into Duke's eyes.

"Your dad is rolling in his grave," I muttered.

Duke smiled at me, "Good."

I chuckled. He leaned forward and kissed my forehead.

"You'll get through this," he promised. "You're not on your own."

"Thank you," I grinned and hugged him. "Thank you so much."

It felt like nothing had changed. In a matter of moments, we became each other's everything again. And it felt like everything had been set right.

----------------------------------

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[hannah-the-red-head]

A Third Submission to the Imagines Society”

(League of villains meets an Autistic child with a quirk that is the definition of too good for this world and then some)

You were a tiny thing when Twice, Toga and Magne stumbled across you at the park, staring intently at what looked like your shoes with your back turned.

Magne summarized that you were most likely around 5 or 6 years old based on the kindergarten uniform you wore, the adorable hat hanging on your back while your (h/l), (h/s) (h/c) was out and about. Usually, the tree would lose interest after a while and go about their merry way.

But there was something about you that made them stay, Toga’s curiosity getting the best of her as she skipped over to where you were on your knees, she then peeked over a shoulder to see you staring in awe at butterfly that was softly moving it’s wings while resting on the petals of a blossom planted in the nearby garden.

It was one that she had never seen before, well at least in real life, but the sandy blonde remembered that she had once seen it on the internet somewhere.

It was a monarch butterfly, and last she or anyone else knew, the species were hanging by a thread and close to extinction over the last 56 years. She had admit that the pictures were close to nothing compared to the real thing as Toga watched with starry eyes at how the orange colors splashed with black and white glowed in the sunlight.

Magne herself, followed by Twice then decided to follow toga’s lead when she began to giggle like an actual schoolgirl instead of the blood obsessed vampire they knew and loved. The two peeking at the sight of both you and Toga being the surprising perches of a collection of what looked to be more Monarch butterflies that seemingly appeared out of no where.

And one of them was perched right on the tip of Toga’s nose.

Meanwhile, you had taken notice that you had a butterfly watching buddy the second you felt her crouched down next to you, your glowing (e/c) eyes staring at her with curiosity before deciding that she was interesting enough for you to deem her harmless, despite not knowing the truth.

Because in your young and innocent head, anyone that appreciated butterflies as much as you did was a good person and/or possible friend in your book.

She looked at you when she felt your eyes on her and gave you a big smile, which from what you learned meant that she was happy. So that meant that she likes you too. You smiled widely back and a series of bright rainbow colored balls of light lifted themselves off your little form, your quirk creating more butterflies from them while your new friend’s eyes sparkled.

Your quirk was called Wonder, the specialist who gave it that name having been inspired by the same emotion felt after witnessing you use your quirk at first hand to bring a rat back to life after it had been killed by a mousetrap, and later on when they returned back to the room to see that it had been filled with butterflies flying beautifully above them.

Nowadays, you mainly used your quirk to create butterflies.

Why?

Because butterflies made you happy, they made you calm, they took your worries away... and watching them was akin to what your therapist at the orphanage called stimming, your hand movements if you easily became overwhelmed resembling a butterfly flapping it’s delicate wings.

You were also fond of anything that felt like the texture closest to what you thought butterfly wings looked. However, this obsession was also the reason why your were ostracized by the other children, ignored completely by them at the worst despite how hard the workers at the orphanage tried to explain what your condition was.

You didn’t understand why the workers had the need to get the other kids to like you, if you wanted friends, you’d get some yourself on your own.

And you never understood why you had to take speech therapy, wasn’t writing in your notebook enough? You hated loud noises, they scared away things, things that are... nice.

Things like butterflies and rats and rabbits and deer, which meant that you couldn’t appreciate them anymore if they left.

So, why was there a need to make noise or let alone talk? You could never control how loud your voice was anyways. You didn’t care about how sometimes you overheard the caretakers at the orphanage whispered things about how alien you acted.

Which led to where you were now, little you having completely forgotten that you were separated from the other children heading back towards the orphanage after school had finished when you eyes spotted a flower that looked familiar until your quirk manifested the butterfly.

They sounded as if you were broken as a human.

When in reality you weren’t, you weren’t broken and needed to be fixed. At first it made you believe those words, but the moments where your eyes caught onto anything relating to those paper thin wings that radiated with the colors of the rainbow, you’re mind went to an alternate world where those who spoke about your strangeness were nonexistent.

It was then that you remembered seeing the same flower from the picture book at your school, the pink and green flora being the type of chosen roost for the orange, white and black insect to rest on if they got tired.

You never knew how much time passed when you felt your new friend’s presence near you until you turned around silently to see a schoolgirl older than your smiling peacefully at your creation, who then smiled at you.

Smiles meant something good, right?

Your quirk activated instinctually, your subconscious telling you to make your friend happy again by creating more things that made her happy, like how butterflies made you happy. You watched as the manifested insects flew over to the girl and rested on her shoulders, two nestled on the wild hair of her twin buns and one on her nose, the sensation of it’s delicate wings tickling her skin bringing a giggle out of her.

You copied her, giggling as well as you knew that laughing is what friends did. The exchange between you two led to a pair of others appearing behind your friend, the both of them watching in awe at how gentle you were.

Meanwhile in their perspective, Twice and big sis Magne were in awe.

This was a side of Toga that the pair had never seen before, so their interest in you grew steadily as they approached you both, seeing that the number of butterflies had grown the closer the became, the same orbs of light appearing to change into other species before the skies above the park had clouds of multicolored wings flying above like a piece of artwork created by nature.

It felt like a blessing to witness a sight like this, a much desired peace accomplished after so many months of being on the run from heroes and the police.

Twice jumped up and began to comically twirl about among the flocks of winged bugs, his splitting personalities having been silenced by the Nirvana he felt surrounding him, only stopping when he heard a few giggles left your mouth while you tried to keep up with him and Toga’s free styling dances without a care in the world.

The four of you not caring that you were getting strange looks and even scowls from those who crossed your paths in order to get a better look at the butterflies conjured by your beautiful quirk.

By the time the sun had set, you and your new friends had collapsed onto the grass, laughing in between breaths from all the fun you shared in those hours of innocent fun.

And you were the one to give that sense of childhood purity of fun back to them without realizing it. In your mind, you were happy that you had finally made friends by yourself as with a kick of your short legs you sat up and turned to the one closest to you, a tall woman with sunglasses and short hair the other two called “Big Sis Mag”.

You poked her cheek and she turned her face towards yours. Taking a deep breath, you decided to try something new that you hadn’t done or were comfortable with.

You: (Yy...yourrr n....nnamme!).... (Your Name)!

It was hard at first, being silent for most of your childhood being the reason as to why you sounded like a newborn attempting to say their first word. But the pride you felt as you pointed to yourself when you said your name clearly on the second try was amazing.

“Big Sis’” eyebrows shot up in surprise, and you understood why she was shocked as the only noises you made were giggles and squeals.

You: (Your name)!.... B-big sissy... Mmmmmag! Fr...friends! T-t-too...Toga! Fri..ends! Twi...Twice! Friends!

All three had unknown expressions present while you gave them a wide toothy grin that you had never given anyone except for your mama.

Twice: I think I’m gonna cry.... No, I’m not! Grow a pair!

Twice cartoonishly wept through his mask, tears that would only exist within an Animé pouring from the eyes of his black and grey mask before stopping almost immediately, his face changing to that of a stoic man drawn in comic books.

Toga just smiled at Twice, before a weak tug on her cardigan pulled her attentions to you, your arms held out wide and with an excited glow to you. You always remembered the warmth your mother’s hugs were growing up, how safe and loved you felt when your adorable self tackled her leg in a weak koala hug before she pulled you into her own arms.

Toga: Oh does (y/n)-chan want a hug?

You nodded and tackled the blonde, arms wrapped around her neck with you cheek pressed against hers, something your mother called “cuddle bumps” as you hated it when someone kissed you.

You: C-cu-cuddle bu-bumps!

Twice: I want cuddle bumps! No, I don’t that’s weird!

You nuzzled your cheek against hers, the teenage girl internally squealing and hugging you back as she was overcome with a sense of some maternal need to protect you and the light your little self emanated, both figuratively and literally as your quirk caused you to glow a warm pink color.

Toga playfully stuck out her tongue towards him, when an idea came to her.

—————

Shigaraki: And the most logical thing that you could ever think of in that moment.... was to bring this brat home?!

Toga’s cheeks puffed up as she hugged your little form from behind while you fiddled with your quirk, a manifested butterfly perched in the palm of your hand. You loved the feeling of your big sister’s soft cardigan as she hugged you.

Toga: Of course, Shiggy! I mean they’re an orphan left behind by those “caretakers”, we even waited to see if anyone would come looking.

Twice: Yeah, it was so nerve wracking! I was bored beyond belief....

Shigaraki let out an aggravated sigh, knowing that you had wormed your way into the hearts of the most in the league, Dabi being the first to cave when you used your quirk to soothe the pain in his burnt skin. He didn’t know why, but the fire quirk user’s eyes softened when you gazed up at his skin and your smile faded, a look of genuine worry that he possibly never experienced in some time as your tiny hand went up to hold his hand with the both of yours.

The rest of the already shocked league watching as an aura glowed from your small form, the glow then moving up your arms and finally covering Dabi in the glow before then pulling away into orbs that popped like soap bubbles filled with fireflies.

Dabi reacted in a way that not even he could describe as all the unbearable burning pain his scars brought him disappeared, a strange surge of.... calm washed over him.

It was the kind of calm that one would feel when a powerful storm dissipates, allowing the warm sun to bathe the earth once again. 

And it was the type of calm that brought a heavy exhale out of Dabi, almost as if he had finally learned to breathe, tears falling down his cheeks and startling him, a hand shooting up to touch his wet face and pulling it away to see what was falling from his eyes.

This... made the tears fall harder.

Dabi had long forgotten what it felt like to cry actual salt water tears instead of blood. A relieved upwards tilt pulled at his lips as he fell to his knees before you, no words exchanged, just glances and a gentle grip of your joined hands.

You: No pain?

Your concern overweighed your struggling speech, your free hand raising up to hover next to his cheek. He chuckled softly, allowing you to place your hands onto his face.

Dabi: No pain. All better.

Your quirk was befitting for such a gentle, caring and kind being as you.

To put it simply, you could restore a person’s injuries, negative outlook on life due to traumatic experiences, and even their lost sense of morality via through your touch, being in your presence, or even by witnessing your creations first hand.

This was your power, a quirk that purified the evil living within this cruel world.

You could literally restore a person or persons lost sense of morality, your quirk changing a sociopathic killer into a saint seeking redemption just by spending an hour with you. 

Your quirk also allowed you to heal any kind of wound or cure any illness, it could even replace missing limbs and the like as long as you kept your focus.

And it was meant to be protected.

Which is why you were taken into the protection of the league of villains, the only group of people who were the first to actually care for you after your mama’s passing, and didn’t speak badly of you or your condition.

Because they didn’t mind that you were autistic, they didn’t see you as broken or wrong. How did you know that they didn’t ostracize you?

They told you.

Twice: You, broken? Ha, that’s fresh! At least you don’t have more than one voice in your head...

Toga: My quirk needs me to drink the blood of the person i’m going to transform into in order for it to work, and because of that, I was pushed away by everyone for how creepy it made me look.

Magne: Anyone would be proud to call you their kid with a drop of a hat. So what if your special needs, it doesn’t make you any less human, sweetie.

Dabi didn’t say anything when you asked, in your broken speech, if you were broken. Instead, he just ruffled your hair and let you wear his jacket all day.

Compress: This world is filled with imperfections, but who is to say that imperfections are ugly and unwanted. To me, imperfections are where true beauty lies as it shows that despite their flaws, they try again and again to make themselves better.

Spinner: Kid, I am a walking talking lizard with pink hair and a desire to follow Stain’s path to create a society where only those who embody the traits of true heroes like All Might are allowed to become heroes.

You didn’t know how to react as he continued.

Spinner: If anything, you are the most normal out of all of us, so don’t go hating on yourself because you’re brain is wired differently. You’re perfect just the way you are.

Magne: Aww, that’s so sweet of you to say, Spinner!

Spinner: BIG SIS MAGNE?!?! HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN THERE?!

Toga: Enough to know that you give the best pep talks!~

[babsvibes]

maybe bts with local flour outage? I love your fics btw!

Local Flour Outage

Behind the scenes under the cut!

In some ways, power outages held a type of charm.

As I have made abundantly clear, I am from Texas and WOULD have had no idea what a power outage during winter is actually like. Except, lucky for you all, our state government is full of a bunch of cucks and we had that winter storm last year that lasted longer because of our shit electrical grid, so I got to be very familiar with what stands out when you’ve been cold and without internet for a few days.

Determined not to let that ache in her chest control her

Almost every poem I’ve ever written has been about story and nostalgia and the pain of fond memories. I think if I leaned more into that, I could maybe try writing more prose, but don’t worry I’ll keep the heavy dialogue going for now lol

Now, moving into the fourth day, Louise noticed the frayed edges and fading vibrance of her perfectly curated furniture.

There would be absolutely no sense of what Louise’s apartment looks like if it wasn’t for my beta Gemgirl28 who said “have you considered describing a setting?”

“But I’m not walking out in the freeze to help you kill yourself.”

“Just this once?”

I love that this became the summary, but it was originally supposed to be Louise kicking Logan out of her apartment:

“Are you really that naive?” Logan bent down to her height and whispered, full of spite, “Every person you have ever been with has wanted to be the little spoon. Wanted to wear you like a backpack, and it’s just a fact of life.”

“Here’s another fact for you,” Louise said and started to shouldered him towards the door. “Freeze to death in your own apartment. I’m tired of your goddamn attitude.”

Without permission, he directed himself to the couch and plopped down, claiming his favorite spot closer to the arc lamp he would swing back and forth when bored.

My favorite activity is sneaking in a million different ways that these two Know each other and seeing which ones my readers latch onto. This one didn’t land, but I think everyone was too distracted by the make out scene lol.

“-an Aunt Gayle original from her anus period.”

The greatest string of words I’ve ever put together.

They swapped stories about their most terrible presents received, and he again reminded her of how much he loooved his melon baller and the ton of action it got in the very back of his utensil drawer.

I think one day I’ll rewrite this piece. I’m so grateful that people like it, but bits like this seem rushed to me. Of course, the first fic I ever posted was 4k words about a 10 minute car ride, sooo that might just be my desire to slow the fuck down and actually LIVE in this conversation lol

“Uhhh,” she scratched her chin. “I have scrabble?”

With how hard he jolted and shook his head, she was surprised his neck hadn’t cracked.

“Absolutely not.”

Tom Bush saying “it’s you-know-what night” when referring to him and Cynthia’s Scrabble Night changed me as a person.

“Oh my god,” she said, concealing none of her astonishment. “Did you not know you can use gas during a power outage?”

Ripped from the very real experience of my current partner not knowing you could use gas in a power outage. The winter storm taught us a lot about each other.

“I have a heat source. You go shiver in the living room.”

Nobody cared that they got pranked three times, and I am POUTING about it. (I posted a pirate fic for the the shiver prompt, I posted a more conventional shiver story the day after, AND I put up 8 fics instead of 7). I feel like that deserves sooome “oh you old so and so!” But no. Everybody’s distracting by the ✨kissing✨

She stilled as a pair of arms wrapped around her hips. Through their multiple layers, she could feel him all the same pressed against her back. Neither moved. He had even stopped breathing.

👀👀👀 ooooooo, lol I love Logan taking risks romantically. He basically has to because Louise would never without like a toooon of narrative influence and introspection, but he’s also very stubborn and (in my headcanons) worries about being loved. It leads to him ALSO not wanting to take the first step, but anytime a character goes “actually, wait, no, yeah I’m gonna do it” my heart does little flips. Awkward characters arent my cup of tea, and, while he may be an idiot, Logan’s confident about it.

“You didn’t know? You lose a lot of heat in the neck,” and he punctuated the thought with what could have been a kiss, but all she could focus on was the breath ghosting over her pulse point.

Have y’all seen The Waitress (the movie)? There’s this scene where she’s in the kitchen and the doctor is kissing her neck, and the whole time I’m like “more of this always and forever”

Grabbing the handle, Logan didn’t bother with a bowl and scooped straight from the pot.

King of dumbass bachelor behavior

That still didn’t give him the right to come into her apartment with his words, and his face, and his arms and-

A line that I can hear lol

“I don’t care.” Logan stuck his nose in the air. “I know what I’m worth, and it’s at least ten minutes of being little spoon.”

Fucking love this whole exchange about being the little spoon. This is where the fic originated (an idea of Louise and Logan arguing about who was going to get to be little spoon), so it kind of read like it’s the heart of the fic. To me at least!

“I hate how beds are cold when you first get in,” Louise said to the ceiling, “and you have to lay there for a bit until it warms up.”

“That’s most things though, isn’t it?” Logan shrugged and shuffled to also talk to the ceiling. “You have to jump in then adjust.”

What is this? Literary devices maybe? Dramatic irony perhaps? I may be laying it on a bit thick, but I was excited for this part because it’s like “yeah it’s new and that’s different but it’ll be good if you give it a chance. And if it never warms up then you jump out, but like wouldn’t you rather try to be cozy if that’s what you want anyway?”

He whistled, and she tilted to find him staring at the wall where her hwandudaedo was mounted.

Trying to find a sword for Louise sent me on an hour long quest where I absolutely got distracted and starting watching “rusty sword restored” type videos. The ones that kinda sound like asmr? Yeah those. I retained NONE of the sword knowledge.

She was wearing his shirt.

The wearing of another character’s clothes in my writing is a pretty good indication that something sexy is about to happen in the next ten lines or so.

His hand slipped under one, and the chill of his fingers hit her bare skin. Much like the dripping faucet, it shocked her but in a way that made her feel alive.

Connecting a line later on back to the intro is something that can actually be so personal

“What?” Logan asked then nosed under her beanie, his cheek brushing against her ear. “Jeez!”

She jerked away at the sudden noise, turning to glare at him. “Ow! Be careful, that’s my ear you’re yelling in.”

If you’re worried about writing sexy, write something unsexy to put in there. It eases your own nerves, makes it feel more realistic, and give your characters something to joke about (and humor is very very sexy)

The “Oh fuck” fell out of his mouth like it had been waiting on his tongue for too long. His hand agreed, shooting up from her waist and into her hair, and pulling her to him for a kiss. Her similar habit of not backing down led her to deepen their passion until both were left breathless.

Again, they parted with matching shudders. Logan’s choke for air halfway made it out of his mouth before he swallowed it back down. He angled his chin in tiny measures but didn’t come closer even as his lips stayed parted with all the wanting and hoping neither could verbalize.

This bit came to me while I was in the shower. I have never once interrupted my showers for anything, not god, king, or country, but I damn near bust my ass slipping out of the bathroom to write this down.

She angled to give him more room but let a whisper escape her. “So good.”

Stuck just before another bite, he stilled.

“Again,” he said, rough and desperate.

Me, chanting and beating on the table: praise kink, praise kink, praise kink. But then also continuing to play with the power dynamics by having him make a demand while being horned up? (Double tucks my hair) not so bad if I do say so myself

The power came back at eight that night, but Louise and Logan decided they wanted to pretend for a little while longer.

They didn’t fuck btw. I know I know, but consider the horrible wonderful build up to their actual sex scene? Hm? Anyway, loooved how this ended, and I hope y’all did too!

[scripts4dreamers]

I literally JUST sat down, pt. 1

Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

AN: Nuh uh, nope. Not this again. You did not sign up for this.  Characters: Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi. Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol, eventual NSFW content

Prompt: After watching 7x07 “This episode is so scary man... Imagine just doing your job which is pretty morbid at times but oh well and then suddenly you have to go to this place where there's a lot of tornadoes and you're like well at least I'm inside and safe and then your boss is like "we gotta go right to these tornado places lol" and then you think "well that's scary but at least we have this handy dandy live map showing us exactly in real time where the tornadoes are so we'll be fine and then the internet is like "haha nope have fun dying in a tornado" 

- @pirateismywayofspeaking​ who is a literal genius.

This will be a multichapter piece! So lemme know if you want to be tagged in subsequent chapters. 

—————————-

Usually, when terrible things happen, people say the same few things: “I never thought it would happen to me! You never think something like this will happen to you until it does!”. You’d never really been that type of person. You were naturally cautious, and an ex FBI agent, you saw danger pretty much everywhere. You’d seen some of the worst things human beings could ever do to one another and, if you’d learned anything at all, it was that bad things happened everywhere and to pretty much everyone. There was nowhere that you could definitively say was safe from violent crime, but this was just ridiculous.

You looked around the ruined bookshop you’d poured the last year of your life into with a kind of detached sadness. Even before you opened the door, you could see the carnage. The shelves were upended, tables flipped, every vase in the building was smashed...except one. You sighed, stepping into the store, your eyes scanning the wreck with a practiced efficiency. No broken windows, the door was still locked when you’d arrived and your security cameras were blacked out, there were no signs of forced entry. If anything that made you more uneasy and, not for the first time since you’d left the bureau, you missed the weight of your gun against your hip. You crinkled your nose against the smell, the copper-iron of fresh blood that you were all too familiar with as you crept through your store.

“Son of a-fuck!” You swore loudly, cursing your luck as you took in the scene.

There was a body laid out in the middle of the Fiction aisle: face covered with a burlap sack, wrists and ankles bound with rope and blood seeping into the carpets you’d just had cleaned. Your training kicked in and you noticed, without meaning to, that the rest of the aisle was untouched. The shelves were upright, books in order, even the vase of white roses you’d put there the night before were all completely the way you’d left them. It was like he’d just completely bypassed the entire section.

Huh.

You looked up at the sky, “Really? Right now? You throw this at me, now? Unbelievable.”

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of your chest, along with a nervousness that you were telling yourself was irritation as you pulled out your phone. It had been a long while since you’d done this, but you still knew the number by heart.

“This is agent Jareau with the Behavioural Analysis Unit.”

“JJ, it’s me,” you said, “you’re not gonna believe this.”

——————————

You sat in the ruins of your store until the cops arrived, wondering who exactly you had murdered in a past life to end up with this kind of luck. You gave your statement without much incident, directing CSU to the body and alerting the detective to the abnormalities you’d spotted.

JJ had promised to get the team on the case as quickly as she could, and you knew JJ tended to get exactly what she wanted in that regard, you just didn’t know how you felt about that. It had been over a year since you’d left the BAU, since you’d done one case too many and just got fed all the way up. It really wasn’t any deeper than that. One day you’d come home and found that you couldn’t sleep. It had all just become too much, so you packed up your stuff, tendered your resignation, and started over.

It had been hard at first, but now you owned a fairly successful bookstore with a little coffee shop where you sold good coffee, and homemade biscuits. And it was nice. You felt good, kinda. You definitely slept better at night. Your life was finally starting to feel normal and now this? A dead body just happens to appear in the center of your bookstore in just weird enough a way to warrant a call to the BAU? No, you’d seen too much to consider this a coincidence. Whether you liked it or not, you were about to get thrown back into your old life head first, the life you’d worked so hard to get some distance from. So why weren’t you more...upset?

“Y/L/N?” A familiar voice called.

“In here,” you answered, your voice raspy from disuse. You cleared your throat and pushed yourself up onto your feet, “I’m in here.” You tried again.

The figures who stepped in were painfully familiar and you couldn’t help the tired smile that slid onto your face, your eyes going directly to the blonde woman walking at the very front.

“Y/N!” She greeted, her voice dripping with relief as she pulled you into a hug, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, JJ,” you assured her as you broke apart, the rest of your old team filing in behind her.

She eyed you like she wasn’t sure, pressing her lips into a thin line as she looked around the trashed store. Derek Morgan swooped in behind her, giving you a second hug.

“Long time, Y/L/N,” he smiled.

You sighed, “Wish it was under better circumstances, Morgs, but I’m glad you guys are here.”

“Y/L/N,” Aaron Hotchner greeted, giving you a firm handshake.

“Thanks for coming, Hotch, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.” You admitted.

“No, you made the right call. The BAU has officially taken on the case. Reid, Prentiss and Rossi are coordinating with the local PD from our headquarters, the rest of us are here to help,” he said, pausing and meeting your eye, silently asking the question you’d been waiting all morning for.

“No sign of forced entry,” you started, “the front door was still locked from the outside when I arrived.” You walked him through the crime scene, glass crunching beneath your feet as you went, “It looks like someone sprayed black paint over the security cameras I had installed, everything’s been smashed but there’s no cash missing from the register. In fact, they barely touched the front desk at all.” You explained, “And this,” you gestured at the Fiction aisle, “is where I found the body.”

Morgan stepped forward and, just like that, the team moved like a well oiled machine.

“White male, looks like he’s between the ages of 19 and 27.” Morgan started.

“His wrists and ankles are bound, but it doesn’t look like he struggled against his restraints at all,” you cut in, without meaning to, crouching down beside the body, “it could mean he was tied up postmortem.”

“We’ll have to wait on the M.E’s report to know for sure,” Hotch agreed, “Y/L/N, can I talk to you?” You nodded and let him pull you aside. He glanced over your shoulder and lowered his voice, “I know you’re out and we can do this investigation without you-“

“But?” You probed.

The corners of Hotch’s mouth twitched, like he wanted to smile, “But, I would also welcome your help if you’re willing to give it. The team is still a man down and, something about this scene has me thinking-“

“That whoever did this isn’t finished,” you agreed, sighing as you ran your fingers through your hair.

Everything was so messed up in your head. You just wanted to go back to bed and start this day all over again. Hotch looked at you and you recognized his brand of quiet concern. It was familiar and comforting, and it helped you process your thoughts.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” you frowned, “yeah. Yeah, sure, I’ll come back.” Hotch smiled and you wagged a finger at him, “But just for this one case! After that I’m straight back to my boring normal person life, alright?”

“Of course,” he agreed, something almost mocking in his tone.

“I’m serious, Hotch, just one more case.”

“I’m agreeing with you!” He insisted, already walking back to the rest of the group.

But he wasn’t and, much to your chagrin, you felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as you turned back to the scene of the crime.

“Hotch, Y/L/N,” Morgan called, holding something in his gloved hand, “you’re gonna want to see this.”

“Here we go again,” you sighed.

————————-

Walking back into the BAU had felt like stepping back in time. After you’d gotten everything you could from the crime scene there was nothing to do but brainstorm, but walking through those doors again...well, let’s say you hadn’t been prepared for how it would feel being back. For the most part, everyone had been glad to see you, especially Garcia, but you could tell that there were still some resentments bubbling under the surface. It made sense, the BAU survived by relying on one another, by acting like a family, and you’d left that family.

Still, there was a rhythm to this kind of work, a flow that was almost painfully easy to fall back into. You’d worked together for years after all, bouncing ideas off of one another like it was nothing and that kind of bond didn’t just go away.

“Admit it,” Derek teased, bumping your shoulder with his as you studied the evidence board, “you missed this.”

“I most certainly did not.”

“Oh you so did,” Spencer agreed, leaning against the table next to you and giving you a fond smile, “I’m sorry about the bookstore though, it was the only store in town with a proper selection of classics in their original languages.”

You shrugged, “I’ll get it up and running again soon enough, just as soon as we catch whoever did this.”

“Speaking of our UnSub, what do you think the relevance of him leaving the body in the fiction section is?” Spencer asked.

“Maybe he’s trying to say that this is some kind of fairytale?” Prentiss suggested, “Like he’s trying to draw us into his story?”

“Maybe, but this has gotta be more personal than that, right?” Morgan said, “I mean, this isn’t some body in an alley, it was dumped in an FBI agent’s coffee shop.”

“Ex agent,” you corrected.

“Sure thing, Princess,” Morgan teased.

“Why does everyone keep talking like that?” You asked.

“Because you leaving is ridiculous. You love this job,” He replied simply, “you’ve always loved this job.”

You opened your mouth to respond but, before you could, you heard the clacking of heels against the marble floor.

“Um, guys?” Garcia said, coming into the bullpen with a stormy look on her face, “we just got word from the officer who went to Y/N’s apartment.”

“And?” You asked nervously.

“They found something,”

“Another body?” Prentiss asked.

“No, weirder, a letter and what looks like a smiley face drawn on the wall in blood.” She said, pressing a button to display the new crime scene photos on the big screen.

Your heart froze in your chest.

There it was; a crude smiley face drawn right above your headboard and a crisp white envelope resting against your pillow. He’d made your bed too, some small part of your mind noted. How polite. Instinctively, you crossed your arms over your chest as you were hit with a mixture of panic and disgust.

“Of course,” you sighed, “of course there is. Why wouldn’t there be? It’s been that kind of day.”

“Do we know what the letter says?” Morgan asked.

Garcia nodded, “And it’s a doozy. The letter contains a poem written with letters cut out from magazines and newspapers. It reads:

Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part.

Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;

And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart,

That thus so cleanly I myself can free.

Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,

And when we meet at any time again,

Be it not seen in either of our brows

That we one jot of former love retain …”

You could feel your friends staring and you tried to keep your face as neutral as possible. Your skin felt like it was on fire, and you could hear the blood pounding in your ears as you thought of a murderer setting foot in your space; him touching your bed, running his hands over the photos on your nightstand, defiling your possessions with his presence. You’d never felt so vulnerable and exposed, and bile rose up in your stomach like your body was physically rejecting the whole thing. Distantly you heard Prentiss and Morgan discussing theories, and you felt one pair of warm brown eyes staring into the side of your head.

Suddenly, you didn’t feel like joking around anymore.

“Sorry,” you muttered, standing up and striding out of the room without looking back, “I need some air.”

You were so angry by the time you made it out into the courtyard that you’d balled your hands into fists and your breath was coming out in short little bursts. Hot tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and your chest felt painfully tight.

“Y/N?” You heard Spencer ask.

You sniffed, wiping your face quickly, “Reid, hi. Sorry, I just-“ you let out a slow breath, “I needed a break.”

He nodded like he understood, tucking his hands into his pockets as he stepped towards you. You wanted to tell him to go away, to head back inside and leave you the hell alone, but the words wouldn’t come.

It had always been like this with Spencer. No matter how hard you tried to be tough and brave and put together, he saw right through you and broke down your defenses. At one point, he’d been the closest thing to family you’d ever had, in fact you thought you might…..

Well, it didn’t matter now. Over the last year things had changed, you’d grown apart. It happened, but the fondness was still there, and the trust, and those damn eyes.

“I get it, Y/N, I can't even imagine what this whole thing must be like for you,” he said, “having your home be violated like that….and the store?” He shook his head, “I know how hard you worked setting that place up.”

Your bottom lip trembled and, for the first time that day, you let yourself feel afraid as tears slipped down your cheeks.

You shook your head, “You know, when I saw the glass all over the floor, and all the books….I just felt tired, like bone tired. I wasn’t scared of that, but now?” You paused, glancing up at Spencer, as a tear slid down your cheek, “He was in my home, Spencer. He made my bed before he left, he wrote me a letter.”

Spencer worked his jaw and hesitantly reached out, touching your shoulder gently.

“We’ll catch him, Y/N/N, we always do.” He promised.

“And until then?” You asked, “Do I just pretend it never happened? Go home and act like it’s all okay?”

“No,” another voice cut in from behind you, “you rely on us. We’ll take care of you,” Morgan explained.

“Yeah,” Garcia agreed, her big blue eyes clinging to yours, “We’ve talked about it already. You’ll take turns staying with each of us a few nights a week and then, on the weekends, we’ll all stay with Rossi to go over the case. And we’ll spend every free moment tracking this son of a bitch down for you.”

Emily nodded and, for the first time since you had opened your store that morning, you felt your chest swell with something a little like hope. You knew the BAU was special, you knew that the bonds you’d formed over the years were damn near unbreakable, but this? This was too much. Seeing your friends rally around you when you needed them most just reminded you how much you loved them, and how much they still loved you. Even now. Spencer gave your shoulder a squeeze and you smiled back at him.

“I really missed you guys,” you said with a watery laugh.

Penelope crooned and threw her arms around your neck, pulling you into a familiarly bone-crushing hug.

“We missed you too, Sugar Plum,” she promised.

“Really?”

“Hell yeah!” Morgan smiled, joining Penelope’s hug.

“You know we did,” Emily agreed, ruffling your hair and pulling herself in close.

Your eyes found Spencer where he was standing just outside of the group hug, both hands in his pockets and a sad smile on his face. You pressed your lips together and, in response, he nodded.

“We missed you,” he said softly and then, as the hug broke up and you allude your way back inside, even softer, “we still do.”

---------------- 

Taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes​

[astralbulldragon13]

Son of the Dragon Chapter 1: Tír na nÓg

It had been four years since that one fateful night by the pond, Houmi and Malleus grew closer, and since Crowley couldn’t find a way for her to go home, once she graduated from Night Raven College, she didn’t want to go back. Malleus brought her to his home, telling his grandmother of his intent to marry her. It made Houmi nervous, meeting the powerful Fae woman since she was just a human. Lillia insisted that she would love her. Still, it terrified Houmi because she heard that the great Witch of Thorns was not fond of humans. But to her surprise, the Great Fae smiled at Houmi, despite the little human’s trembling. On the other hand, the Royal Court did not like the idea of their powerful prince marrying a human, and a seemingly magicless one at that. And to hear the boy would sully himself with marrying a human wench, it was unspeakable. 

At the advisor’s insistence, she was roomed in a tower that overlooked the garden, and while it was away from Malleus, it was in much better state than the Ramshackle Dorm. Also, thankfully, her friends came to the kingdom to visit, and was able to connect to the internet with the help of Deuce Spade, so that she could talk with her friends from Night Raven College, as well as taking some classes online, Grim acting as her lap-cat and familiar, after all, the two of them were the Ramshackle student. And now, in the Valley of Thorns, she gained more of a family. Lillia supported her like a father, while Silver watched over her like an older brother, and Sebek, well, he was himself, a strict, brotherly figure that, while still loyal to Malleus, he still looked after Houmi when she was walking the gardens. Many of the members of the Fae court are courteous to her, though it was probably just because of Malleus and his intimidating aura. It seems even in his own kingdom Malleus makes people afraid to approach him. Malleus would speak with Lillia for hours at a time about a wedding. The two of them agree that it would be a small ceremony, with only their friends from Night Raven College. 

The ancient fae enjoyed these conversations, as he was more of a father to the young prince than anyone ever was. There were questions on who the officiant would be, obviously Headmaster Crowley, giving away the bride? They had decided that it would be Leona Kingscholar, who was very protective of the girl, like a younger sister. His groomsmen would be Silver and Sebeck, while Ace and Deuce decided to be Houmi’s Men of Honor, much to the laughter of the whole group. There was a small glen outside of the capital city. The forest clearing was decorated by small fairies, with direction from Lillia and a visiting Vil Schoenheit, little fairy-lights and flowers were draped over tree limbs. The model and actor was adamant about choosing the right flowers. The hangings were braided with edelweiss and borage.Tied around the trees with blue ribbons were cascading bundles of red chrysanthemums, aster and heliotrope. Lillia and his fellow members of the Light Music Club were enchanting instruments for the march. Even Idia Shroud came out of his cave to see one of his dearest friends be married. 

As these friends prepared for the wedding, Houmi tried to get to know Malleus’ family. His mother and Maleficent were very fond of her. Maleficent would call her ‘Little Beastie’, and showed her special ways to spin thread, and the two of them bonded over sewing, teaching Houmi how to make clothes and other textiles. With the help of Vil and Ruggie, Houmi made the outfits for the wedding. Lillia showed her images from old books involving Fae weddings. Malleus’ mother was very inquisitive, asking Houmi about her past that she couldn’t remember very well. The older Fae made certain that her future daughter-in-law was well fed, and that Maurin and the other members of the court did not give her too much grief. There were a few ladies who spoke cordially with Houmi, questioning her about her odd friendships with princes, celebrities, and some of the most prestigious noble families. They also gave Grimm a flood of attention, giggling when he purred and let them put him in stylish bows with a myriad of different fabrics. They would even refer to him as Ser Grimm, protector of the future Queen. The flaming feline loved the attention, and took his newly assigned duty very seriously, especially with the private wedding ceremony. 

On the first full moon of autumn, it was time. Vil and Rook were helping Houmi get prepared. The gown that she had finished was made of lace and tulle, with an off-shoulder neckline that was made from crème-colored tulle, accentuating the collar-bone. The bodice was covered in a fine, alencon lace over crepe fabric, the skirt was made of layers of tulle that fell to the ground. It was truly a wonderful piece, and the finishing touch was a crown of ivy braided with red salvia. A bouquet of red camellias and yellow tulips tied with emerald ribbon was clasped in her hands as she walked into the forest, a small gathering of small pixies were flitting around her face, adding the last bits of make-up and arranging her hair to be perfect to their standards.

Leona stood at the mouth of the glen, dressed in white clothes like what he wore to the Fairy Gala, only the sleeves were made of tulle. He offered his arm to Houmi, a gentle smile on his face. “You ready, Herbivore?” She chuckled, waving away the small sprites weaving her shoulder length, dark brown hair into her ivy crown. “Of course, Leona.” They made their way through the woods to the altar, the creatures of the forest bowed to their princess as she  took as Leona brought her to Malleus, standing under an arch of arbutus, white heather, and blue violets. Behind him was Crowley, his mask and cane missing as he held a small black book that looked like some kind of grimoire. 

Leona sighed as he offered her to Malleus, locking his emerald eyes with the horned prince’s acid green ones. “Keep her safe, Lizard. If you do anything to make her sad, or do her harm, I will personally turn your hide into a rug.”  Malleus smirked, and he held his soon-to-be wife in his arms. “I’ll take a sword through my heart before I let anything, or anyone hurt her.” That seemed to satisfy the lion prince, as he moved to join the others assembled, as Crowley opened his book to the marked page. 

The ceremony was short and sweet, an exchange of vows, and rings of black metal and green stones, placed on their fingers. The kiss was something that sent a spark throughout the glen, a strong wind and glowing lights filled the air, showing the love that Malleus and Houmi had for one another. What they felt, and how their hearts were joined by the strings of fate. They walked back down their makeshift aisle, Grim, Rook, and the Leech Twins threw rice in the air. 

As the moon rose over the treeline, wine was opened, food was served, and music was played. The happy couple danced over the glen, lights glinting over the leaves matching their fluttering heartbeats. Lilia sang in a forgein tongue, everyone clapping in rhythm as Malleus led her in a fast paced, almost-jig. The wedding party went long into the night, the wee hours of the morning chasing the revelers to caravans that they had set up, and the new, royal couple wandering away to the castle. Instead of going to Malleus’ chambers, Malleus walked them to Houmi’s solitary tower. ‘More private,” the young prince said, gripping her hand tightly. Once they were at the stairs at the bottom of the tower Malleus’ scooped up his bride and began carrying her up to her chambers. It was time for them to finish their marriage, and consummate their love. 

[outofsstyles]

i wish u would write a fic where reader is also a famous singer whos label sets up a collab with the two of them and they meet and write a love song and its a HIT and they PERFORM IT and realize they be SMITTEN with each other and the internet totally knew before they did and this is weirdly specific but it popped in my mind and i love your writing !!! okay bye 😎

Okay i’m actually embarrassed of how long it took me to write this but writer’s block hit me like a bunch of bricks this past month, still i’m so sorry!! But anyway here’s around 2.6k of famous!reader for you anon!! Hope you enjoy it!!

Also this is not really proofread cause i wrote it all in one sitting after a boost of inspiration so uh chile anyway so...

One could think that you’d have grown past the nervous set of butterflies that come by before stepping out on stage. They wouldn’t be entirely wrong, you like to think. Sure, there’s still an anxious feeling that bubbles up in the pit of your stomach like the drops of air in a sealed bottle of rosé (much like the one sitting inside a bucket propped on the center table of your dressing room). It’s normal, you tell yourself, part of the process, even. The clammy palms of your hand and the rapid thumping of your heart will soon be replaced by the thrill of stepping in front of a crowd of people, eyes wide, and voices loud. All waiting for you.

When Harry invited you to join him tonight, just for a song, there wasn’t a single ounce in your mind that thought of declining it. After all, you had spent months traveling around with him as his opening act of the American leg on his first tour. It’s not even the first time you’d share the stage with him, having joined him on a live cover of Eternal Flame at the very last date of the tour. His fans are also familiar with you, most of them seem to like you, even (and you don’t bother searching for the ones who don’t, much preferring to preserve your peace of mind). So there’s really not a reason for you to feel as if you’re about to throw up, is there?

Except this time is much different than all the previous ones you had to do this. No one out there is expecting you to step on stage. Much less for a song you’d thought you’d never sing it live.

It started as a forgotten draft you found in one of your old journals, and sometime between Chicago and Vancouver, after long nights and shared bottles of wine together, it turned into a duet. There wasn’t any intention of recording it initially, being born in hushed drunken confession at wee hours in the morning, and shared stories of heartbreak and yearning, you figured it would just stay between the two of you. It was a vulnerable song, after all, one in which both of you poured your heartaches in. 

But Harry loved the song. In fact, barely a month after the tour was wrapped up and everyone had tucked themselves back home to a well-deserved break, he invited you for dinner at his and, after one or two margaritas, you were standing on his home studio singing the words you’d written with him on quiet hotel rooms. And it didn’t take much convincing from his part for you to release it months later as part of your first studio album. Harry’s a charming man and he always finds a way to get what he wants. Not to mention the glimmer in his eyes and the set of dimples on his cheeks appearing as he heard the final cut were enough for you to convince you (not that you’d ever say this out loud).

So it’s not hard to understand why you agreed in a heartbeat to sing it with him on the opening night of his tour. 

Your leg is bouncing in a nervous tick, and you have to stop yourself from chewing on your bottom lip as to avoid another scolding from Amie who’s just applied a thin layer of lipstick over it. There’s a bundle of voices sweeping around the room, all much familiar to you, as they’re all part of your team. But you can’t help but zone out, pushing the noise to the back of your brain and letting it become faint background noise as you take in a deep breath to ease yourself down.

The concert has started around an hour ago, meaning you have just a few minutes before you have to head to the side of the stage, waiting for Harry to announce your name. He made sure to stop by your dressing room after soundcheck was done, greeting everyone from your team (they’ve all grown fond of him after the last tour, but then again, it’s hard not to) before making his way to you, a grin taking over his face as he approached, arms opening and not wasting a second before pulling you into an embrace. You smile to yourself, recalling his words from earlier.

“How are we feeling?” He pulled away, holding on to your shoulders and you can’t help but focus on the way his thumbs caressed you over the thin fabric of your shirt.

“Uhm like I could pass out at any second, but other than that I’m fine.” You let out a dry laugh as an attempt to mask the truth of your sentence behind humor.

“Nothing to be nervous about, love.” His hands squeezed you gently before dropping down and you chewed on your bottom lip at the warmth left from his touch. “S’just you and me and the guitar.” 

“And thirty thousand people.”

“You’ve played for bigger crowds.”

“I know, it’s just…” You sighed, gazing down at the champagne flute in your hands before shrugging. “Never sang something this personal, I guess.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” He moved a strand of your hair from your face, taking a small step forward as his voice droped down slightly so you’re the only one hearing his words.  “Know you’ll be brilliant, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“What if I cry?”

“Nothing wrong in crying, love.” He said in a beat, shaking his head softly. “I’ve shed a fair amount of tears on stage as well, just shows how much it means to you.”

Relaxing your shoulders you didn’t even realize were so tense, you exhaled. “You’re right.”

“I am.” He humored, dimples poking at his cheeks as he bumped his shoulder against yours. His expression softened, “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, okay?” He said truthfully, eyes flickering between yours to show you he meant it. “I don’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with just for my sake.”

“Thanks, H.” You smiles. “But I’m fine, really, just nervous.”

His lips parted to answer you, but before he can do so someone shouted from the doorway, “H, you gotta go to hair and makeup.” 

“I’ll be right there.” He called over his shoulder, then turned his attention back to you. “I’ll see you on stage?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Hey,” he says as he started walking backward. “Just you and me alright?”

“Right.” You giggled watching him throw you a wink before turning around and stepping out of the room.

Downing the last bit of champagne on your glass, you rest it on the counter next to you before stepping up from your seat completely. A few pairs of eyes settle on you from the sudden movement, but they quickly turn back to their previous conversations as you don’t meet their gaze, only making your way o the full body mirror that makes the door leading to the bathroom. 

Your glittery eyelids call your attention first as you examine yourself, making you blink a few times just to see them shimmer. They match the two-piece that hugs your body in a lavender tone, the same one of the boost you slipped in just a couple minutes ago. You move your hips around softly, watching the way the skirt dances around your thighs and smoothing your hands on it to feel the soft fabric under your fingertips. You have time to adjust the top one last time before someone from production calls your name at the doorway, indicating it’s time to head out.

The whole way goes in a bit of a blur, you adjust your earpiece and try to smile at words of encouragement that are thrown your way as you walk towards the side of the stage where you’re supposed to make your entrance. Your heart thumps in your chest, almost loud enough to swallow the screams of the crowd that gets louder every step you take. Harry comes into view, along with the whole arena as you pass through a double door. His back is turned to you when you come to a stop but you can make out the guitar in his hands, his voice blending with the echo of thousands of others, screaming back at him the words he wrote. It’s Fine Line, one of your favorites from his sophomore album, and you can’t help but mouth along to it as the bridge comes up.

It helps to calm you a bit, the melody along with his voice setting the atmosphere of the whole place to a joyous state. It was clear at the glossy eyes you can catch in the crowd looking back at him, cheering as the song comes to an end, and Harry bows in gratitude and you watch as he steps back in front of the mic stand but doesn’t say anything. For a moment he just stays like that, you can’t catch his face from this angle, but you gaze up at the big screen and, just like you predicted, you can see the admiration on his expression as he takes in the crowd in front of him. You wish you could know his thoughts, but the smile that takes over his lips gives you everything you need to know, and you can’t help but let one tug on your face as well.

Before you know it, he leans into the microphone again, the screams quieting down as he starts speaking again. “I don’t think I’ll ever find enough words to thank you for your support, and sharing such special moments like this with me,” he begins, one hand moving to his chest as he pauses when the crowd roars again. “I love you all very much, and I thought maybe I could bring someone here that also holds a special place in my heart.”

You can feel every cell in your body freeze once you realize he’s talking about you, and it’s only when he turns around, eyes finding yours as he motions for you to walk in that you start moving. Keeping your gaze trained on his, you approach him, the hollering sound becoming almost faint in your ears as you focus solely on Harry. He pushes his guitar to the side so he can give you a quick hug before turning back to his mic.

“So, this lovely lady and I happen to have a song together.”

Your eyes scan the crowd for a moment, catching the awe in people’s faces before finding him again. Bringing your own mic to your lips you speak up, “We do, actually.”

“And we never sang it live before, is that right?”

“You’d be correct, yes.” 

“How do we feel about singing it tonight for the first time?” He asks more to the audience than to you, wanting to get a reaction, and as if on cue their screams take over the space at the mention of the song.

“I think they like the idea.” You smile, letting your eyes wander around the arena. Thanks to the bright spotlight set on you, you can’t make out most of their faces, but each one of them still makes themselves present, being with their flashlights turned on or their voices joining in with the others. A familiar electric spark shoots down your spine, the buzz making you forget all the previous nerves that were taking over your mind.

The sound of the strokes on the guitar strings bring your attention back to Harry, and when you look back at him, he’s already watching you, a smirk threatening to poke at his lips as he nods at you. It’s a silent gesture of reassurance, and you’re thankful for it, smiling back at him.

Once the intro is over he steps towards the stand again, his lips brushing the mic but his eyes still glued on you. It’s hard not to feel the chills rise on your skin at the sound of his voice. You’re close enough that if you focus, you can hear him under the reverberance of the loudspeakers. The realization makes your hand come up almost instinctively, removing one earplug so you can listen to him better. He smiles midword at you once he realizes what you’ve done, his eyes closing for a moment as he feels every word that comes out of his mouth.

Joining him for the chorus, you realize how astute he was when suggesting doing an acoustic version. The sound of your voices together slowed down by just the guitar background sounds even more intimate. It’s gentler. Softer. And you can’t help the step that you take towards him, feeling an urge to get closer. 

You don’t dare to break eye contact going into your solo, he moves back from his mic just a bit, giving you your moment and nodding along to the words. Unlike you had thought before, you don’t feel a knot forming on your throat or burning in your chest as you proclaim words of an old broken heart. Harry’s face is enough to keep you at ease, his irises seeming so green under the stage light that you can’t help the stuttering of your heart. 

He melts his voice on yours again, bringing you back to all the sleepless nights you spent together, singing the same words to one another. 

You’ve heard people say about being with someone that makes you feel like you’re the only people in a room, and it’s always made you roll your eyes at the cliche aspect of it. But standing here with Harry, on stage, eyes set on each other as you sing the words straight from your heart, you start to understand where those people were coming from. There are thousands of other eyes set on you, but his are the only ones calling your attention. Everything else seeming unimportant as you find yourself stuck in a trance with him.

The last chorus rolls around and you only register him moving once he’s right in front of you. His guitar is the only barrier between your bodies as he leans into your microphone, and you move it down so it stands under both your lips. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your cupid bow. You could touch him with the smallest of movements, and you want nothing more than to rest your forehead on his and meet his mouth with yours. But you hold back, closing your eyes as you’re afraid of what the effect of his own can do to you, letting the last words come out in a breath.

The roaring crowd reminds you of the people watching you, and almost as if you’re broken out of a spell, you take a small step back, turning to the audience to give them a wave. You feel Harry’s arm wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you against him. His lips press a single kiss on your hair as you thank everyone with a smile, still taken back by what just happened. 

Turning to Harry, you give him one last hug, this time lingering for a beat too long, enjoying the feeling of his arms pressing you closer to him. He pulls away first, announcing your name again, and you spare him another look before waving your way out, with shaky legs and a speeding heart.