#I’m so rusty it’s unreal

[scorchedcandy]

How I feel after drawing his fork head 37 times in a row

[heavenangelly]

Take a leap of faith

This sort of links to my post about knowing the law for a long time but not being able to apply.

So you know the law. It’s practically engraved in your brain. You may have even had successes in the past. But no matter what, you can’t get back into the success era. Days turn into weeks of you trying and hoping and your desires just feel so out of touch from you. Like you’ll never get them.

Throughout this cycle, you may have even developed a little resistance to the desire you really want. You became so desperate for it, trying to apply the law, but failing. This cycle could have brought resistance to your desire. You want it but your mind is pushing you away from it because you view it as unattainable.

And because of all these cycles of failure, you start doubting your abilities. You no longer can manifest anything and now you’re just scrolling on tumblr, hoping to find a post that will revive you. And when you find it, it’s addictive because you get it now, but then you lose the feeling and try to search for something else. All of this instead of applying. All these periods of inactivity regarding manifesting has caused you to become rusty. So I’m here to put some grease on you and get u working again (and hopefully one day you’ll leave tumblr and finally start enjoying life, being the master manifester you are and have always been)

Take a leap of faith

Your desires will NOT feel natural to you when you first go into the state of having them after long periods of resisting them. They’ll feel foreign and you’ll hyper fixate on your failures and the 3d. It will make you want to leave the state because it’s not comfortable and it’s weird and you don’t like it.

PLEASE DONT DO THAT. Keep on going back to that state. Never let that state go. Fulfil yourself and just let go of the 3d. At its core, the 3d is you.

What’s there to fear if it’s my mirror? - Edward Art

It’s going to be uncomfortable. You’re going to be scared. But all those feelings will pass. And eventually, having your desire will feel natural and SO good. You’ll realise that the 3d is just a mirror and means nothing. You’ll understand how much fucking power you have. It will feel liberating. And when the feeling dies down, don’t worry. You still have what u want and you are still powerful. Your power never dies, only flows.

Don’t let ur comfort zone hold you back. Dare to free yourself from it and go beyond. Take a leap of faith and leap right into the state of your desires. Your mind will make you think you want to leave bc it’s not what it knows, but push it away. Go there everyday and make it your new comfort state. Don’t focus on the 3d and movement, focus on becoming one with your desires. Start fully identifying with them; fusing with them. Don’t take no as an answer. Start trusting in you. Trusting in self.

Just take the 3d completely out of the equation. Take a leap of faith despite what your eyes are showing you. Just leave the circle and see what happens. And no matter what, don’t go back.

the cost of your life is faith. you either believe or you don’t. belief is the difference between the unrealized dream and the realized one. -I’m not sure who

[moonstruckme]

any chance you'd be willing to do disassociating!reader with sirius as a fade into you prompt?

Thanks for requesting!

join the party

cw: mentions of blood, reader is in shock/dissociates after injury-related trauma

Sirius Black x reader ♡ 1.1k words

You’ve long since stopped shaking by the time you get back to your apartment, but it still takes you a few tries to get the key in the door, your movements robotic and seeming somehow separate from you. 

“Hey, you’re home late,” Sirius greets you as you walk through the door. “I was just starting to think about dinner. How would you feel about…shit.” He stops as he comes into the living room, gaze snagging on your legs, dried blood staining them from the knees down. Your shoes, which used to be white but are now a rusty brown. “What happened to you?”

“It’s not mine.” 

“Okay.” He’s still standing a good few feet away, like you’re characters in a play, reciting your lines without moving. “Whose is it?”

“Macy’s.” 

“Alright.” The word is meaningless, but not any more than the rest of them, you suppose. Sirius steps closer, slowly, as if wary of spooking you. “Is she okay?” 

“She, uh.” You swallow. “Yeah, she’s okay. Or she will be. She fell and hit her head, but they said she’ll be okay.” 

“Who said, darling?” 

“The nurses. I just got back from the hospital.” You remember the ambulance ride there, the ridiculous quiet of it all. You’d thought that when someone was hurt that bad, hospitals were all beeping and yelling and people running around. But they’d only asked Macy questions in calm, measured voices, no beeping or alarms to be heard. What did you have to eat today? Do you know why you fell?

“Sweetheart.” Sirius looks gutted, and you don’t know why he’s using that tone with you. You’re not the one who cracked your head open. “You should have called me, lovely. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.” 

“You were at work.” It’s simple, a fact. “Anyway, there was nothing you could do.” 

Sirius takes your face in his hand, and it feels like he’s touching someone else, your skin waxy and foreign. “I would have left work to be there with you. It sounds like it was an awful thing to have to deal with by yourself.” 

You guess it probably was. You’d had to put pressure on Macy’s head until the paramedics got there, kneeling in a pool of her blood as it seeped from the wound and time seemed sluggish and unreal. You know, objectively, that it was one of the more awful experiences you’ve had, and you’ll probably be dreaming about it for years. But it doesn’t feel that way right now. Nothing feels any sort of way right now. 

“How long were you at the hospital for?” Sirius asks. “When did this happen?” 

You don’t know. It was…the sun was still out, when she fell on the sidewalk. But the length of time you were sitting there with her, or the time in the ambulance, is all stretched out and murky. You know you got back to your car and drove home, but you can’t recall any part of the journey. You leave that last bit out of what you tell Sirius, but his frown deepens anyway. 

“That’s okay,” he says. “Let’s get you cleaned up, huh? Here, let me take those off.” 

He bends over, untying your shoes for you, and you watch as dried blood flakes off the laces where they bend unwillingly. Sirius doesn’t comment on it, slipping your shoes off one after the other and setting them by the door. His hands are delicate about your shoulders as he steers you into the bathroom, sitting you down on the toilet. You’re distantly cognizant of him moving about, opening and closing a cabinet and turning on the faucet, but it’s not until he crouches in front of you that he enters your awareness again. 

Sirius takes your ankle in his hand and begins just below your knee, rubbing a warm, wet washcloth over the blood staining the skin there. He’s talking, still, in a low voice, but the murmurings don’t seem to have much importance other than placation. It’s more ambient noise than anything else. He works the washcloth down your leg, the rough fabric scrubbing gently at your skin. He presses harder in some areas where the blood is stubborn, and that’s where you feel it most. The beginnings of real sensation, connected to you rather than some shell that you occupy and that moves when you tell it to. 

By the time he starts on your other leg you feel as though you’ve been thinking through a dense fog that’s beginning to lift; you’re able to feel the warm droplets of water running down your calf and make out some of the quiet words spewing from your boyfriend’s mouth. He finishes with your legs, and you hold up your hands, now trembling again. The blood there is cracked around the lines of your palm, and Sirius takes your hand in his, wiping it away gently. You can feel the cloth even more there, where it brushes against your sensitive fingertips. You can tell now that Sirius is telling you stories, various anecdotes of when he or his friends had gotten hurt. 

“It’s scary to see someone you care about in pain,” he goes on at a murmur. “Even when you know they’ll be alright, I think it hurts worse than when we’re in pain ourselves.” 

A tear dribbles down your cheek, landing with a splat on your thigh, and Sirius looks up, surprise morphing into heartbreak when he sees your expression. He drops the cloth on the floor, rising to an awkward height so that you can put your head against his shoulder when his arms come around you. 

“I know, baby.” His voice sounds almost fragile, as though he’s feeling this as acutely as you are. “I’m so sorry you went through that. Are you feeling a little more like yourself?” 

“Yeah,” you sniff. Your tears are still coming slowly, and you know the majority of your panic is still buried somewhere safe inside of you, but this is enough for now. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s happening to me.” 

Sirius pulls back, thumbing away your tears as he studies your face, eyebrows set close together in concern. “I think you’re in shock, sweetness. It makes sense, that’s a lot for anyone to have to see.” He strokes at your hairline, just beside your eye. “Do you want to talk about it? If not, we don’t have to. We can just watch a movie or something, try to forget about it for tonight.” 

You take a deep breath, trying to find the voice inside yourself that usually tells you who you are, what you want. It’s still quiet, but you think that’s answer enough. “The second one, please. I don’t think I’m ready to think about it yet.” 

“Alright, whatever you want.” Sirius nods, rising and offering you his hands to help pull you up. You take them, and he presses a kiss to your forehead as soon as you’re standing. “Whenever you feel ready, lovely, I’ll be here.” 

[itsnotamatterofif]

Cast Recording thoughts that no one asked for!

It’s getting a solid 7/10 for me, and I don’t think it’s any of the actor’s faults. There’s just some strange editing choices that make absolutely no sense to me (freight into act 2 hydrogen with no coda being one of them), and the whole thing just sounds very… earnest? They sure are hitting every note perfectly, there’s just no riffs unless you’re greaseball or Momma, and I am thinking that it’s either a directing choice or just a general lack of confidence from brand new debuting cast. I wasn’t sure at first if this is just due to the improving quality of audio recording since 2009, but like, all the T’s are accentuated and half of the riffs sound like they were pre-agreed, there’s no room for the actors to show off if that makes sense.

There were a few songs that I didn’t like, (I’ll be honest Freight pales in comparison to previous freights, which is sad as a Hydra stan - he doesn’t even get his introduction!!!!) and there were some that smashed it out of the park, and I genuinely think all of the problems are just very strange creative decisions by a team who wanted to make something ‘new’ and ‘modern’ without quite understanding what that is outside of ditching a traditional pit orchestra. I’m a bit sad they don’t have any incidentals, but also that’s rare to find in cast recordings these days.

Outside of that, however, I think the actual singing is great and the cast do their damned best. I’ve never actually heard Jeevan as Rusty (I saw Scott when I saw it) so it was really nice to hear - he has such a good voice. Tom Pigram also comes across better on the recording - some of the megamixes have been DODGY on those top notes, but the recording was super good and I like the editing in AC/DC. The ethereal twink vibes are unreal, they’re giving those rich dudes on instagram who always brag about having £40 cups of tea or whatever.

I’m gonna do an under the cut with a thought on every song (I need to give the music student in me something to do every now and then)

Okay track list run down!

Overture/entry of trains: nothingburger song but otherwise a nice into, could have done with a bit of a break between the mum telling control off and then going into the song but whatever. Slightly strange no trains have nationalities but Greaseball is still the Union Pacific, however big up They/Them Orange Flash.

Rolling Stock: classic, love it, 10/10. We already knew this was a banger.

Crazy: we already knew this was a banger too. Jeevan’s Rusty is so sweet and determined. I don’t know if I prefer it over the doo-wap version from 2009 but it’s still good.

I Am Me: I still don’t actually know whether I like this song, but I also didn’t know whether I liked it in Bochum. It’s a bit generic and it think it’s a bit weird that they’re all like ‘yeah those engines can’t push us around!’ before being pushed around by the engines. I think I just miss A Whole Lotta Locomotion but I can understand why they cut it.

Whistle At Me: this is so sweet but so weird. Why is Rusty not allowed to whistle? Is it because of noise pollution laws? Cat calling allegory? Are steamers second class citizens and have to keep all proof they’re a steamer quiet? What’s the deal here. They’ll remove incidental speech that is essential to the story but keep in Pearl friendzoning him.

Freight is Great: UGH. Tassita is the highlight here honestly. It’s just so EMPTY, I guess that’s a constraint of just how few cast members can be on that stage without there being a health and safety shut down. I hate the chop into Hydrogen, it’s so horrible and janky and that’s not even where Hydrogen is in the show.

Hydrogen: breaks my heart to say it, but I never really liked Hydrogen. I don’t like environmentalist activism in shows since it’s never the audience who needs to hear it, and I find it funny that ALW wants to preach this now when he’s more than happy to take a private jet to a country he doesn’t live in to support a political party who doesn’t really care (ALW is Tory scum for those not in the UK). Jayden Vijn is a powerhouse both vocally and on stage though, and there’s more character in this song than there is in half the first act sooooo

AC/DC: actually a banger? I like the different approach to Electra, and I think the editing covers up for the fact that Pigram isn’t a belter. They did forget to introduce a component though which is just a hilarious oversight.

Pumping Iron: IMPECCABLE 10/10. No notes. Al Knott is amazing.

Make up My Heart: very sweet, very earnest. Montecillo’s Pearl seems to be very innocent, which is different. Can’t really go wrong with this one.

Momma’s Blues: mmmm Jade Marvin has such a nice voice, it takes her a line or two to get into it but once she’s into it it’s very nice and smooth. Classic song, really like it, Lumber’s interrupts however make absolutely no sense without the visuals.

Starlight Express: it’s the song!! Why did they change the melody oh my GOD- Jeevan sings it so nicely but I would give my right arm to hear him sing the traditional one.

UNCOUPLED: Eve Humphries is so so so good. The loss of the accent is worth mourning, but I’d rather she did it like this than put on a shit southern accent for the bit.

Wide Smile: not even gonna lie this is a JAM. Emily Martinez is such an underdog and she fucking went for it. Ending is a bit weird but I guess we can’t have everything.

The Races: I’m gonna include them as one since they’re functionally identical. It’s nice to have them in, I wish we could have had all four since I think the first one is actually race 1, 2, and 3 jammed together. I REALLY LIKE the chorus in the final race singing to get Rusty over the finish line, that’s such a sweet touch.

I am the Starlight: impeccable. This is one of those songs you have to get right and I think they both aced it. I think there’s room for both of them to be a bit more vocally adventurous, but it’s a solid performance, and it’s fantastic live which adds to my theory that they were all being held back by vocal direction.

One Rock N Roll Too Many: amazing, funny as fuck. Greasy’s and Electra’s ‘NO’ is amazing. 10/10.

I do: I feel a bit bad saying this is a bit generic, it’s a fantastic vocal performance, I just think next time you fall in love is much more theatrically interesting and gives some character depth. Pearl spends most of the musical not really giving a shit about Rusty so it’s suddenly a bit weird that she’s absolutely head over heads for him, and at least in Next Time she admits she liked him all along and just didn’t know it.

Light at the end of the Tunnel: classic and good, and I actually like the environmental changes here. Marvin shows again how strong of a singer she is and a good time is had all round.

Megamix: ELECTRA HIT THE NOTES YES LAD GET ON!!!!!! I have been listening to this on repeat for months on YouTube so it’s nice to have an official recording finally. Just an absolute tune.

Yeah anyway rant over feel free to disagree with me on most of this

[just-dino-maggie]

could you do 15 and 16 with jack hughes??

Thank you so much for the request! I hope you like it!

15. Not being able to stop smiling while kissing

16. Taking silly pictures in a Photo Booth

Jack and I have been best friends for years. Deep down I’ve always loved him, it’s hard not to love him. Recently it’s been challenging to hide my feelings from him. He’s been extra flirty and over the top with me. I’m trying to resist because I don’t want to lose him.

He’s home for the summer and besides his golf trips with Quinn and Trevor we’ve been hanging out the whole time. We decided to go to the Zap Zone by his house for old times sake. We always used to go to play glow golf and laser tag.

I knock on the Hughes door even though they’ve expressed that I don’t need to. It feels weird if I don’t, what if I saw Luke in his underwear or something. I could be permanently scarred. “Coming!” I hear someone yell behind the door.

The door swings open and Trevor is standing in front of me. “Hey Y/n/n,” He pulls me in for a quick hug. “Jack is almost done getting all dolled up for your date.”

I shake my head at him, “It’s not a date and you know it Zegras.”

He gasps with fake shock, “Not a date? If Jack isn’t treating you right I’m always here to show you a good time.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.

“Shut up Z.” I say unable to hold back my laugh. If nothing else Trevor has always been funny.

Finally Jack runs downstairs, he’s wearing a basic pair of black jeans and a crew neck but he looks unreal. “You ready Y/n/n?” He asks and I nod, “Let’s get out of here then.”

He takes my hand and walks me to the car. Opening my door for me so that I can get in. As we sit in the car and talk I feel myself falling into our rhythm. We are friends who flirt and hold hands sometimes. It’s weird but I don’t care as long as I have him.

We play glow golf. He insists on showing me how to putt because I “don’t know how to do it”. When I try to remind him that we used to play glow golf together all the time he just smirks and tells me that I’m rusty. When he stands behind me with his chest pressed against my back and his hands covering mine my heart goes crazy. I’m breathless as he steps away from me.

The rest of glow golf goes smoothly. I convince myself that he was just trying to throw me off my game. That has to be the reason he held me like that.

After glow golf we decide to play arcade games. I spot the Photo Booth and grab Jack’s hand. “Can we please get pictures?” I ask gesturing toward the booth. He nods and we squeeze in the small space.

Our first picture we smile regularly, then I stick my tough out and put a piece sign behind Jacks head for the second. He smiles and pulls me on to his lap messing up my hair for the third picture. Then our eyes meet and he pulls me in placing his lips on mine. I don’t even notice that the final picture has already happened. I’m completely addicted to him and this feeling.

I pull away keeping my forehead against his. “Why did you do that?” I whisper.

“Because I like you.” He responds, “For a long time I’ve liked you.”

I smile, “I have too.” I pause and place my hands on both sides of his face. “I can’t believe you just did that.” I let out a shocked chuckle.

“Can I do it again?” He reply’s simply and I nod immediately. He brings his mouth to mine once again and I can’t help but smile as we kiss. I can feel him smiling too. Nothing is better then this.

[voltronisanobsession]

Platonic Yandere! Voltron x Reader

These are my first headcanons I’ve uploaded so they might be a little all over the place and unorganized💀💀 but anyways hope you guys enjoy?

I don’t know if having all of them obsessed with you is a good thing or a bad thing

On one side, they’d be willing to do anything in order to protect you

But on the other, there’s literally no way you’re ever getting away from them, not with the defenders of the universe being your personal guard dogs

You had to have been friends with at LEAST one of them before finding the blue lion and I’m feeling Pidge was the first one to have been the starting catalyst

So once you’ve met everyone else, something just clicked in their brains

Your whole being was just so comforting and familiar for them that they didn’t even realize their feelings towards you becoming twisted

You wouldn’t be able to go anywhere by yourself

Feel like eating something? Good thing Hunk’s tagging along, maybe he’ll make you a tasty meal

Need to train in the training deck? Well, Keith feels like his fighting skills are getting a little rusty

Want to look over the star chart? Luckily Coran and Pidge are right there to help you understand some of the patterns

Want to get some rest in your room? Allura’s already suggesting you guys should have a slumber party in her room!

You won’t get any time to yourself, not with one of them breathing down your neck

There will always be one of them right next to you wherever you are

Like they’re clinginess is unreal💀 some will make their clingy needs obvious (LANCE, Hunk, Coran) while the others will be a bit more discreet about it (Shiro, Keith, Pidge)

I feel like Allura would be in between

But despite this, none of them are willing to take the risk of you roaming around outside the castle

You could try and run from them, maybe the aliens on the planets they visit will want to keep you for themselves, or the galra might show up and start attacking!

Because of that lingering fear, missions are usually done with you back in the safety of the castle with Coran and Allura (if she hasn’t begun piloting the lion yet)

They’re usually left on babysitting duties with you which they don’t honestly mind…

All of them would be SUPER overprotective of you to the absolute MAX, telling you the castle was the only place that could keep you safe

If they aren’t around that is

Being around them in the castle begins to feel more an obligation, and you feel more like a prisoner

Which is why you prefer Shiro out of all of them because he’s the only one who gives you some amount of freedom

Shiro understands what it’s like to be kept as a prisoner and understands just how restricting your situation is

He definitely tries to work out some negotiation with you

To make up for the others obsessive need to constantly be around you, he forces them to chill out and just let you be

Kind of like a schedule of some sort

With Shiro’s light supervision, you can finally take a moment for yourself without having to worry about the lingering eyes you’ve felt since leaving earth

Just don’t take advantage of Shiro’s kindness because the little privacy he’s given you can easily be taken away and you’d be back at stage one with the group hogging for your attention

Because this group is diverse in personalities, it can be extremely draining having to deal with them all on a daily basis

Lance and Keith fight for your attention, Lance being more loud and open about it

It’s like a tug of war situation with them, constantly having them bicker over who gets to hangout with you and fighting for that right

“Hey y/n, I say we make a break for it. You, me, we’ll make a great pair just saving the universe!”

“You really think they want to spend time with you?? I think y/n was on their way to the training deck right?”

It’s exhausting to say the least

Having Pidge run on and on about programs she’s working on can be draining and you often find yourself dozing off until she wakes you up, forcing you to listen to her rants and programs she’s currently working on again

(Definitely has some sort of tracker on you, everybody knows about it except you)

I feel like Hunk wouldn’t be as bad as the others but he does force you to cook with him in the kitchen, constantly wanting your inputs and needing compliments, not allowing you to leave until you’ve taste tested all of his new dishes

Manipulates you into staying with him by saying no one appreciates his cooking💀 makes you feel bad so you reluctantly stay in your seat

Allura and Coran…

They have never felt such intense feelings for a person before, so it really throws them off once they’ve developed their twisted version of affection for you

Their planet was destroyed and now that they finally found a home in you, they’re both willing to do anything in order to keep you in the safety of their arms

“Y/n just the person I was looking for! I need your help in running some tests for me”

“Ah y/n there you are! I was starting to get worried when I didn’t find you with the others,,”

Shiro plans on keeping and protecting the innocence he saw in you when you guys first met

Definitely gives overprotective dad vibes

He’ll be forceful with you if you try and do anything dangerous, like trying to go out on missions or even trying to escape them

I don’t think escaping is even possible tbh, they all kinda desperate ngl💔

Overall, this group is dead set on keeping you with them

It doesn’t really matter what you want because you don’t really understand the true dangers the universe can throw at you

They just want to keep you safe and happy

As long as you follow along with their rules and requests, living in the castle with this group won’t be as terrible as compared to you constantly fighting against them

That won’t be well received by either of them, especially Allura and Shiro

[muffinsin]

Hello, 👀 anon here, I hope you feel better soon! Please don't apologise for not posting as much, your well being is the most important. I thought I'd write you something, as a small thank you for writing our requests. The inspiration for this was me looking at various screenshots and fanarts of Bela, like the Bela simp I am, and wanting a snippet of the fluffy side of our fav blondie liking praise. My writing's rusty sorry but I hope you enjoy~

Your beloved was beautiful, this was a known fact. The first time you saw Bela, you felt the breath get knocked out of your lungs when she glanced your way.

Of course, she knew she was good-looking and maybe you just thought this because you were more than a little bit obsessed with her but you were certain she didn't know just how good-looking she was.

You were both lounging by the fire in the library, laughing and catching up with each other's days. Bela was telling you about her sisters' antics, a fond smile betraying her faux annoyance as she played with the band on your ring finger and you couldn't help but stare in awe. Something about the warmth of the fire making her hair and eyes glow gold, coupled with that smile that pressed in the dimple at her right cheek had you breathless. Even years later she still made you shy and nervous. You swallowed, a tad too loudly apparently as Bela stopped mid sentence, "-are you alright, little one?"

"I-yes! I'm fine, I just-" flickers of light highlighted the perfectly sculpted angles of her face, warm eyes completely focused on you. How did she have such full lashes?

"You're so beautiful, Bela."

She blinked, the compliment and use of her name (she was always "darling" or "my love") catching her off guard. A light blush dusted her cheeks and you continued, "You look unreal, like a masterpiece. Do you know how gorgeous you are? I can barely look at you sometimes, you're so intimidatingly pretty."

Bela turned her head from your ramblings, flushed pink down to her neck but you followed, fully intent on continuing your praise as you straddled her, cupping her jaw so she had to look at you. Her pupils were blown, lips quirked into a cute almost-grimace, like she was unsure what to do with her mouth. She looked so adorable you couldn't help but pepper kisses all over her face until she laughed out a breathy and highly unconvincing, "Stop."

You did, but couldn't help but brush back that endearingly stubborn strand of hair that always fell perfectly down her forehead. "I love you."

She kissed your palm still pressed against her cheek. "I love you too, my life."

Thank you hon!🙇‍♀️ Though with things settling (hopefully🥲😬), I’m hoping to be able to write more again soon🫶

Oh? Thank you!!🙇‍♀️🙌

I absolutely love this!🤎 I’m very sure I’m not the only one too👀 I love your writing style, and ofc our Bela needs some loving🫶 This was beautiful, hon, thank you for sharing these kind, and beautiful words with us

Bela is so adorable omg, I love this so much

[nbmudkip]

ok im sorry i realized pandemonium is close and got to thinking and im pissed as fuck about tsukasa’s lims again. prsk devs were really like “Ok guys let’s give this guy two of the most banger lims in the game-“

“Yes great perfect. Ok now as soon as ny3 ends let’s pivot 180° and beat him to death with a rusty metal pipe.” like for the love of god. since then we’ve had three kasa lims, and they are, in order:

managed to ruin my literal top dream mixed lineup of ruishizukasa by having leaks tease the thrilling concept of tanuki/kitsune limkasa and then ended up being Walking Nerd Emoji in a Plain Middle Schooler’s Uniform. when lineup and card set theme leaks dropped i was literally gearing up to podium this event, i wanted it to be my t3, and then the cards dropped and made me so mad i dropped to maybe t100 if i’m bored enough

very pretty card art at least but my literal least favorite limkasa hair especially in terms of 3dmodel + previous world record holder for Most Boring Lim Costume

*audible snarling* fucking kasafes. fucking new world record holder for #1 Most Boring Lim Costume and on a fes card of all things. fucking plain white cotton tshirt HGTV sugar free breakfast syrup commercial ass sitting in a boring suburban kitchen holding a piece of bread. “what’s that?” said the devs. “you were excited to see tsukasa’s version of the concept of fragment sekais, the reality-bending time-warping realms of pure feeling given physical form where characters come face to face with deeply symbolic fantastical scenarios and confront reflections of their deepest emotions? you wanted to see how creatively we could address the myriad of different complex patterns of thought that make tsukasa who he is, and were excited to see which of many unique and interesting routes we could’ve taken to explore him at his roots? ha! hahahahaha! No. You get breadboy.”

LIKE. GIRL. HELLO. you have GOT to be shitting me. these are the lims we’re getting? for TENMA FUCKING TSUKASA of all people???? i could pull up to the most boring outfit competition in my last job’s uniform tshirt and a pair of uncomfortably textured khakis, and if i got up backstage and saw my opponents were these three chucklefucks, i would piss my pants in soul-crushing terror knowing i was miles out of my league.

LIKE??? WHAT HAPPENED?????? compare them to his first three lims’ fits and hairstyles:

the fuckin reverse glowup from those to the latest three is unreal. absolute shitfest. world’s most rancid dimdown. someone get my boy some fucking CLOTHES

as i always provide on my kasaposts, please see my approved hater license below the cut:

i adore him guys i swear. im mad on his behalf not mad at him

[tyriq-edits]

In the Plain Nysa -

First Draft of the Prologue

This is an early draft of the prologue for my planned Vashwood Fanfiction "In the Plain of Nysa”.

Given this is an early draft, keep in mind that this entire chapter and even its inclusion in the final product are still subject to change.

I also haven’t written fanfics in almost two years so I am a bit rusty and thus any and all constructive criticism is very much welcome. However PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS BEFOREHAND

Content Warnings: Kidnapping, Gore, Blood, War, descriptions of amputations, mentions of murder, attempted murder, descriptions of physical torture, whipping

This level of violence presented in the prologue draft will not appear in the rest of the fan fiction however.

For further informations about this AU and its lore just look at the "in the plain of nysa” tag on my tumblr page

Prologue Draft under the cut

“Hold him down, Pylon”

“What do you think it is I’m trying to do, Lysander?”

Pylon shot his fellow soldier an annoyed look before redirecting his gaze down to the blonde youth struggling against all three trojan soldiers as they tried to keep him down on the floor.

Youth might be the wrong term to describe the wriggling gent beneath him, after all this “youth” was not just a few years but centuries older then Pylon and his comrades combined. For this boy, trashing his body around helplessly like a freshly caught fish on land, to escape his captors’ grips, was indeed a god.

Vash the recreationist.

Vash the bringer of order.

Vash the dancer.

Vash the god of peace.

It felt almost unreal to Pylon that this lad, who was flailing his legs around and fighting against the band of Trojans keeping him pinned to the ground, weiling like an abandoned kitten crying out for its mother to come and save it, was indeed an olympian. Weren’t the gods supposed to be almighty? So how come that they, a group of mere mortals, had been able to capture the messy-haired god of peace and his sister, the goddess of victory with such ease? How come they had been able to kill the goddess of victory with such ease? How come they were gonna kill the god of peace with the same amount of ease right now?

“Iphition, go get a rag or anything to stuff his mouth, he’s gonna wake up the entire neighbourhood at this rate” Lysander hissed at the youngest in their group.

“I can’t keep the brat down and also get up to grab some rags at the same time, Lysander!”

“I’ll take over for you” Pylon declared, now instead of clasping both his hands around the deity’s right arm, reaching out to grasp both of Vash’s wrists and keep them pinned above the blonde god’s head.

“Thanks Pyl” Iphition, releasing the god’s left arm from his clutches, rising from the floor, patting some of the dirt off of his garments before turning around to find anything of use to keep the divine being quiet.

Pylon did not dare to let his eyes linger on his comrades' filthy clothes longer than necessary. Those filthy…. Defiled….Bloodstained garments. Yet, looking at Lysander’s or his own vestments did not offer a more delightful view either. For they were equally filthy, equally defiled and equally blood stained. Stained with the blood of the Tesla. The blood of the goddess of victory. Reminding them of what he and his brothers in arms had done. And what they were about to do to the divine gent looking up at them with pleading, teary blue eyes.

Then again, Pylon thought, this entire room, a dark and dingy basement underneath one of Troy’s countless taverns, wasn’t hailing any differently than their attire. The floor they were kneeling on and keeping the sobbing god pressed against, was still painted in the now dried up, crimson blood of victory. In the dim flickering light of the handful of oil lamps they kept lit, Pylon spotted some loose feathers from her wings strewn around the room. The stale blood splattered onto them, having lost its warm scarlet hue and rust-coloured crust having taken its place.

It is not like killing the dual winged goddess of victory had been their plan from the start, Pylon kept trying to tell himself. It was an act of desperation. They had planned to merely kidnap the goddess of victory and her younger brother and keep them within the walls of Troy to assure Troy’s victory and a quick end to this war.

Their beloved city had been sieged by the Acheans for up to 9 years at this point. 9 years since their Prince Paris had kidnapped fair Helen of Sparta. 9 years since Menelaus had taken up arms to get his wife back. 9 years of being trapped within their own cities.

They were simply tired. Tired of waking up every morning, wondering which ones of their friends they would be forced to bury that day, or if it would be them ending up on the funerary pyre. Tired of living in fear for their family’s safety should the Acheans succeed to defeat the Trojan army and storm their city.

They had first discovered the god of peace, the youngest of holy siblings. Pylon could still clearly see in front of his inner eyes how they had spotted the son of the stars scurrying across the battlefield, hasting to the side of any wounded soldier he could find, putting his hands on them and healing their injuries. Yet what stuck out to the Trojan soldier the mist was how the deity seemingly did not discriminate between the two fronts. Whether you were a Trojan or Achean, if Vash the recreationist saw a wounded warrior he’d run to his side and help him get back on his feet.

So, they took him. When they thought no one on the battlefield was paying attention they simply grabbed the Olympian and dragged him towards their homecity.

And that was when Pylon and his two brothers in arms caught the sight of the goddess of victory flying overhead, leading the Achaean army. Pylon gazed at the ethereal deity, his mind going blank from the sheer awe, when suddenly his and Tesla’s eyes met. Those icy blues seemed to stare right into Pylon’s mortal soul and he physically felt a freezing cold shudder through his entire spine.

That was when the Trojan had realised that Vash, still being dragged towards the gates of Troy, had called out towards his sister the second he saw her. That’s when Pylon understood. That was not the gaze of a benevolent goddess of victory. This was the hateful stare of an older sister seeing her kin in danger. The trio had acted before they could truly process their thought process. Pylon remembers all too vividly as Lysanderhad had taken out his bow and arrow and pierced one of the goddesses’ wings with one clear shot, making her plummet down to the earth.

It was not meant to happen that way. But they had captured two Olympians. They only wanted to keep Victory and Peace in their city in hopes their presence alone would lead to Troy’s glorious triumph over the Acheans. By keeping victory locked and chained up in this basement and by making peace heal only Trojan soldiers from now on. That was the plan. They were going to let them go back to their fellow Olympians the second the Acheans had been defeated.

But it did not happen that way. Mighty and victorious Tesla kept trying to escape so they had to hack off her pure white pair of wings. But yet she kept on defying them. And the Acheans kept winning battle after battle. So they had to make her see that she had to work for them. Maybe then they would finally receive the blessings of victory. So they cut off her feet and legs next. Yet the Acheans kept winning.

So the trio began to grow desperate in the face of the Achaean army getting closer and closer to storming their cherished hometown. They even tried whipping the goddess’s darling baby brother Vash in front of her with such velocity that chunks of his skin and flesh flew off with each crack of the nine tailed whip. However this ended up being counter productive rather fast as well. For even though seeing her little brother in such pain had managed to sway the fair haired goddess of triumph to let the Trojans win some battles against the Acheans at long last, the injuries inflicted onto the god of peace proved to be so severe that he had become physically too weak to even crawl towards the hurt Trojan soldiers, let alone heal their wounds.

Having seemingly been backed against a wall with their “safe ticket to victory” refusing to work for them and their “divine healer” out of commission, they saw themselves forced to act fast.

So , in a last act of despair they did the unthinkable. They took an axe and hacked the goddess of victory into tiny little pieces of bone and flesh, handing them out to the soldiers so each and everyone of them would be fighting with a bit of victory at their side. A finger for Aeneas, a toe for Polybus, an earlobe for Glaucus…

It is for the safety of our friends and family. For our home… is what Pylon tried to tell himself as he watched Lysander’s axe come crashing down onto the poor goddess. The sounds of her flesh being ripped open, the bones cracking into halves and quarters and the goddesses piercing screams slowly dying down…. no matter how much Pylon tried to delude himself with thoughts of “we are doing this for our loved ones” he could never forget them. Hearing them every time he closed his eyes had been plaguing him every night since they had murdered Tesla. A part of him almost hoped the Acheans would just kill him at this point so he could finally be freed from this guilt.

Yet, at the same time looking back at their horrific act, what had shocked Pylon more than the fact that a deity could be wounded and killed in the first place, was how human their blood seemed. He recalled the stories his mother had told him as a small child. How gods could not bleed. How through the deathless beings’ veins flowed instead the ethereal fluid of ichor. He had always imagined for it to shine golden like the sun itself. But instead it was red. Like his.

Yet they still had one last problem: Their joker, Vash, who was supposed to provide infinite healing to the Trojan troops was still far too weak to actively heal any of their soldiers. So Lysander suggested to do it all over again.

“Please”

The pathetic little whimper ripped Pylon out of his thoughts and he once again looked down on the tear filled eyes of the youngest star born deity.

“Please. You don’t have to do this. Please”

His grip tightened, leading to another sob escaping the blonde’s throat. He could not exactly say why the Olympian’s please made him so angry. Was it truly anger he was feeling? Or was it perhaps guilt? But for what exactly? Guilt over murder? But he had killed countless men over the past 9 years on the battlefield. How is this any different from the countless innocent men he had slain before the gates of Troy?

“You think we’d do this if we didn’t have to?” Lysander growled before Pylon could even get a chance to answer Vash himself. The oldest among the three soldiers glared at Vash, while holding down the deity’s legs so he’d finally stop kicking the air around them.

Staring at his companion’s face, Pylon couldn’t help but notice the deep dark bags underneath his eyes, the glassy haze laying over his pupils like thick fog, the new strands of grey hair adorning both his beard and mane. The Trojan had known both Lysander and Iphition since his earliest childhood, literally having grown up with them like brothers. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling as if both his comrades had aged far more rapidly in the past few days since the goddess’s death than over the entire past decade since this forsaken war’s beginning. The way both their faces have grown haggard, with their deeply sunken in eyes, a permanent frown plastered over profile, acting as witnesses to sleepless nights his friends must have suffered through lately. Just like him. Pylon knew he could never say it out loud but it was almost strangely comforting to know that he was not the only one battling with this whirlwind of emotions their cruel deed had left behind. Be that as it may, Pylon also could not rid himself of the underlying realisation that he barely recognises his two best friends anymore. Were these men, pushing aside their own discomfort as they readied themselves for yet another godly slaughter, the same two boys he had shared so many happy moments with over the course of his life? As much as Pylon hoped that they could all just return to the how things used to be after the war, joking with his friends as they shared wine and freshly picked fruit, he knew it was not meant to be. Daring another glimpse at his companion’s face he was once again met with the harrowing reality that the pain, grime and the haunting spectre of their shared sin most likely had changed the three of them for all eternity on every level of their existence with no hope of going back to their once careless and hope-filled younger selves. From their physical appearance all the way down to the very core of their soul.

“Iphition what’s taking you so long?! We are running out of time. Troy is running out of time.” Lysander yapped at the youngest of the trio. Observing his youngest friend’s gloomy expression and paleness, Pylon knew that Iphition was struggling with the shame of their crime on the inside just like him. Despite his comrade’s lifelong reluctance to verbally express his thoughts and feelings, the soldier had known the olive-skinned man long enough to pick up on quirks and hints when Iphition was being plagued by or uncomfortable with something. Such as for example right now him having taken his sweet time trying to find some cloth. He had been stalling time. Trying to prolong the time to perhaps mentally prepare himself before the… execution.

“I’m here, I’m here.” Iphition mumbled, approaching the two other warriors, holding a simple linen cloth in his hand “it’s not much but it’s the best i could find.”

“Well then hurry up, stuff the brat’s mouth and go get my axe.”

“Got it” Iphition responded, more to appease Lysander than because he is somehow eager to watch yet another Olympian get dismembered, kneeling down once more beside the blonde god.

“Please. Please, I am begging you. Don’t do this!” The Olympian wailed, his eyes fixed on Pylon with the same intense stare as Tesla when she had first seen him on the battlefield almost a month ago at this point. Yet his eyes were not filled with righteous rage. They shone with… hope? Pity? Or was it perhaps sadness? Whatever it was, just looking directly at this pair of deep blues made Pylon’s heart wrench and he instantly averted his gaze, looking instead at some imaginary point on the opposite wall.

He heard the muffled sounds of Iphition forcing the balled up piece of cloth past Vash’s lips and vaguely noticing as his comrade went to grab Lysanders trusted axe before once again grabbing the blond god’s left arm and keeping it pinned to the ground.

Pylon felt his heart rate picking up when he could see Lysander’s shadow on the wall. Axe in hand, risen up high over his head. Pylon couldn’t tell if it was the flickering of the candles’ flames or not but he could see his friend’s grip on the axe seeming a bit… shaky? It was almost as if Lysander were hesitating.

However the soldier had no chance to ponder that thought any longer as the stifled screams and cries for mercy and the panicked trashing of the god beneath him was the only thing the soldier registered before he could feel the blast of cold air hitting his face as Lysander’s axe came crashing down onto the god’s left arm.

Another muffled cry of pain rang through his ears before it slowly ebbed into pitiful sobs of pain.

“That was the first arm.” Lysander’s booming voice broke the silence “Now onto the right on-“

Suddenly the murky basement’s door got thrown open, flying off of its hinges, the windblast of the the sheer force blowing out all the candles and oil lamps strewn around the cellar.

“Who in the Chronos’ name do you think you a-“ Lysander attempted to yell at the intruder but his voice failed him the very second he saw it. Even while hidden behind a boar tusk helmet he could see them clearly. Those same golden locks and those captivating blue eyes.

“L-Lord Nai!”

[mod-doodles]

Depending on how the show progresses I may change my mind but currently there seems to be a theme of manifestation, fate and destiny? This isn’t anti Claire…its a running on thought.

Claire’s insertion into Carmy’s life in the way that she appears can be considered fated just like Sydney, I don’t know if the writers room of the bear is religious/spiritual or just the show with the religious iconography being consistent and strong.

Maybe we are to consider that Claire was Carmy’s manifestation of fun and amusement.

Within modern spirituality we have the ideology that if you put certain energies into the universe you can attract/manifest your wants into a reality. In the christian religious space as shown in the ‘The Bear’ there is a similar ideology where God presents you with what you ask for or need if they/them/she/he sees fit. The presentation of that thing/want maybe because it is meant for you or its a lesson that you’re being thought. Similar sentiments to this can be seen across multiple spiritual and religious frame works but I’m a bit rusty on the topic.

They/them/she/he - *I’m point out that is God is a genderless being*

So back to Claire, Carmy at the beginning of season 2 was primed and ready for some ‘fun’, we get some foreshadowing during his conversation with Richie about purpose; Richie is looking at pictures of his lost love Tiff whose friends with Claire. By the end of the episode we see Carmy attempts to ask Syd out but fails then he goes to his empty home which is when I believe he had time to sit and ruminate about his lack of a social life. This is when that manifestation would have happened, for Carmy it probably wasn’t actively manifesting or praying but the energy of want was placed into the universe by the act of google searching.

He manifested a ‘cool fun girl’, they made her this badass ER doctor, who has a perfectly balanced life, friendships galore, a social life and she’s already loved and accepted by his community. Claire is kicking ass and taking names, literally the antithesis of everything that Carmy is (lmaoooo @ the funniest but sad part is she accepted by his people while he isn’t). He missed out on the college atmosphere with Claire he gets a version of that, he experiences having his first girlfriend and love??? well what he thinks is love and he never has to apologise. It’s a whirlwind romance and everyone whose said that she’s a ‘manic pixie dream girl/doctor is right; she sounds unreal, everyone has some demons in their closet.

In the end premature fun and amusement tends to mask your problems, the bear will eventually rear its ugly head in some capacity soon or later once it remains unaddressed. Carmy unfortunately skipped some steps as there is a lot of self work and healing to be done, which we saw as Carmy’s deferred problems returned to haunt him. Escapism is avoidance; the bear was still on his trail and it ended up biting Claire in the ass.

[icyminghao]

hey guys!

thank you so much for 1000. this is genuinely so unreal to me and i’m really really beyond thankful TT

i never imagined or expected my blog to become this big when i first started out to just share my writing with the platform (since i’ve been a ghost reader for like so long HELP i am not proud of this) but this is just a really pleasant surprise and i’m really grateful and appreciate every single one of you for supporting my work and pushing me to go on!!

i’m really sorry i haven’t been writing :( writing takes a long time for me and it heavily depends on whether i have time or motivation, so unfortunately i’ll only be able to continue devoting myself to writing like for real after november ish?? which is so long omg BUT i’ll try to upload some drabbles so my writing doesn’t get rusty 😔

thank you so much again!! unreal

[avanwithoutaman]

I present to you:

𝙂𝙊𝙉𝙀 𝘽𝙔 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙃𝙊𝙐𝙍- 𝘼 𝙎𝙇𝙄𝘾𝙆 𝙊𝙉𝙀𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙏

(Starlight Express)

In which Race 4 goes to shit, and the fallen deal with the consequences.

———————————————————————————

REQUEST: (by lesbianbsd) ‘SlickAngst. Slick being sad that everyone hates her. After race 4 maybe, where Hydra says something about her helping GB and Electra.’

TW’S INCLUDE: Injuries, fire… depression idk. Guilt? 😟☝️ unconsciousness… middle child syndrome.

Will eventually be uploading to Ao3 and wattpad under the same username. Enjoy!

Ps- I’m still figuring out the layout of this app, so if this posts in one massive paragraph clump, please forgive me lmao. I’ll fix it for the next one.

In the meantime, please leave fic requests!

———————————————————————————

The final race and its unfortunate events had shaken the whole yard. Some were thriving through cheer and celebration, some through hurt and injury, but most of the general moods were high to some degree.

Rusty and Pearl hadn’t stopped in their wondersome moment; smiles wide as they paraded around the track and waved to their adoring onlookers. Spirit was booming, and the crowd, even more so. It seemed as though the whole world was working in their favour, shining down onto the pair and illuminating the path in front of them, ignoring the flames which trailed behind and the smoke that fogged the sidelines.

No one took any care to check upon the three who had fallen.

No one seemed to care that the smog had engulfed their stumbled, trackside wheels.

And they’d not care either- not until they finished their celebratory cheer for the steamer.

Away from the party, far out of view of the surrounding atmosphere, the wiped out trains laid still. They didn’t know where they were, where they could go, or whether they’d even be able to move at all, and the mood upon the three was not looking spectacular.

Their frames were dented, their engines were spluttering, and their paintwork was scratched.

It was a sight of pure terror as the smoke continued its spread, oil burning dangerously close to their site of lay. There’d be no rescue for any of them- not when they were the ones that caused it.

One of the injured- a small, oil-filled freight, laying on her side with a cough and lack of breath- wheezed out. Her pipes had come loose beneath her, and the state of her tank wasn’t looking pretty.

She let another cough escape her throat, and then made a weak attempt to lift her head.

Slick’s vision was blurry, and her head pounded sharper than she’d ever felt before, but she could just about make sense of two, defeated silhouettes lying quietly on the track a few metres ahead.

The world felt unreal- like everything was working in slow motion, like time would never move on. She would lay there forever, if she could. It didn’t feel as though she could do much more.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and took a second to breathe before reopening them. Perhaps it was a dream. She wasn’t really sure. It did all seem quite dreamy.

The flames were beginning to burn dangerously close to the yellowed figure in the distance, however, so as the freight dropped her head again and watched on, blurred consciousness started to take its claim.

Sure, nothing made sense in her wiped, scattered mind, but she was all too aware that a flame that bright shouldn’t be touching anything. Flames were fun, but not when they were uncontrollable.

The figure ahead- Greaseball- didn’t seem to be making an attempt to move. She was out like a light, thrown across the turf as though discarded from the need of existence. It was as though she’d given up, and Slick had never seen her in such a vulnerable state.

She sputtered out another cough as the flame spread closer to the unconscious diesel, illuminating her scraped plates and shining her neon-yellow finishing in a new, unseen light. Slick still wasn’t fully there, but she was still conscious enough to spot a bad thing waiting to happen.

Her eyes darted towards the other, silent figure.

Electra, the other affected engine, was a few feet away too, eyes closed but chest heaving. They weren’t faced away from the freight like the diesel was, and Slick could tell that their eyes were only closed through pain, and not through supposed unconsciousness. Sure, they needed help too, but at least they were alive.

Greaseball, however, was about to fall into a different fate, if she’d not already done so.

In a fearful, desperate yelp, Slick called out.

Her voice was sore and broken, but she knew she had to power onwards. She was known for a life of crime and illegal activity, but she wasn’t a monster. She’d not let a paying customer fall to ruins from one of her plans. Or anyone to a serious extent, for that matter. Against common belief, she wasn’t really all that into murder.

“Electra-“ she spluttered, forcing out her words and pulling her weight to her elbows, inching forwards and dragging herself closer towards them.

They didn’t immediately react, but after a few more yells, Electra’s eyes flickered open beyond the smoke, squinting in fevered pain and hands grasping their aching head.

Slick could’ve almost cried at the reaction, grinning and gasping in relief before getting back to the task at hand. The flames were getting nearer, and Greaseball still wasn’t moving.

The scenario was growing to be fearful, but she didn’t want to let fear win.

Electra held their eyes open for a second, focusing into the scene surrounding and coming to terms with their situation. They seemed startled amidst their sudden wake, but Slick continued her instruction before any panic could set in.

They had to act, and they had to act now.

”Electra,” she called, coughing again from the force, “Electra, the flames! The flames!”

They turned their head at Slick’s panicked yells, peering towards the direction she was gesturing to and dropping their jaw at the sight.

They locked onto the unmoving Greaseball, and displayed a look of sheer terror at the high-set flame working to engulf her.

Electra turned their head quickly back to the crawling freight, then peered painfully down to their crushed leg beneath them.

They gulped.

“I- I can’t move. My leg is trapped-“

”Shit.” Slick echoed back, continuing to drag herself painfully towards the knocked champion.

The oil coating the tracks was thick beneath her, slipping the balance from her grasp and causing a harsh tumble back onto the floor. She gagged from the taste of fumes in her throat, and pulled herself up again, using all of her might to make a stand.

Electra watched on from the distance as the willing freight stumbled her way onwards.

After a moment, she managed to pull herself up again, harshly tripping over to the diesel and throwing herself down at her side when she reached close distance.

She reached her hands forwards, grasping onto the metal of Greaseball’s shoulders and shaking her violently, revealing her flopping head and limp frame.

Greaseball wasn’t reacting, so Slick called out again.

”Electra, she isn’t waking up!”

The words felt like a death sentence- as though the pure syllables had just revealed an announcement that no one would ever want to make. The oil tanker had said similar sentences before, but never in such a devastating, scary type of way.

She didn’t like its new tone of voice.

From the side, Electra tried their best to struggle themselves free, but the state of their leg was proving to make the task impossible, so they simply stayed placed in shock, watching the scene in helpless surrender.

Electra hated Greaseball on the best of days. Despised her, in fact- but now, under the threat of the situation and concern at what may be, they had seemed to mellow.

They didn’t hate Greaseball enough to wish her dead, and they actually secretly quite liked having someone to compete against.

After all, who would they prove victorious with if not the world champion?

Slick shook her again, heaving breaths pouring from her mouth and eyes stinging from the smoke.

The flames were growing dangerously near, surrounding them in a half-ring and roaring in their positions.

She didn’t know what to do- didn’t know who to turn to. She didn’t know if she’d even be able to show her face again, if she was even able to drag Greaseball to safety at all. Everyone would know that this was her doing- the untrustworthy, mischievous freight, ruining races and endangering lives once again. It was what she was known for, and she had a gut feeling that this time, she’d not be able to get away with it.

She shook Greaseball one last violent time, and then gave up in trying to wake her. It was hopeless, she was gone for the taking.

The only thing left was to do what she thought she was incapable of- drag her out of there herself.

It was too late to run for help, too late to wait for the marshals to act and diminish the fire. It was Slick’s task now, and Slick’s task alone.

She breathed out a shaky breath, looking down to the unreacting locomotive and straightening her position.

The upcoming task racing around her mind seemed impossible, knowing that the diesel was heavy with muscle anyway, but would now be pure dead weight. No one could pull a diesel of such power- especially not a freight as small as Slick.

But, she had to try.

So, she took a stand, coughed and heaved, and reached down to the couplers protruding from Greaseball’s back.

The angle was awkward, but upon looking over to Electra with a silent nod, she started pulling.

The oil beneath them both proved helpful in an easier slide, but the harsh noise of metal upon the track was deafening, and made both of the conscious surroundings cringe. The whole scenario was disgustingly unpleasant, but the freight was determined to get them all out of it.

She had caused it, so she would fix it.

Electra watched on with scrunched features as Slick whined and tugged, pulling at the knocked out champion and squirming as the flames threatened nearer.

The heat was unbearable for them all, but Electra wasn’t in direct threat just yet, so they allowed Slick to focus her efforts on Greaseball.

No one had checked that she was even still breathing yet, but the effort to get her to safety was there either way- dead or alive.

Neither of them could hear if the distant trains were still celebrating beyond the horizon, but whatever they were supposedly doing seemed like a whole world away now- in a different reality, even.

It was exactly as though the three of them had been forgotten.

Slick continued her pull, tears streaming down her face as she strained to tug the weight, grunting through the pain and huffing at the effort. They were getting somewhere at least, even if not fast.

As the diesel and freight made it to the side of the track after a long while of work, Slick breathed out, displaying a sob as she dropped the limp train beneath her. She wiped a tear of sweat from her forehead, and coughed out the thick smoke that had entered her pipes. At least now away from the flames, Greaseball wouldn’t be a full burn victim, just a slight one.

As the pressure of the task settled, Slick lifted her head at a haze of commotion in the distance.

Her head was still pounding and her vision was blurred, but she was aware of the sudden company and upheaval in action.

Up ahead, a group of silver and black and white squares had bounded into action, tending to the electric and fighting against the fire. If only they'd paid attention and arrived earlier. Maybe then Slick wouldn’t have had to pull such a weight.

The freight breathed out, still shallow and weak. She turned her head back towards the diesel, who was still knocked out cold against the ground. Her paintwork was destroyed and her chest light was flickering temperamentally, fighting to stay alive just as she was doing.

Slick wasn’t trained in first aid. She was trained in the opposite, in fact, so there wasn’t much more that she could do. At least the components and marshals were in close capacity now- they’d know what to do.

It was a gut wrenching feeling, to have caused all of the surrounding mess, and then be unable to fix it, no matter how hard she wanted to.

She was useless.

She was scrap.

No one would want her after this.

She scrunched her eyebrows, staring down to the floor in shocked freeze as her eyes scanned Greaseball again, who was still remaining unconscious at her wheels.

Slick’s own wheels were seething in pain too- ripped at the screws and battered by the stoppers.

She would have to get them replaced completely, if she’d ever have the nerve to show her face in the yard again.

After another few, long moments, a panicked, high pitched voice called out from the distance.

Slick turned her head and squinted, listening intently through her dizzy mind. She was too disoriented to tell which direction it was coming from.

”Greaseball?!…” A confused sob, and then another. “Greaseball?”

The repeating word grew more fearful with each turn, and louder the closer that they got.

The shaking freight recognised the voice.

It was Dinah, fighting her way through the fog.

Slick had once thought Dinah stupid to care about such a train. Pathetic, even, to put effort into someone who didn't truly like a soul.

But now… now she thought she understood.

She didn’t really realise herself how impactful Greaseball had been to her until she was laid half-dead at her feet.

She found to even look up to her, in a strange, sadistic sort of way.

But, she couldn’t face the train that loved her the most- couldn’t look her in her eyes as her heart broke and as the blame landed directly onto the only suitable truck.

So, she took one more look at the diesel in case it would be her last, and limped her way into the shadows of the yard.

-

She had stumbled throughout the back roads of the yard, limping in pain as her limbs cramped and her wounds ached. She knew no one would care for her now- there wasn’t any point in begging.

Disappearing, just like she had been good at before, was the only option left.

The tubing around Slick’s frame hung low and dislodged around her chest, hissing, biting oil leaking from the cracks and fluid seeping from the hinges. She’d never been in a state quite like it- never been so visually and physically impaired- and so, she sat.

She dragged herself into a corner, and she sat.

The location surrounding was a lot less pleasant under the moonlight than it normally was in the day. Well, it hadn’t really ever been a sight, but the bright hues of the awakening morning were filled with much better memories than the one she was experiencing now.

When she was younger, Slick hung out at the resident scrap yard more than she hung out anywhere else. It was a safe space; a judgement free zone where the freight siblings could play without fear, and mischieve without warning.

It was as though none of the world mattered when the four of them entered those four, high walls, and it was a feeling she longed for but knew she would never feel again.

Those days of peace and fun were long gone now.

They’d never return.

The loose, dumped metal shuddered throughout the yard as the wind blew through, leaning by the force and clanging from the pressure. There was nothing to be seen but piles and piles of rust, and Slick debated on joining them, giving into the decay and leaving herself for scrap. It wasn’t like anyone would notice, not even if the colours were different from the rest.

Worthless wasn’t even the word for it. She felt like nothing.

It was a confusing feeling, in all honesty.

She loved creating havoc- lived and breathed it- but this time… it felt wrong.

Consequences had never been a bother in her excitable, overworking mind. She was content in destroying and leaving, getting paid and moving on, and she mostly even enjoyed watching her creations from a distance, basking in the terror surrounding a job well done.

Crime was her motto, crime was her lifestyle… and without crime, she probably wouldn’t’ve stuck around.

And that was the dilemma she was facing.

She squinted as her leg seethed with pain, clutching the material upon it and pressurising the area. She wasn’t too sure what was lurking below- whether a burn, a scrape, or a cut, but she wasn’t too bothered in finding out. Ignorance was bliss, and she’d rather not have known.

Slick did know however, the extent of the rest of her cosmetics.

The short, curled hair upon her head was thick with oil, coated in layers from where her swaying head had hit the ground, and her light was flickering just as Greaseball’s had done- a solid sign that her internals were struggling alongside. It was going to be a long night, and with no hope of tomorrow, was going to seem even longer.

Slick sighed out, furrowing her brows and wheezing out her breath. She allowed herself to slump back against the fence she was leaning upon, scanning the yard with her blurred vision and humming carefully to keep herself company.

It was boring to feel so alone again, but she didn’t mind too much. She knew that eventually, this was going to be how she’d end up.

She’d seen it coming from miles away.

The hours passed, and the night fell darker.

Maybe it hadn’t been hours- maybe it had been minutes… maybe even seconds, but however long it had been, when a rustle sounded from a few metres ahead, the sound was still taken by surprise.

It wasn’t unusual for a fox or some other stray creature to nestle amongst the scrap, so when Slick opened her eyes and saw nothing before her, she closed them again, content in the fact that an animal could hurt her no further.

It was only when a voice sounded out, that she opened them again.

“Slick.”

The voice sounded foreign in her company, completely unexpected and quite a terror to be heard upon.

It had come to take her away, surely, to lock her up and deport her from the yard.

To make Slick disappear, just like she had done all those years ago.

She widened her eyes, pupils blown with wide unexpectancy and a hint of fear. She didn’t want to face the train standing above her.

Didn’t want to face anyone at all.

However, despite the smaller freight’s silent expression, the newcomer didn’t move, simply staring down in disappointment with his lips pursed and eyes narrowed.

Through the blur of her vision, Slick stared up at Hydra, her younger brother.

Technically they weren’t really related, but the group had been raised together and put through the same, past hell, so the four of them treated each other more like family than some biological ones even did.

It didn’t really mean that she liked him, though. The elder three had always had mixed opinions on the tall, hydrogen tank.

She blinked.

“What do you want?”

Her voice was defensive and mean, but tired by obvious means. She denied further eye contact, looking to the floor and flinching as she crossed her arms. Pain shot through her core.

Hydra, towering over her like a shadow, had a look of pure disappointment on his face. He seemed disgusted, like the events in which had occurred had finally given him an excuse to display his dislike. Slick had been fully aware that the two of them were never in the best of favours, but his pure demeanour truly confirmed that now.

He sighed.

“I knew you’d be here.”

Slick tutted, keeping her arms crossed.

“Yeah, well, where the hell else was I meant to go?”

Her defensiveness grew stronger, and Hydra simply shook his head. He understood why though.

“You really made a scene.” His stern, boring words were droning. Slick didn’t reply. “But then again, when do you not?”

The freight leaning against the wall didn’t understand his point- didn’t know why he was being so damn miserable about it. She thought that he was used to her antics by now, even though he never really agreed with them.

“So?”

Slick rolled her eyes, and Hydra continued his stare downwards for a second longer, before turning and staring out onto the yard.

“I’ve been telling you for years that you were going to take this all too far. But you never listened, and now here we are.”

The oil tanker didn’t understand why he was suddenly being so stern with her. Sure, he’d always stuck his nose in places where it didn’t belong and made feeble attempts at ‘converting her to good’, but he’d never acted like a parent about it.

Slick felt as though she was being told off like a naughty child.

Which, in the grand scheme of things, guessed that she was.

“I didn’t take it too far… it just backfired. I’ve done it a million times before. And I wasn’t the only one involved.”

Hydra shook his head.

“But not during the final of a championship, Slick. Seriously, how stupid do you have to be? You could’ve killed someone! I know none of us are really in favour of Electra and Greaseball, but did you seriously have to leave them for dead?”

Slick shuddered at the words, closing her mouth to keep herself from retaliating. The plan was never to harm those two.

Hydra continued.

“The marshals said that they’d never seen a diesel so beaten up, did you know that? They had to drag her off scene so she’d not catch alight from the fire that you set. Petty crimes are one thing, sure, but blazing the world champion is a whole ‘nother.”

The oil freight opened her mouth in shock, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. She was the one who had pulled Greaseball off track, she was the one who had made sure that the fire didn’t claim her.

She was the one who had gotten her safe. Not the marshals.

“They didn’t-”

“They didn’t what? I don't even know why you’re trying to deny all of this. You fled the damn scene before you saw anything that happened. Which we should’ve expected, really, since you never think about anyone but yourself.”

Slick’s anger levels were rising. He’d not been there when they’d crashed- he’d not been there when she’d shaken the unconscious diesel and alerted the electric, either.

He’d not been there when Dinah was calling GB’s name in the distance, and he’d not been there when the world had been hazy and her vision had been faltered.

It hit her suddenly that any reviving quality she had given to aid the scene, had gone completely unnoticed. No one would know that she was the reason the world champion was still alive.

No one would know that she was the reason Greaseball wasn’t dead on the sidelines.

But everyone would know that she was the reason Greaseball was even in that position in the first place.

She swallowed, and didn’t reply.

The two of them fell into pained, guilt filled silence, and Hydra simply sighed.

“I know you don’t like me, Slick. I know the three of you never have.”

Slick looked up.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Hydra paused for a moment.

“It means that I don't care how you react to what I say next, because I know you can’t like me any less anyway. That’s why it’s me who’s here, and not the others.”

The small, oil freight stayed silent as he continued.

“Porter and Lumber say they don’t want to work with you anymore… and I know that it’s them who spilled the oil. They told me everything.”

Slick rolled her eyes.

“Obviously.”

“I’m serious, Slick. They’ve had enough- and control will have too. I’ve heard talks of them deporting you when they find out where you are. That’s why I came to find you now, and not later.”

From the floor, Slick swallowed thickly.

Hydra turned back to her, and slumped himself down beside, eyes still staring out onto the scrap metal of the yard.

“I know we’ve never liked each other, and I’ve genuinely never been more disgusted in you than I am now, but I’m still gonna take the effort to tell you to leave before they catch you.”

Slick blinked again, words unavailable.

“Why do you care what happens to me? You just admitted it yourself, you hate my sorry ass.”

Hydra shook his head. It seemed like he’d done that a lot within the last few moments.

“We’re still family, whether we like it or not.”

“Sure.” Her face grew flat.

“Our brothers told me to tell you about a yard a few miles out. They said you can stay there until things die down. It’s abandoned, and pretty shit, but it isn’t too far from home.”

Home. Did she even have that anymore?

“Quit acting like you want to help me.”

“You’d be stupid to think that I don’t.”

The whole ordeal was confusing, but in a strange way, she vaguely understood. Slick didn’t like Hydra either, but it had mainly just been sibling stuff, which had only just bordered into being real. He was the annoying, younger child. It was typical.

Being the middle child had bought its hardships- it was why she had gotten herself into this mess in the first place.

Being constantly ignored and picked on and tormented in her younger years had been hard, even if it was playful, and she hadn’t realised until a few years prior that the silly, petty little things had really affected her. It was why she had wanted to make a name for herself, in all honesty. She had grown tired of being overshadowed by her brothers all of the time.

The name she had made for herself now however, had not been the goal.

A pang of guilt hit her chassis.

She winced as she readjusted her arm, looking down to some bruising forming on her wrist.

“I’ll be gone by the morning.”

“No. You’ll be gone by the hour.”

She blinked, nodding and accepting the instruction. She wasn’t one to take orders, but this time it felt right.

“I’ll be… gone by the hour.”

Who wanna be fed with a Slick angst oneshot when it’s done

[gamesdesignblogproject9]

Rough Premise

I don’t want to get rusty or give up on games design after i leave college, and so i think the easiest way to continue my work whilst continuing to learn Unreal and other engines, is to make a simple 3D game in the form of an FPS; I’ve been playing some for a few months now and I’ll admit I’m more of a fan than I expected, however that’s more due to the fact that hero shooters exist, with games like Overwatch, Apex Legends and Valorant standing in the forefront.

I figured that, I have enough charcaters I can put to use, and the base game will only be experimental for myself and those I want to test it out on, so i have no issue blowing money on commissioned models of some of my best works. That’ll give it a more authentic feel and if it goes well it’ll look good in my portfolio.

The basic idea surrounding the game is similar in fashion to Apex and Valorant, however it makes use of character specific abilities more, as well as my class system. I don’t want to make the game like a lot of pre-existing ones; for example, there’s blinding abilities and items, shields, enhanced mobility, but if you want to create a group of characters with magic or powers and throw them into a game like that, you’d expect them to be able to get a little more out of that. At least I would. In my next few posts I want to highlight each character and their abilities, and then summarise their roles.

[engafordoma]

I’ve written 7.4k words of a fic I might not even bother posting, I’m feeling very 2014 Caitlin right about now

[finnwrld]

- one in the same -

pairing: tasm!peter parker x gn!reader

word count: 3.2k

content: nwh spoiler free, reader doesn't know peter is spiderman, jealous peter on the low, swearing, reader has panic attack, reader falls, bitches are so ATTRACTED to each other damn, no angst (kinda), im rusty at writing im sorry

summary: spiderman visits you everyday and listens to you talk about your massive crush on an unnamed boy, completely oblivious to the fact he and the boy are one in the same.

a/n: yes I'm jumping on this bandwagon I did what needed to be done. jk im just happy I have an andrew character besides remus to write for now since you couldn't pay me to write eduardo ff ok bye AND THANKS TO USER @aksuallyours FOR HELPING SM WITH THIs

Peter's gloved finger hovered for a moment over your window. It happened every night, his finger would grow tense, his heart would begin to pound in his throat. The time between him raising his finger and finally bringing it down to tap on the glass stretched eternities until eventually, the bubbling in his chest would overflow, and in a burst of energy… it would land swift and sharp on your window.

Once. Twice. Three times.

The window was opening and the warm air was hitting his face faster than it took him to build up the courage to wake you.

Grinning and obviously tired, there you were. Hair slightly messy, light haloing your body, you whispered, “Hi.”

He was thankful for the mask.

“Hi,” he replied breathily, “what's up with you?”

And thus started your usual routine. You, of course, would respond with, “Do you actually want to know or are you just asking to ask?”

And then would come his response, usually some form of “I actually want to know” or “What do you think?” Sometimes, he would even just sit there in silence, waiting for you to start your rambling.

You’re the only person he could really do this with. It was never dull, never once did he wish he was somewhere else, even the repeated topics felt new each time.

He hung on every word you said, every syllable you uttered. Every thought was woven together like an intricate dance and the more time he spent up here with you, the more he memorized.

The way your hands would begin to fidget when you talked about school, or how you would begin pacing as you talked about your newest obsession, or how your eyes would glow whenever you talked about the boy.

The boy. The boy that your life honestly revolved around. You never mentioned him by name, you of course knew that the “Spider-man” was in high school, so he was just referred to as The Boy. The Boy that goes to your school. The Boy in your chem class. The Boy that your eyes are locked on from the first bell to the last. You rarely even talked about the things he did. You were very careful about that. But despite all of your precautions, you never shut up about him.

Today, after about a 15 minute debrief of the last movie you watched, the topic turned to The Boy.

“This last week… Spidey I don't think I can begin to describe it to you. Somebody put something in his water, he was so attractive. There is something in this boy's veins. He is like,,, unreal,” you put your head in your hands, “I just like… don't even know how to go about my feelings for him. Every time I talk to him it feels like I’ve literally gone into a dream. As fucking corny as it sounds it’s literally surreal.”

A silence hung in the room.

“I think I’m in love with him.”

This is the first time you’ve ever said anything this bold, that huge. You had spent hours gushing to him about this boy but he had managed to let it wash off of him. Let himself imagine that you were talking about him, that you wanted him. The knot in Peter's chest grew so tight, he thought it would snap.

You were his best friend. He was sure he was in love with you. But here you were, in front of him, fully confessing your love for somebody else.

“I just get this almost static feeling through my whole body when I look at him or when I talk to him. I think if I don’t do something, I’ll implode or some shit. Plus, to put it bluntly, hes is so hot there is no way he’s not gonna get swept up by some other person.”

You mirrored all of his feelings for you.

Quietly, he said, “You should do something then.”

“WOW!” your tone changed fast. “I never thought of that. That is such great advice. Wow, I’m so happy that we have a genius like you running the city. We are so lucky.”

Peter was thankful for the change of mood as he gently swatted at you from his place on the window sill.

Through giggles, while desperately still trying to change his voice enough, he replied, “Literally what else was I supposed to say?”

You flopped, back first, onto your bed and sighed, “I don’t know. I just know I want him”

He wished his suit had some sort of image capturing software.

Light cascaded gently down your face, illuminating each dip and curve. It framed the bridge of your nose, wound its way around the curve of your lips, reflected off of your open eyes. Your chest softly rose and fell, bare skin brushed by the faint glow, body finally relaxing. An expression had fallen onto your face, almost… longing. You laid before him, blanketed in light, almost heavenly. Every curve and edge and line he wanted, he needed. It was unbearable.

He longed for his camera. A chance to capture this image. Anything at all. He would’ve literally taken fucking crayons and drawn it if he could.

But he just sat there, until he couldn’t do it anymore.

“Y/n?” he said, waking you from your thoughts. “I’ve gotta go.” Every inch of his body rejected the thought of leaving, but he knew his self-control wasn’t strong enough. The beating in his heart had begun to grow stronger.

“When will you be back?” you asked, raising yourself up to your elbows.

“Soon I hope.”

Humming in response, you flashed him a grin, and then he was gone.

-----

“Peter! Hi, hi, hi, hi!” Your voice snapped him from his homework as you sat down on the ground next to him, slinging your backpack off.

“Hi,” he smiled at you, “I got food by the way.” Unzipping his backpack, he pulled out two boxes of takeout. He skipped 4th period so he thought he would swing by and grab you food, his treat.

“You are a God-send. I owe you my… left arm or something,” you said gratefully, snatching the box.

Digging into his own food, he replied, “Thought it would make up for the movie tickets you bought.”

You scoffed, “Nothing could make up for those movie tickets. I spent $10 dollars so you could have the best movie experience of your life and you think buying me take-out can equal that?”

“Ut wus not tat g-od”

“I don’t listen to the opinion of people that talk with their mouth full,” you deadpanned, dramatically putting your hand up and turning away. Peter finished his bite and smiled to himself a bit.

Sun was perfectly filtering through the trees and a slight breeze shifted through the air, rippling your shirt gently. Lunches were more bearable with you. Sitting on the courtyard ground, sharing food, listening to music. A lot of the time it would just end up like this, quiet but comfortable, shoulders inches apart, breathing practically synced.

After a bit of silence, you spoke up, “Ok so. I got invited to some birthday party thing on Friday and I literally know like… nobody. But I wanna go. But fuck that. So you know, do you uh wanna go with me? I cannot go alone. I just can’t.”

A bubbling rose in Peter’s heart. “Of course, I’ll go. Nobody invites me to that kinda shit anyways.”

-----

You and Peter found yourselves in some random corner on the top floor of the house, music streaming through the floor. Your body was faintly dancing and you were intently listening to Peter ramble on about this idea he had for a set of pictures.

The party had been generally boring. It was clear that neither of you were really feeling it in the slightest and so the two of you made your way away from the crowd of people downstairs to the second floor. It was nice, peaceful.

Dim light had settled over the two of you. Your face was lit by the faint glow and Peter was painfully reminded of you lying on your bed the other night.

The light bounced and framed your features in the same way. The light made Peter feel the same way he did that night. Uncontrollable.

“Peter?” you questioned, snapping him out of his revorie, “You were saying?”

“Oh, yeah I um think that-” but before he could finish his sentence, the entire house began to shake.

Shock traveled up Peter's spine, electrifying his bones in a sort of panic. His eyes darted to the shaking chandelier and adrenaline began to course to his head.

You grabbed his arm.

The shake was deep. Too strong to be a natural occurrence. Peter could tell.

Picture frames began shaking off the wall and he could hear glass breaking below him. Screaming. Peter could hear a lot of screaming, too.

“Y/n, go downstairs. I need you to go downstairs.” The underlying desperation he had seeped through into his tone. “Go.”

Hesitantly, you removed your hand from his bicep and looked at him with the strangest expression.

“And you?”

“Just go.”

Debri began to fall from the ceiling as you rushed down the hall, trying desperately to keep balanced. He kept his eyes fixed on you for as long as he could before the lights went out, washing Peter in darkness. He just had to trust that you would make it down.

Slipping into a random room, using shaking hands he pulled off his jacket and his pants off to reveal the blue and red pattern of his suit. He discarded his clothes and slipped on his mask.

More and more of the house was becoming destroyed. When he stepped out from his cover the walls that had once been protecting you and Peter had been half disintegrated. His head spun, dizziness and vertigo blinding him briefly as he looked down.

Standing below him, washed in the twilight, was The Lizard.

Rubble surrounded it’s scaled feet. It’s usual smirk was plastered on its face.

The front half of the house had been practically reduced to dust. Clumps of people cowered in corners and he could see many of them had managed to run off, sprinting down the unlit streets. Neighbors had stepped outside to see what was going on. Kids were on the phone with their parents. People were crying, people were frozen in fear.

Latching onto a surviving pillar, Peter swung himself over the crowd.

“Spiderman,” the low and droning voice of the Lizard boomed throughout the street, “Happy to see you here.”

“You won't be too happy for long.”

The crowd shrieked in unison as The Lizard’s clawed hand shot out to swipe at Peter. Peter’s quick reflexes saved him, just narrowly avoiding the cut by swinging away.

At this point, these fights were formulaic to Peter. Adrenaline would course through his veins and his vision barely had time to keep up with his actions, but most of the time it consisted of the same thing. He had gotten good at this. He flew over the crowd, dodged and weaved away from The Lizard, landed a few hits, same as usual. The claws caught him a couple times, but he was moving too fast for the pain to catch him.

That wasn’t to say it wasn’t tiring though. His powers gave him more endurance but it wasn’t endless.

He fought for a long time.

He could feel the fatigue creeping up his body as he swung around what was left of the house. His reflexes were taking longer, his punches less accurate. If it didn’t stop soon, he was afraid his body would completely give out.

The Lizard had been fighting well, better than last time. Peter eyed its hands as they reached down and locked around a large piece of debri. He knew what was coming next. As the lizard picked it up, Peter readied his web shooters, praying he would have enough strength to stop the debri from causing more destruction.

But just as the Lizard raised his arm and readied to throw the piece, it paused. Its eyes widened slightly, darting around rapidly.

Peter soon understood the reason behind the pause and it came in the form of sirens.

About fucking time.

His eyes left The Lizard to search for the blue and red lights that were bound to be in the distance, and there they were, winding down the road.

When Peter returned his eyes to the Lizard, it was gone.

He finally let himself survey the scene around him. Part of the house was still standing. It looked sort of like a dollhouse. All rooms exposed, one wall missing from each, the moon the only light source. Many of the people that had been there before the fight had run off, understandably so, and the people that remained stayed in little huddles consoling each other.

Police cars had pulled up to the house, sirens still blasting. The red and blue light that shone from the cars washed everybody in an almost unreal filter, illuminating the damage done. The scene before him was grim but a sigh of relief pushed from his lips at the general safety of everybody.

Peter quickly moved into a shadow and prayed that the dirt and dust that covered his suit from the fight would give him enough camouflage so he could finally let his mind turn to what he had been dying to focus on. You.

His eyes scanned the crowd desperately, searching for a glimpse of you. Just a sign that you were ok, that you made it down safely, that you hadn’t been hurt. The longer he looked, the more panicked he became.

It wasn’t until he let his eyes roam up, that he saw you.

You were on the second floor, the only one there. Frantically, you were walking around, being careful as to where you were stepping. He could see your chest rising and falling at a dangerous speed. But you weren’t walking to try and find a spot to get down, he realized after watching you long enough.

You were looking for something.

Your head was darting around, eyes scanning each room and the crowd below you. You were saying something, shouting a name, but the sirens were far too loud for him to hear.

He needed to get you down. Cursing the police for making him stay hidden, he began to search for some sort of ladder, anything he could use. Peter considered going to find clothes to put over the suit and then get you down in a normal, human way. Maybe there was enough going on that he could still do it as spiderman. Maybe, he doesnt care and will decide to just run from the police once you’re safe, he's done it before.

A crash drew Peter from his thoughts.

He knew you were falling before he saw it.

He knew it was the floor you were on. He knew you were the only person on the higher level.

Peter’s vision tunneled, he didn’t see the people he was shoving to the side, he didn’t hear the yelps and crashes as they fell into the rubble, and he probably wouldn’t have cared if he did. All of his thoughts were focused on the fall. He had never moved so fast in his life.

He had no clue how long it would take you to hit the ground. He didn’t want to know.

Webs shot out of his wrists and lodged themselves to the door. You had to be falling into this room. You had to. Pulling on the web, the door ripped off its hinges and Peter instantly shot another web to the furthest part of the ceiling of the room.

Clinging to this, he swung himself into the room, and before he could even visually register it, you were in his arms.

Pulsing adrenalin and the most extreme relief Peter had felt in ages rushed through his body, still blocking out any sound.

You were in his arms. You were safe. You were alive.

But as he looked longer he realized you were yelling. Still frantic. Tears left lines in the ash that had fallen on your face.

Finally, his hearing allowed him to understand what you were saying.

“He’s here. And. I can’t, I can’t find him. I can’t find him.” Your breathing was frenzied. You could barely get cohesive sentences out.

“Who's here?” Peter asked, carefully resting his hands on your shaking shoulders.

“The Boy. He’s here. But he’s gone. He’s gone. I don’t know what to do. I need you – To help.”

The boy was here. That’s who you had been looking for. But now he was nowhere to be found.

It took everything in him to put aside his own biases. It wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about the boy. It was about you.

“Y/n, what’s his name?”

You were too panicked, your breaths were getting shallower, your body getting shakier. “I need to find him. I can’t go on without him –He’s gone– He’s gone and I need him.” You couldn’t register what he was asking.

“Y/n. I need to know his name.” He was louder this time, more forceful. He gripped your arms stronger.

You couldn’t even look at him, your eyes were darting rapidly around the room. Tears coated your face and hysterical sobs were falling from your lips.

“Y/n,” he was begging now, shaking you, “What’s his fucking name??”

You took a huge gulp of air.

“PETER PARKER. His name is Peter Parker and I can’t fucking find him anywhere.”

Peter’s arms went slack.

His eyes left your face for the first time since he caught you and he stared at the destroyed room the two of you were standing in the middle of. Rubble lined both your and Peter’s feet. The dust had fallen onto your hair. It was just the two of you.

Peter Parker was the boy. He was Peter Parker. He was the boy. The boy you had gushed over for months to him almost every night.

His shaking hand found the neck of his suit, and as carefully as he could, he pulled off his mask.

Your confused expression got even deeper as your eyes darted across his face, taking him in.

“No.” you shook your head. “No. Fuck this. No you’re fucking with me.” You pushed against his chest, “I don’t— you can’t be.”

Cheeks flushing and skin still burning from your touch, Peter blurted the first thing that came into his mind as he looked at you.

“I love you.”

Your jaw slacked.

“I need you to know. I can’t hide how much I want you any longer. And I know that after all of this you probably don’t feel the same way but-”

“Shut up.” And your lips were on his.

Without a thought, Peter kissed you back. Slowly, you drank each other up, molding to one another, hands roaming, bodies crushed together. It was a release.

Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair, his lips grazed your jaw. Peter’s hands pulled you closer to him, unable to bear the thought of not being able to hold you.

His body ached for you.

His heart pounded in his chest. It pushed against his ribcage rhythmically, so powerful a bone might snap. He was sure you could feel it; he hoped you did. You needed to feel how his heart beat for you. How his body reacted to you.

He needed to prove it to you. He needed you to understand the effect you had on him.

You needed to believe that he loved you. Because he did.

[hmm-self-indulgence]

Nikola Orsinov x Reader

Nikola’s pronouns are either she/her or they/them, also I use It once or twice so please don't be offended. The reader, if ever gendered, is only described as they/them. Kinda spoilers for season 1-3, I don’t bring up the unknownings result but I do mention the dance. Kinda Yandere but what else do you expect from a skin mannequin who murders people. Also im trying to mimic the style of Jonny’s writing in some bits so bear with me while I’m trying. Please let me know if there is something I forgot to tag. Honestly I might delete this bc while i worked on it for a long time in still not super confident in my writing so any and all feedback is appreciated.

TW: Nikola related shenanigans, skin stealing, depersonalization, reader has some self esteem issues, slight violence (not to reader), kinda Yandere content. Also, alliteration. In the end the reader gets murdered, but also not super surprised. Descriptions of slight gore.

No one has the permission to repost this on any website. I will not post these on other websites so if you see any of my writing on another site, let me know. Do not use my content or claim it as your own! I do not own these characters, they are made, owned and are the property of Johnathan Sims. I am in no way profiting off of this and this is made with full respect to Rusty Quill.

The two of you met rather strangely for a couple, not many can say they were hunted by their lover before they dated, but that only made you both closer. She wanted your skin once, but your shifting sense of self and sadness within your own skin spoke to her so she felt sympathetic. You weren’t saved, of course no one can be saved, but you were kept, held by shifting hands that hungered for your skin but left it on you.

You understand she has to change, but the name stays the same with your lover. Always Nikola, always yours, but never the same face for too long or it’s fingers itch to take yours. The voices say to take it, they would return it, give it back once they found a new one, they swear with desperate tones, but Nikola knows the truth. If they wore it it would become a slice of meat, and the flesh has no place near you, so they find another face to wear. It doesn't matter how brutal the removal is or how much it pains the victim, she does it for you.

She knew your sadness ran deeper than you let on, and the problem with skin is one that can be easily fixed in the circus. She offers you different faces but cares little when you refuse, more for her and the changing group of nameless things that follow her. Nikola has lived for over 200 years, and she isn't ready to lose you. Pieces of you had to be made unreal so Nikola could keep you, but she was careful to make sure You stayed You and not Them.

Traveling with the Circus of the Other is strange to say the least. The faceless followers will always leave you alone if they want to continue their existence, and there is a clear understanding that your fear is off the menu. That is not to say you are lonely, no no no. You are friends with them, you don’t know which one because their faces change ever so often and giving them their own names would make the faces useless, so they are all your friends. Friends made of a shifting group of pronouns and skin spread far too thin across what could be mistaken for bone but you are no fool, there has never been bone in them.

When it comes to their ‘performances,” screaming is just as common as laughter. Wooden and flesh bodies thrown in the air by Breeken and caught by Hope, and the occasional tightrope walker that hits the ground with a sickening crunch, leaving blood and body parts on the ground. Nikola hopes you will join in with the Circus, they would love to have you as a second ringmaster. If you refuse then violence is kept away from you, but you still see the bloodstains smeared in the tents and the fresh faces of the members.

You have your uses to their master, too. You don’t fear the Stranger, at least not anymore, but you are useful to inspire fear. In a sea of wrong faces, one that looks almost normal makes the others even more frightening. A taste of hope on their victims faces before they see that glint in your eyes that signals to them that you are just like the faceless ones, just as hungry.

Nikola thinks of you as she dances the world anew, and the performance was one of a lifetime. Every eye was on the unknowing and Nikola reveled the love she felt from the stranger. Your smile was the last thing she thought about in the world as it was.