#anyway. drop dead endeavor

[ocdhuacheng]

Eveything I hear about the mha ending makes me want to throw up literally what the fuck is this dogshit lmao

[gutsby]

Make It Stick

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected-peepaw-p-in-v (I’m sorry). Accidental creampie. Age gap. Cumplay. Breeding kink. Ovulation has led me places I wouldn’t go with a gun.

Note: Convergence is a painting by Jackson Pollock. We studied it in high school and I thought it looked like jizz idk

Word count: 4.7k

He should’ve gotten snipped when he had the chance.

Should’ve taken the plunge, faced his fears of needles and fluorescent-washed doctor’s offices like any man his age could have done and gotten the damn vasectomy. Now he was here, nearly two decades older and still none the wiser in this cold, dead world with a pretty young thing like you between his sheets. In lieu of elective surgery, Joel Miller had only to grit his teeth, bite hard, and repeat over and over again in his head, desperate:

‘Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, DON’T—’

Words like those normally worked. With women that weren’t you, they tended to serve him exceedingly well.

But you were just so tight. And wet. And welcoming. And try as Joel might to pretend like he got laid on a regular basis, the truth was that he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t seem to think straight when it came to this fixation he’d developed for you, so, instead, he let his dick do all the decision-making whenever he found himself around you. Ten times out of ten that ended in:

“J-J-Joel—oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—I’m gonna CUM.”

And that made it worth every last life-endangering drop.

Feeling how your flushed, lithe body came apart beneath his touch. How you needed him. How your eyes grew to half the size of your face and you gaped up at the man, lips parted, like you couldn’t even comprehend how the friction of seven inches could make you feel so good.

If he had it his way, he would’ve loved nothing more than to show you that feeling every night, and twice the next morning if his hip wasn’t giving him too much trouble.

But, at present, the man had bigger fish to fry. Like not becoming a new father at fifty-nine if he could help it.

With the last two fluttering pulses of your heat, and almost going cross-eyed from the pleasure as he felt it, Joel yanked his big, slippery cock out of your body and made a fist around his member as he always knew to do. Tugged and pulled and grunted above you—‘Sweet girl, you’re so fuckin’ good to me’—and watched your tits and your belly for the milky white ropes to ensue.

Strangely, though, your skin stayed the same.

No cum-spray Convergence appeared before him, no opaque and cloudy fluids dribbling down your ribs, nothing. Your stomach was as bare as the rest of you, save for a few beads of sweat, and that was all there was.

Joel shook his dick harder, confused. Beneath him, you were still coming down from your high smiling ear-to-ear and staring blissfully at the ceiling. Your chest rose and fell, rose and fell in quick succession, and while you endeavored to recollect your mind, Joel was losing his.

Where the FUCK was his cum?

In no naked horizontal tango to date had Joel simply…cum without noticing. Shit like that just didn’t happen to men, least of all to ones his age, so when he’d wrung his poor cock like a sodden towel and still saw nothing come out, he felt his stomach turn and plummet inside him.

He dropped to his hands and knees in less than a moment and lowered his head between your legs.

“No, Joel!” you squealed, giggling. Kicking your feet, “Another round and I’m gonna combust, you old perv!”

But Joel wasn’t looking to get his dick wet again. He was inspecting you. Or trying to, anyway. Quickly realizing he couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, he let out a breath through his nose and lifted you off the bed. Your naked frame thrown over his shoulder, bare hip beside his head and your strangled, muffled cry of, ‘What the hell, Joel?!’ hardly seemed to register with the man carrying you off.

You were toted to the bathroom. Joel was about to ease you down on your feet. Then, appearing to change his mind at the last second, he set you onto the sink instead. Your skin bristled with indignation, anger. A little arousal.

“Last time we did it on a sink we broke the faucet,” you reminded him, feigning more dismay than you really felt inside. If anything, you liked it when your fossil-age fuckbuddy switched things up. You were just exhausted.

Heedless of your words, Joel kneeled on the floor and pried your legs apart before him. When you swatted at his silver-flecked head, he brushed your hand away.

“Hold still,” he grunted.

“How come?”

“‘Cause I said.”

How quickly he commanded that tone of a father.

“Wanna sleep,” you groaned, about to roll your eyes.

But you couldn’t deny you liked being doted on by him.

Joel’s touch was gentle. Probing. Spidering down the most sensitive parts of your bare lower half, between your thighs, and slowly coaxing you closer to the edge of the sink. Your breath hitched when you saw his head tilt.

He appeared to be deep in thought—a rare sight for anyone who’d seen Joel Miller in the postcoital state. Most every time he’d blown his load before, the man was dead asleep within ten minutes. His joints could barely hold himself upright after a half hour of plowing the back forty, much less carry you, too, so you were puzzled now.

He thumbed at the seam of your cunt, and you whined:

“Jo-el—”

“Can ya…push, baby?” His eyes flitted up quickly.

“Push?”

“Yeah, just…” With a look you couldn’t quite read, he placed the palm of his other hand on your belly. Then, pressing, “Like this. Like you’re squeezin’ somethin’ out.”

You cocked a brow in muted confusion but did as he asked. You watched his gaze, and it stayed on you.

Or, rather, on that soft and pliant spot between your legs the old man seemed to favor so much. On any other occasion, in a position like this, he surely would’ve been wearing a smile. Tonight, his lips curled into a grimace.

And twisted even further when you ‘pushed’ like you did.

At first you felt nothing. A gentle clench of your walls supplied little more than a sense of having been stretched—no novel concept to you, who’d spent the last three-and-a-half months or so getting fucked by the finest AARP affiliate alive most every night. It wasn’t until you clamped down again that you got the feeling there was something else. Something thick and warm and slow as molasses trickling out from between your folds.

You let out a low, tender, ‘Mmph’ without meaning to; it felt kind of nice. Beneath you, Joel’s face turned grave.

He watched as his spend oozed out of your freshly-fucked hole and thought of vasectomies again.

You were young—too young to know better. Too sweet and naïve to see any peril in spreading your legs for a man like him, in a world like this. And Joel swore he’d be careful. But no post-apocalyptic birth control method was perfect, or even close to it, and it was clear he’d relied too heavily on reflexes to keep him from cumming inside you. Joel was old—too old to be doing this shit.

Too grown and well-versed in sex to be making mistakes as stupid as that. His brow pinched in, and he drew his next breath as if the air around him was growing scarce.

“Joel, what’s—”

“When’s the last time you— you— uh…bled?”

Hardly more in control of his face than the rate his heart went thudding in his chest, Joel winced at the end. This time, you were the one to knit your eyebrows together. You could tell by that tight, discomfited tone he wasn’t talking papercuts, but were still unsure of his purpose.

“Like two, two and a half weeks ago. Why?”

Well, fuck.

Joel buried his face in his hands. You scooted closer to the sink’s edge, thinking little of his cum leaking out.

“Why?” you tried again. Softer this time.

An old, weathered head lifted to greet you. It was bleak.

“You see this?” Joel paused. Swiping his finger through the viscous white substance that had trickled out on the counter, in a puddle now, “Y’know what it means, right?”

You let his look, and the question, remain suspended in air for a second. Then another. Then you shrugged.

“Yeah. But…you’re old,” came your answer at length.

You’re old.

Joel and you both knew as much, but the former wasn’t quite following your train of thought. Still wanting to try and mitigate damages while he could, though, Joel reached for the roll of toilet paper that was fastened to the wall and tore himself a strip. He bunched it up and, reaching for one of your knees to spread you further for him, took to daubing the tissue across your entrance.

“What’s me bein’ old got to do with anything?” A little sharp, then, seeing you flinch when he drew too close to your clit, “‘m sorry, baby, just— gotta get this out of you.”

You made a face but let him continue anyway. Your eyes followed each movement of his hand, and reflexively, the muscles in your thighs tightened. Why bother with this when the man has so many better uses for his hands?

For a second, your eyes fluttered half-shut.

“Maria says old folks are, uh…infertile. Got something to do with a middle pause,” you said, breaths labored.

Joel stopped just long enough to shoot you a look.

“Menopause,” he corrected, all too matter-of-fact, before returning to his work, “is a woman thing.”

What the hell were they teaching in Jackson’s sex ed classes, anyway? Then Joel remembered how his brother sincerely believed that women peed out of their vaginas until he was twenty-three, and the thought of you not knowing the ins and outs of male virility wasn’t the most far-fetched idea in the universe. Besides, sexual health wasn’t exactly the community’s highest priority when the world around it was in a perpetual state of decay and hordes of fungus-faced fuckers ran rampant in the wild.

He curved a tender, careful finger against the ring of muscles framing your sex, trying to absorb more cum, and your grip on the edge of the countertop tightened.

“S-So, you—” You swallowed, throat constricting a little too, “You’re sayin’…men can make babies…whenever?”

You sounded so innocent as you said it. Joel wanted nothing more than to club himself over the head for being the cause of this predicament—of being such an instrumental part of the perceived corruption, as it was.

Meanwhile, your head was swimming in filthier thoughts.

Deeper, Joel, keep…pushing in…dee-e-per. You would have scarcely had more luck giving a fuck what Joel was talking about now than if he’d just said the room was on fire. By his voice, you knew you should’ve been paying attention, but the dexterity of his fingers was too much. He was caressing the first couple inches of your inner walls, attempting to scrape what bits of his release he could get unstuck from the flesh, but it seemed he was succeeding mostly in just turning you on. Rendering you deaf to the drone of his words as you pictured him pushing something else inside your tight, throbbing—

“—whole lotta problems for us if you’re, uh…ovulating,” Joel finished, expression taut and oblivious. You hadn’t heard the first part of that sentence and didn’t care to.

“Ovulating,” you repeated slowly. Indifferent.

Joel carried on without a hitch.

“Kids just ain’t fit for this world. I know you know that.”

You nodded along, not hearing a word.

“And if you’re— if y’ever did consider, maybe…”

Your lungs took an extra sharp inhale when Joel’s fingers coaxed out a warm, sticky glob of his load, and he petted your folds with his thumb. Then let out a breath himself.

“…y’oughta start a family with someone your own age—”

That part snagged your attention. Too swiftly, it came:

“My own age?”

Sighing, in spite of those welts of pleasure so heightened by his touch that the space between your legs began to throb and ache. Hardly possessed of more sense to form words that weren’t just echoes of his own, you tried communication from a simpler source—your foot.

You nudged his shoulder, and Joel looked up.

“What?”

“What?”

Parroting was, evidently, a hard habit to kill. Your toes curled into the bare skin of Joel’s shoulder, and when he re-inserted his finger, you ground your heel even deeper.

“When’s that ev…ever stopped us from doing it before, hm?” you said, tone strained but laced with some humor too, “Thought you liked sayin’ you’d make me a mama.”

Joel’s face flooded pink at the recollection—as a matter of fact, there had been several such memories. Instead of answering immediately, he just averted his gaze again. He anchored one hand to your thigh, and with the other teased out another string of your shared arousal before wiping his finger on the tissue, clinically, and repeating. All he had to offer in reply after was: ‘That’s different.’

And it was, to some extent. Joel wasn’t blind to the sea of uneasy looks that trailed behind you both whenever you walked the streets of Jackson together. How wide the eyes would get when instead of observing some filial display of affection play out before them, as expected, you’d loop your arms around his waist and take his lip between your teeth as you kissed—‘Can we please go home now, baby?’—that Joel was certain he’d been cemented as the resident pervert among everyone in town. Just how much worse that reputation was liable to get if there ever happened to be a round and swollen belly between that embrace someday was unthinkable. Dirty talk was one thing; parenthood another entirely.

This is for the best, became the low, grating refrain in his skull. Why he dug so hard, pushed so far inside the wet, velvety interior of your body without a thought for his own desires in that moment; he had to cull every trace of himself out of there, before he had half a chance to think.

“Baby, hey, hey, no—” Joel cut in a second later, abrupt.

No, no, no. You weren’t thinking either. Wrapping your hand around his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper inside.

Smiling a little, too.

“What are you— no, honey, don’t— you can’t,” Joel’s words splintered in every direction, watching you plunge his own index and middle fingers into the slick and the warmth he’d just been trying to get his cum out of. He looked up and saw your lids were heavy, about to close.

“What are you doin’? This ain’t…no, baby, it ain’t…safe.”

Back to sounding like a dad in no time at all.

“What’s wrong with leaving it in a bit longer? Feels nice.”

You had no idea what you were talking about. Joel pulled back on his hand and, in less than a second, had it freed.

“I just told you,” he huffed, “You’re too young—”

“I’m plenty old, Joel,” you returned, eyes snapping open, “You’ve shown me that more times than I can count.”

Joel was silent, stunned. He rose to his feet as your eyes seared holes into his, and for a second, he was uncertain whether to take a step back or reach out for you again.

“Baby…”

To his surprise, something like hurt surfaced behind your eyes. You set your lips in a tighter line, and your grip on the counter grew firmer just the same. He would’ve taken that move as his cue to lean in gently, slot his body between your thighs, and venture an apology of some sort, when the next thing you did stopped him cold.

Without a word, you slipped your free hand between your legs—eyeing Joel closely, almost scornfully, as you did.

You took your middle and ring fingers and sank them into your cunt. Not intending to let a drop of his spend leak out, you wedged them in as far as they’d go. Joel watched. Gawked. Once sufficiently pleased with the look of shock taking over his handsome, aged features, you withdrew the fingers. You brought them up to your mouth, wrapped your lips around the tips, and sucked.

It was a rare thing to get a taste of you and Joel together like this, so you savored it. You moved your mouth further down to drink it all in, peering up with wide, indulgent eyes and a look that was meant to punish.

Feels nice.

Tastes alright, too.

You’d licked the last bit of this glaze off your hand when your stomach clenched. You knew it would happen. Full as you were, you feared your body still hungered for more. As such, it hardly came as a surprise when next your muscles tensed, and you shifted closer to Joel.

“Maybe I don’t want babies with someone my own age.”

Either one of your knees were nudging his hips. Drawing him in. Joel appeared to waver for a second, unsure, but the look on his face made it clear this was mostly a matter of a delayed reaction. He couldn’t get his legs to move because the rest of him was still in awe. Staring at your lips, where the residue of his spend was glistening, then to your eyes, which were no less inviting, then up to the crown of your head and over it, to fix his stare on the mirror behind it. You watched him watch his own reflection with a look that was both hard and unkind, breathing slow. When he didn’t stir from that position after a minute, you touched a hand to his lower stomach.

And, brushing the heel of your palm against what felt like a hundred grey hairs in the old man’s happy trail—your favorite ones—you smoothed a caress along his belly, back and forth, before moving it left. Your hand came to rest on a mound of muscle and fat sitting right above his hip. Love handles, Joel had remarked one morning with vague distaste. Love handles, you’d repeated, beaming. You held on tightly now, appreciatively, and used your well-loved wall of flesh to pull him closer. As with any beckoning of yours, Joel didn’t have so much as half a mind to resist. He did, however, refuse to meet your gaze while you tilted your hips and spread your legs wider, before winding your ankles around the backs of his legs.

“Don’t you think I’d look pretty?” You pouted up at him. Your folds made a light, warm suction rubbing along the front of Joel’s cock—of course he’d grown hard again, and you could hold him, point him down to that wet embrace awaiting him patiently at the edge of the sink.

Joel cursed under his breath.

“‘Course I do…” he said, voice hoarse, “Y’always look—”

“I mean…with your baby inside me, Joel. Right here.”

As if to put a finer point on your words, you nestled the head of his cock inside the first inch of your body. Joel had to seize the laminate underneath you and grit his teeth to keep from letting out a groan too loud. That tip may as well have been a first-rate conductor of heat, and your warmth the thing that might send him spilling again

“You don’t—” Joel choked out, nearly incensed, “—don’t know what the hell you’re sayin’, baby. What that means.”

In truth, there wasn’t a world Joel Miller could imagine where a girl like you could give more than a passing thought to getting knocked up by him—a man his age. What good would it do? You had your whole life laid out before you like a four-course dinner spread; there was no sense whatsoever in letting the meal go to waste on him.

He communicated as much by moving to pull out.

You met the effort with a push of your own, sinking down another inch or two on his shaft and smiling when you saw his eyes roll back in his head at the dizzying friction.

“I know more than enough, old man—” Grin stretching ear-to-ear as you dug your heels in his ass and tugged him deeper, “—who do you think taught me all this?”

Of course, it had been Joel.

Always, always him—the only one, in fact.

Your walls drew him in like a hug. For once, Joel conjured up the strength to take a look between your lower half and his, and when he did, the next moan was inevitable. It trickled through his lips. Your body looked sublime swallowing a third of his cock, and it was almost as though a maggot had crawled into his brain, chanting:

‘Make her full. Make her yours. Tell any man who’d even think of looking her way she belongs to someone else.’

He couldn’t.

Joel would never be so selfish. Just think of her youth.

But when his gaze drifted back to yours, every thought and any word besides seemed gently to melt away. Beneath him, your eyes were two pools of desire.

“You like this…don’t you, Joel?” Your voice was tiny.

“I do.”

In fact, he loved it.

“Then why can’t we?” Why shouldn’t we?

Minuscule now, the words that reached him barely exceeded a whisper. It was as though the moment itself had drained all fear from your face—and out of Joel, all common sense from his brain—leaving you both to stare at the other with shared, stupid, anoetic looks of bliss. The man who had you beat by thirty-odd years seemed nearly of the same mind, with almost identical ignorance.

Idiocy.

“Just once?” Joel croaked.

Somewhere underneath, unseen, you smiled.

“Just one?” you murmured back.

He sank in another inch. When your walls contracted around him, Joel’s hands found your hips by force of habit and pushed your back against the glass behind it. The mirror was cool, and inside you, Joel was throbbing.

“Once,” he repeated, not thinking too deeply.

“One,” you said, with a world of more purpose.

Joel relinquished the last three inches, and with it, all of his resolve. The handsome, scarred, and plainly greying features all twisted as one, and the expression that you knew too well to mean that the man was feeling good took on the slightest hint of guilt. He gripped you tighter.

“One?” Joel panted. Confused.

He pulled out halfway just to find his home again. Your pearly slick mixed together with his spend, and both coated over Joel’s shaft in a pretty, generous sheen.

“One more of you, I mean.” You sounded too sweet. There was no way in hell you’d actually meant it.

Joel’s cheeks flushed again, but he didn’t stop, either.

“Baby…” he trailed off instead. He pushed in, pulled out, felt your tender little hole make an ‘o’ around his shaft, and then he kissed the edge of your left cheek—maybe to rein in the need in his words before he spoke again: “One’a me takes and I’m givin’ ya fifteen more, y’hear?”

The smile he received told him as much as he needed to hear. He probably wouldn’t have believed it even if you’d said the words yourself. Joel’s thrusts sped up, and as the pleasure distended in the pit of his stomach with the friction and the feel, his words flowed a little more freely.

In disbelief, “Wanna be a mama that bad for me, huh?”

Your grin grew bigger. You nodded your head.

“Make your old man a daddy, is that it?”

Exactly. Senseless as it was, your look said it all.

To have slipped between the grooves and ridges of Joel’s brain and caught wind of even a fraction of the things he wanted to do to you then, a smarter girl would have run. Would have shoved him back out as swiftly as she’d let him in and told him no, that’s gross, and gone home. And, had the grey matter floating inside your own skull not been so completely dominated by primal need and wanting, that’s likely what you would have done, too. Instead, with a head full of lewd, youthful stupidity, you seized the black-grey curls dangling at the nape of his neck and drew him closer. You spread your legs wider.

“That is what you’ve wanted this whole time, right?”

Under his scruff, a muscle tensed as Joel bit down.

That’s all he’s ever wanted.

Let the neighbors talk.

Let them say what they wanted to say—it was probably all true to the point they were trying to make, anyway. That Joel was a pervert, of course. That you were naïve, also true. That you would look too good not to stare in a white cotton frock with a bump underneath, absolutely. These were the ideas permeating your brain and his while Joel took a firmer hold of your sides and brought his nose to rest against yours. With every stab of his hips, he pressed kisses to your soft, parted lips, speaking low:

“That what you want, too, darlin’?” More serious now.

The head of his cock nicked a sensitive ridge inside you, eliciting a whimper, but you nodded. You nodded again, feeling the brush of his stubble at your mouth and your chin, and nodded again when he bottomed out, stuffing you tight. It felt a little more momentous than any other time in the past, now that you were picturing a fullness that wasn’t just him. Him and you: a concrete being to soothe the sting of his absence long after Joel withdrew.

Something to stick.

“Please say it, baby.”

Someone to call yours.

“I want it,” you said, sounding desperate.

A coil was just starting to form in the place you felt him. Drifting up, pulling tight, making your eyes go glossy and wide while they stuck to Joel’s and begged him for more.

“Want what?” He sped up, and his thrusts got sloppy.

“Want you,” you breathed, “Inside me, Joel, please.”

As if predicting your next thoughts, the man lowered his hand to your belly. You hadn’t even noticed the smallest bulge had taken shape beneath the skin. Joel slowed, momentarily, then rubbed the base of his palm against the mound where your body was obliged to make room for his cock inside you. He drew soft, tender circles there and, with the motion, sent stars flying before your eyes.

“Good girl,” he murmured, “Right here?”

“Ri— right there. Right there.”

Joel adored that sound. The soft, elated look, the gentle knoll of flesh in a bump below his hand, the whimpers rolling off your tongue repeatedly, quicker and quicker the more the pleasure inside you continued to build. Joel’s release was coming soon, too. For the hundredth time that night, he silently wished he were a little younger; so he could fill you up once, twice, twenty more times until your insides were stuffed and painted white. As if reading his mind, as he had for you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Hope our baby has your eyes,” you murmured to him.

It shouldn’t have had such a strong effect—but of course, it did. Joel pictured the small, sweet infant with irises that shone a bit like his, and his stomach caved in.

Tonight, tomorrow, or ten months down the line, he was getting you pregnant. He’d clear his whole schedule for it

“That right?” And now he couldn’t stop the smile as he spoke, leaning even further in, “What about their nose?”

He kissed the tip of yours.

“Hope they get this.”

He kissed either one of your cheeks.

“These too.”

You had to fight back a laugh while his scruff tickled skin. Two deep strokes away from the brink of release and he still somehow always stayed in tune with your needs.

The threat of your peak was perilously near. Joel’s spend and your slick, tender glaze made a chorus of sounds at each thrust, and the deeper he went, the bigger it swelled. Your smiles couldn’t stay for much longer when the feeling inside you both was being amplified like that. Sensing this, Joel took hold of your face and slipped his touch to cup your chin. He made you tilt your head up to him, as if to ask again, ‘Are you sure?’ and when you nodded, his lips twitched again. A fleeting hint of a grin, like he couldn’t be more eager to finish now if he tried.

Holding your face, cock swollen and throbbing and desperate between your walls, he felt a familiar twitch.

There it is.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Cabin in the woods (yan!slasher!Konig x fem!Reader x yan!slasher!Horangi) part 3

Little birdie got caught. Konig is simply too excited to let you go. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 AO3

TW for the chapter: Light blood and gore, dead bodies, mentions of drugs, spanking, kidnapping

— Those fucking bastards killed Karen! Don’t you care?! 

Shouting at your friends was never your forte, but you expected that it would come out at some point in your unwilling journey, You never knew it would because of the psycho killers on the loose, wanting nothing more but to make a nice set of decorations from your bones and eat your liver. 

You try to scream some senses into Chad’s tough skull but, just like his name suggests, this is a useless endeavor and you would be far better off running for your life, abandoning your friends, and hoping that killers would be satisfied without your sacrifice. But, you’re too nice. But, you have a bleeding heart and a death wish – and you feel guilty over not feeling guilty that Karen is dead. This is a new, overwhelming feeling for you, the one that almost revamps your whole essence. There are changes occurring, and you would rather die than acknowledge those changes. 

— Listen to me, goddamnit! We’re all going to die! 

You must be looking horrible – mouth covered in blood like you just ate a bunch of raw meat, smelling of dirt and fresh guts, hands shaking and your face resembling the horror mixed with anger – even Marty is surprised to see the resident mouse behave like this. God, even you are surprised to see just how horrified you look, screaming at them in the hope of saving at least someone. 

Marty drops a hand over your shoulders, pulling you to the side. You try to resist, but his clanky figure is surprisingly grippy and strong – you are being pulled to the nearest tree branches, just out of the range of the group. You spend the previous few hours trying to find them and yell some senses into their heads – and the only thing that they advised is that you should stop drinking for today and that stealing pills from Marty’s stash isn’t very nice even if he kinda doesn’t care where his junk goes. Still, you are fucking trembling. 

Marty pushes you to the tree, whispering in your ear – you feel his hot, deranged breath on the side of your face, making you wince. Even compared to the killer’s smell of sweat and blood, they still were nicer to be around than Stale-Beer-And-Cheap-Weed-Breath Marty. 

— Hey. Heeeeey, doll, what was happening back there? 

— Karen is…

— Nah-nah-nah, this is where you should shut up, yeah? Karen isn’t dead. I mean, I’m glad you think she is, it means my prank is fucking awesome. 

Prank? Her fucking head was chopped off and then tossed over to the nearest creek when the shorter killer decided that he wants you to perform a blowjob on his knife, making sure that you are licking all the blood away. You don’t think that there are ways to fake this – and if there are, then your friends and their hired goons are no better than actual killer psychos anyway and you’d still want out. 

— I saw her! 

— Sure you did, hon. Listen, I’m really glad you were the first to notice and everything, but keep it down for now, yeah? I have this sick mask and I was actually planning to prank the group later at night, but if you found it first…

— Prank?! There are two actual killers on the loose, this is the worst time to do pranks! — God, you’re annoying. This is why I fucking asked Jenny not to invite you. There are no killers, alright? Karen agreed to partake in the prank, so she is hiding somewhere in the forest until I’d pull out that sick knife and fucking scare everyone shitless. You were probably hallucinating from booze. 

— I saw her severed head!

— Sure you did. Listen – you can help me, yeah? Just rile everyone up a little, then you will come back and say that…hmmmm…that Marty was taken! Everyone panicking, screaming, crying, and then I show up with this big-ass knife and…

You never heard the last of his amazing, perfect, simply brilliant idea – because before he could finish it, his head was impaled with…oh, no. No-no-no, you can’t do this anymore, not so soon after Karen is dead, not when you are still shaking and can barely think straight not when you are far away from others because Marty fucking led you to another secured place just to get his stupid head impaled with a fucking crossbow bolt – something that you only saw in video games or historical dramas. 

This was completely silent – the quiet music of the bolt flying through the air, a small grunt that escaped Marty’s lips before he fell to the ground beneath your feet. You didn’t even manage to see from what direction this thing came from, too disoriented to observe the world around you properly. You feel the adrenaline running up again, probably breaking the record for you in the whole year – you jump from the body on the ground, tears dwelling in your eyes. You can’t do it, you can’t do it, you won’t do it, you were never a fighter, the freeze-fight-flight instinct always coming up to curling down in a small ball and sucking on your thumb. 

Some people are simply not built for survival – this is a natural order, something that Darwin was talking about. Soft, weak humans are meant to die, meant to be the food for stronger predators, for monsters dwelling in the shadows. Some creatures are never meant to exist – fleshy cute creatures, the ones that melt at the slightest touch, someone like you – when your first answer to a threat is to roll on your back and show your belly to a mountain lion, you just knew that evolution never meant for you to live past the crib. And yet, civilisation allowed you to survive. To thrive even, before you were put in this fucking forest. 

You run before everything else can kick in – at least some of your instincts are working properly, adrenaline running through your veins as you are leaving Marty behind, not even bothering to check if he is still breathing or not. The man was never thinking with his head – not the upper one anyway – but you doubt that he would survive a bolt shot perfectly between his eyes, separating his brain in two perfect halves. Like a fucking apple. 

You ran 

 ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎   ‎‎      ‎    and you ran ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎  ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎  ‏‏‎  ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎  ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎  ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎      and you ran some more

And you ran right into his chest. 

Wall of muscles, no less – you aren’t even sure if this is a human’s body, too sturdy and hard and perfect to belong to something less of a Roman statue. You feel tears running down your face, panic not even bothering to settle in – you know you would be dead in the next few moments, brain tragically easy saying goodbye to being intact. A pathetic sob escapes your throat as you are caught for the second time in this night – lady luck might be smiling upon you the first time, but you doubt you can be her favorite for long. 

— I thought the rule of escaping was to run away from danger. 

This is the tall killer – low voice, secured by the mask, making it almost unrecognizable. You shake as a big, glowed hand goes on your back, laying there heavily. Even more pathetic sounds are produced from your lips, and you are almost ready to beg him for a quick, painless death – his hand is big enough to cover your head and you don’t want to think of the implications that he might crush your skull with just his fingers. 

König listens to your sobs, doing nothing but keeping a firm hand on your back, securing you in place. You sob and whine and tremble in his hold – and he was never more hard in his life. What an adorable, pathetic little creature you are. Helpless in his hold – even squirrels can fight, scratching and biting. You were sobbing in his hold like the perfect kleine prey you are, and he could almost pretend this was a hug. 

— Tshhh, Hase, don’t cry. I won’t be able to let you go if you’d proceed with those sweet noises, ja? 

His revelation only makes you squirm more. You finally try to get out of his bear-like hug – only to realize that all of your little movements and struggles fit perfectly with the enormous, pulsating bulge in his pants that can probably be considered a murder weapon on its own and shouldn’t be concealed since this is an obvious threat to…ah, on second thought, running around from a serial killer who has his monstrous dick hanging out would be worse. Much, much worse. 

— Let me go! 

You squirm one of your hands, punching his chest. Feels like punching a marble statue – the only thing you are hurting is your own hands. You try to resolve to a different form, jerking up your knee to land a blow on his crotch. 

He fucking moans. 

— Never knew you were such a fighter, Schatz. But I warned you, aren’t I? 

You don’t understand what he is talking about before he suddenly lifts you in his hands, dropping you on his shoulder like a bag of potatoes. You are crying, trying to get away, [unching him with your legs and your hands, all the adrenaline in your veins working solely for the purpose of inflicting as much pain on this enormous figure as possible. 

You tug on this weird hood he is wearing – if you are going to die, at least you would die exhausting all possible options, not feeling like you gave up without a fight. This is still a journey of self-respect and deep insight searches for the mysteriously hidden backbone of your body – maybe, yoga classes would be more effective and less dangerous but, unfortunately, you’re not a rich white housewife in her thirties, so not like you have money for a guru who would spend hours trying to convince your ovaries to stop dying on the inside. 

— Let! 

You punch him on the back, a multitude of well-served punches right into his back. He laughs, spreading his shoulders, cocking his chest forward like you were giving him a massage. With a groan, you made a very deliberate punch right in the middle of his back – and he moans from satisfaction, probably releasing some pent-up tension that he got from killing grandmas and destroying hotels. 

— Me! 

You tried to kick him in the chest, your legs working overtime as you cosplayed a rabid rabbit – only for him to laugh even more, his arm securing you holstered across his shoulder like your punches meant nothing. They probably didn’t – he is literally still holding a fucking crossbow in his other hand, managing to secure it on his side while moving towards…you only assume it to be a murder cabin because of course those freaks would have a murder cabin, why the hell not – probably with some cool classy furniture made out of bones. 

— Go! You finally manage to secure hold on the edge of his hood, yanking it upwards in hopes of actually revealing who the fuck is he – a dirty businessman who doesn’t like those damn kids and their dog to ruin his plans for burning down the forest to create a shopping mall? A nice old man who showed you the road when you were lost, but he is actually on a spree to get revenge on all young people for killing his pet chicken in 1997? One of those creepy guys at the corner store who was weirdly obsessive over you, talked like a serial killer, and was constantly and also came in pair with the guy whose height and manner perfectly resembled a pair of killers that are after you now? 

Probably the grandpa. 

You yank the mask up and…

Ah. 

Of course, he is wearing a freaking balaclava. The only thing that you managed to see were his eyes – blue, icy, pretty, filled with anger as he pulled the hood down, concealing his features again, without you even managing to take a closer look. You gulp loudly, preparing to die. 

He smacks your ass with a power that would be enough to break a bone – your only saving grace is that the flesh of your butt provided some cushion, instead leaving a nasty bruise and inability to sit for at least a few days. That is if you would even survive long enough to have problems sitting on your backside. You won’t have such problems if you’re dead, right? 

— Quiet, Schatz. I already breaking the rule for taking you too early. 

— Br…breaking a rule? Do you have a freaking hunting pact? 

— I promised Tiger that we’d let you roam around a little. Make things interesting. 

Ah, yes, because letting you go the first time was such a brilliant idea on their behalf. The only reasons you didn’t go straight to the police is because A) You don’t speak rural Austrian German, B) Your phone can’t connect to anything, and C) You don’t even know in what part of the forest you are. Also because you’re scared that the police are going to turn out treacherous people, just like in horror movies, and that it would fucking destroy your trust. 

— I can roam around. I can roam around just fucking perfect, ass…

Another loud smack on your ass makes you feel like a misbehaving kitten. He grips your ass through your jeans and you whimper a little bit, starting to cry again as his hand goes straight for the bottom, gripping your cunt through the tough layer of denim. You thank every god you know for making you wear ugly, but protective and thick jeans. Every time his hand goes to cup your most intimate parts, the fabric of your jeans protects it – you don’t even feel too violated when he pushes his fingers even more, desperately trying to get a reaction out of you. 

— Language, Hase. Don’t make me discipline you, ja? — Fuck you! — Very gut then. That’s what you will do very soon.

Oh, but the rough material grinding over your delicate, thin panties and the sensitivity of your cunt really makes you feel…something. You won’t want to admit it, he smells like blood and sweat(still better than Marty, but you shut down that thought before it was born because fuck the new abortion laws), and he spanks your ass only to grope your pussy right after – and he also has masterful fingers that are working at the hem of your jeans, making the fabric press even more against the sensitive skin and…

You try to think of something – anything. 

Dead bodies, dead bodies, a lot of dead bodies, and there are some dead puppies too and everything is gross and smelly and…ah, it’s not working. 

König touches your lower parts with a wide grin under his hood – you’re fucking perfect, a nice addition to their house. You bite when he needs a little fight and you shut up when he touches you – perfect birdie, adorable birdie, Horangi will probably be bitching about spoiling the fun since you’d be stuck with them without a proper chase like he wanted, but the tiger would come around once he’d emptied himself on your warm body just once. 

You squirm under his touch, moan and cry and tremble and he can’t stop imagining you in millions of different positions. Stuck in the basement of their house, on your knees like a good girl you are, maybe with some branding or a collar – it’s more of a Horangi’s thing, even though König hopes he won’t have to break you too much until you’d call him daddy – pushing you to their shared bed, making sure that you’re nice and stuck in some open positions, allowing them to take you without much repercussions. 

— Let me go. 

— Nein. 

— Please? 

— I like your begging, Spatz. 

— It means you’d let me go? 

— Nein. You will tell your little friends, and then you will run to the police, ruining our fun. You are not going anywhere. 

— But, um…your culprit will be mad, no? 

As cunning as you can, you’re trying to seal the seeds of destruction among them. You’re trying your damn best not to act too charming or too fake, just so he won’t fall in love with you for real and would try murder-suicide you, but also with enough charisma checks so you’d actually convince him. 

But, it’s not really working – maybe, you aren’t as good at spreading havoc as you thought you were. 

— He’d live. We would get to hold you in your house, little one. It’s enough to make him understand my reasons. 

It’s definitely enough to make you want to puke. He is fast, not even bothering to check on the body of your friend as he goes past it – he just marks it with something that resembles a piece of torn fabric and pushes some leaves and sticks on the body, probably signalling to his friend to come and get rid of the body – and then he changed your position a little bit, securing a hand on your ass he goes deeper into the forest. 

You’re trying to remember the location, maybe counting the trees and every bush that seems like a good mark – but you, a city girl raised on a cocktail of Google Maps and a constant internet connection, have already grown tired of trying to remember everything. Every tree is the fucking same, every turn feels like the one before and, at some point, you were sure that he is actually going in circles to make you understand the location even less. Your blurry vision obstructs the goal even more – you cried so much, it feels like your very eyes gave out. With a sigh of defeat, you metaphorically roll over to your back and present your belly to the predators. 

After a hike that felt like hours, but was probably like 10 minutes long – this guy has long legs and the determination of a dog dragging a really cool stick home and, before you know it, you’re standing in front of a…house. Nice house. Expensive house, a big house, something less of a mansion, but more of a shed that you thought he was going to live in because he is literally a serial killer. 

Even serial killers made good property investments in the respective years – and you were too busy with useless stuff, like learning how to walk or trying not to choke yourself on a piece of carrot. 

— Welcome home, Schatz. 

He gently lets you down from his shoulder, allowing you to take a closer look at your surroundings. Normal living room – literally nothing weird. Maybe a bit too much hunting trophies, maybe a lot of guns lying around, some overly manly decorations, and very questionable art pieces but if you’d see that house advertised on the property website, you wouldn’t even consider it too weird. You were expecting…something. Blood on the walls, furniture made out of human flesh and skin, a devilish feast for imps and every like them…

You saw nothing as König punched the back of your head, putting you to sleep. 

You fucking hate forest trips. 

[haunting-hufflepuffs-basement]

GUYS HELP!

I have been lightly dropping nuggets of marauders fandom (and just general fandom) culture to my family, as a way to process my findings. Like I said in a previous post, fandom participation is largely an anthropology endeavor for me, and being able to explain the culture to outsiders is important for that. This is extra funny because my family is very Christian, and like. . .we're all kind of prudes. Like, we don't really care what other people do as long as it's not in front of us, but that does mean AO3 has some WILD stuff that we never would have THOUGHT to imagine on our own.

Anyway, I explained to my mother that due to the wild popularity of Crimson Rivers, one of the most popular romantic pairings amongst the Marauders fans is James Potter/Regulus Black or, as I said "Harry Potter's dead dad and Harry Potter's dead godfather's dead emo brother." I expressed my pleased bafflement that a complete crackship had become a fandom staple, and showed her the sheer AMOUNT of fics for it on AO3.

You wanna know her response!?!?!

"Mmmmm. That's weak. We can get crazier than that. I wanna see Severus Snape/Mundungus Fletcher."

MY MOTHER. . .WHO DOES NOT READ FANFICTION. WANTS. A. CRACKSHIP FIC.

You wanna know the best part? THERE AREN'T ANY ON AO3! I LOOKED!

Now. I'm sure that somebody has done this SOMEWHERE. So if somebody knows of one, send me a link. But otherwise. . .CALLING ALL BORED WRITERS!

Also, you know what else she said?

"Ooh ooh, what about Newt Scamander/Willy Wonka, but the Timothy Chalemet version! That would be cute! I actually really want to read that"

RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY HOMOPHOBIC BROTHER!

SOMEONE NEEDS TO WRITE THIS FREAKING CROSSOVER NOW! But not me because my sorry aroace hide is trash at writing romance. Like, I think I might be okay when it's f/f, but I don't think I'd enjoy writing an mlm romance fic. So, again:

CALLING ALL BORED WRITERS! I HAVE CRACKSHIPS FOR YOU!

[itsnothingofinterest]

So it’s looking like we might be getting the ‘AFO gave Tenko his quirk’ theory confirmed and I gotta be honest; I am not in favor. I’m hardly the first to take this position, both before and after this chapter dropped, but if I may attempt to put into words why; it’s that I don't think it can really add anything except reveal postmortem some new way AFO is bad in the best case & handing Deku a potential deus ex machina in the worst case.

Like, the best case result of such a revelation at this point in the plot is that it's just to make AFO seem more evil by making him the root cause of the Shimura tragedy, except…only in a way that doesn’t even matter. Like, this reveal shouldn’t change any of Tomura’s motivations or talking points; he already knows AFO manipulated him & hates him for that, but he also hates Kotaro, Nana, All Might, and the greater hero society for the role they played in his tragedy, and AFO giving him Decay wouldn’t change how much everyone else I listed deserves that ire. It just means that some of the tragic happenstance of the Shimuras that seemingly could've happened to anyone was instead purposefully cause by that jerk we know.

It’s like if we learned AFO killed Endeavor’s father, leading him down the path to become the domestic abuser we know him as. Thus the tragedy of the Todorokis would also come back to AFO...but y’know…not in anyway that matters. Endeavor, Touya, and everyone else involved still made their choices; AFO’s just the root cause of it all by sheer technicality. How diabolical, I might care if he were still relevant.

The worst case result of such a revaluation of course is that it gives Deku an unearned & largely uninteresting easy out to solving the problem that is Tomura's rage. Because if AFO gave him Decay, then he's actually the one ultimately responsible for near everything, if not just everything wrong in Tomura's life (even if, again, just by technicality in some areas). Never mind the rolls Kotaro, Nana, All Might, and greater hero society played in it; AFO's the real root cause of it all whose been manipulating Tomura for longer than he even knows, so he should just stop caring about that other stuff.

Plus it'd also mean Tomura doesn't exist to destroy because Decay isn't his true quirk (never mind how that's not why he thinks that & he never even put much stock into that quirk-identity stuff anyway) so he can just stop being a villain now please.

Yeah this all just doesn't seem like the most interesting way for Deku to tackle Tomura's trauma, talking points, or motivations.

Plus, like a live action Disney movie, the idea's kind of felt like it’s tying up a ‘plot hole’ that didn’t need tying up; that might even work better as a coincidental tragedy. Like; people act like this can’t be just a tragedy, it's too convenient, it has to be some master machination of the grand demon lord who…is already beaten, dead, and doesn’t factor into anyone’s plot lines or themes anymore. At best, to make him seem more evil long after the point we have any reason to care; at worst, to give Deku an easy out (with the side effect of making him seem like a worse hero who can’t save villains in Tomura's position without unique circumstances to make it easy).

Also like a live action Disney movie, this almost feels like it opens up a plot hole in trying to tie one up. Because as we know; Tenko’s circumstances are identical to Eri’s, down to the signs of their quirks being random mutations. When I said the tragic happenstance of the Shimuras we're blaming AFO for could've happened to anyone; I know this because it happened verbatim to her. So if those circumstances (just so happening to get a deadly quirk that kills their families, which just so happen to be connected to the villain who'll use & abuse them, etc.) are seen as suspicious, early signs that AFO gave Tenko Decay…did he or another villain give Eri Rewind? Almost certainly not; but if not then why does she get a random mutation-caused tragedy, while Tenko must have been the victim of some villain’s plot that's already been foiled?

So my point is: I really hope this is just a red herring. Revealing that AFO gave Tenko Decay kind of feels like it undercuts the Shimura tragedy as something that could've happened to any kid in Tenko or Eri's shoes; and I don't think any payoff you'd get for that undercutting is worth it.

We should instead get the much funnier revaluation that the man who brought Tenko home that day was, rather than AFO, a completely different man who Deku would coincidentally recognize: Hisashi Midoriya.

[neonjellyfishart]

Mha mini rant since I don't have any art to post yet and I'm still working on the next chapter

Is it just me, or does my hero academia make the scenes that are supposed to be dark, traumatic, jaw dropping, fucking reality shattering not feel that way. For an example the part where rei poured boiling water into todoroki's face/eye, like on paper the idea of a mother going insane cause of her abusive partner and pouring boiling water onto their child's face/eye cause it looks exactly like her partner's sounds ABSOLUTELY INSANE but in the anime it didn't really feel like that, like the atmosphere of the scene didn't feel intense it kinda felt like "oh shit 😐...anyways".

The same thing goes with shigi's backstory, since he was a child and didn't know how to control his powers. So when he was unintentionally killing his family, I feel like we should've sad and feeling bad for him but the entire the only thing that was going through my head was that one meme "STOP TOUCHING 🥷🏿S WITH YO HANDS" I SHOULDNT BE THINKING OF MEMES WHEN IM WATCHING A CHILD'S POWER GO SICKO AND MURDER THEIR ENITRE FAMILY.

From Bakugo's "death" to Nighteye's death, to just almost every dark moment in mha doesn't feel dark. The only part that felt dark was that one scene when Endeavor looked at rei and rei looked back at Endeavor with those dead eyes, knowing what's about to happen next.

[chunkymamatam]

Do you have any more info about shifting to MHA? I know that was probably a while ago but I really wanna try shifting there so yeah!! :DDD

Yeah. It was a really long time ago. Like 4 years lol

So this was actually the first time and place I wanted to shift to. It was mostly mini shifting.

One time I went and I “gained sentience” as me and my friends like to call it lmfao in the street. I looked around and I was like “oh shit. I’m actually here.. huh. I wonder if I can bother Hawks” I saw he was busy and I was like “man I’ll go bother Aizawa he’s too busy with fan girls for me to introduce myself.” I go to walk off and I hear flapping of wings

My first thought was “ah he has hero work to do.” Tell me why this man lands in front of me and knocks me on my ass. That shit hurt like a bitch 😭THEN HE HAS THE AUDACITY TO ASK IF I NEED HELP GETTING UP LIKE HE DIDN'T DO THAT SHIT ON PURPOSE

Also keep in mind I had never met that man until then. I shifted home it freaked me out so bad lol It's funnier when I remember over there my clone teleported her ass away pfff

The next time I managed to shift there I was in an alleyway and all of a sudden a feather floats down. This stalking ass bitch was watching me up above. He drops down and I kindly (NOT) tell him he needs to stop doing that shit (He hasn't done it since pfffff) and he was like

"So.. You're the one who teleported away in the middle of a crowded area?"

"What does that matter? The fuck were you doing watching me???"

"That's for me to know and you to never find out! Haha anyway duty calls" THEN THE BITCH FLIES AWAY Keep in mind I didn't think he was actually stalking me and that's why I didn't freak out more and this next bit happened.

I left after that interacting and came back a different night. It was night and I was just trying to figure out wtf to do now that I'm here and tell me why this man appears behind me saying some "We meet again!" Now if I call you one of my many claimable slurs...(/j) but seriously tho little 18 year old Tam was just happy to be there lmfao. He comes at me with the "I just got off of work you wanna get a bite to eat"

... I said yes and he finally asked my name LMFAO I ended up going to his place at the end of the night. Crazy I know but again I didn't think he was ACTUALLY stalking me okay????

It gets better because after that I ended up accidentally shifting into the LOV hide out LMFAO I literally don't know why tf my clone was there but I was trying to get out of there so fast. They wanted me dead bro. Now I momentarily shot myself in the foot when I was arguing why they should let me live. Shiggy asked why I should be allowed to live and I was like "I got dirt on everyone"

he said "prove it"

I was like "Well I got dirt on everyone here too so I could probably prove it like that"

BRUH BAD MOVE THEY WANTED ME GONE EVEN WORSE WHEN I PROVED IT

I revealed to Dabi I knew who he was and gave a few details about every person there that I definitely shouldn't have know from there perspective but then Magne came in and I was like "HOLY SHIT YOU'RE STILL ALIVE????" proceeded to give them life saving advice for her and went home cuz that shit was TOO stressful. had to let my clone deal lmfao

It worked considering I was a free man when i went back. did it last long? no. Was freedom nice for a while?? yeah. Tell me why I run into Hawks and Endeavor. He introduced us and idk if it's just his face but bro was mean mugging me. Endeavor please stop looking at me like that I haven't even started dogging on you verbally yet. They end up running off to do their job or whatever and I walk off. Tell me why I see Shigaraki creeping in an alleyway just watching. HELLO??? I cross the street and end up getting snatched up by Dabi and Twice anyway but fucking christ bro. They take me to the warehouse and tell me why they hit me with the "You were right" MAGNE FUCKING DIED BRO I WAS SO UPSET

Long story short they forced me to stay with them after that. Dabi for the longest time gave me the cold shoulder and was acting like he hated me. I'm just gonna say he didn't and not go too far into what happened cuz idk how old you are. There was also this time when Shigaraki kissed me out of nowhere. I was drunk and rambling and crying about something to him and he kissed me. Gonna be honest I thought he just wanted me to shut up and he was just following the trope. I didn't think he liked me. I only found out because he found out what happened with Dabi and chased me down to confront me about it. It was a wild time. I was so fucking scared bro.

He said "How did you not know I liked you??? I literally kissed you"

"I thought you just wanted me to STFU!"

Shiggy after I said that dumb shit:

I'm fucking stupid when it comes to people liking me in short. I stopped going to that specific DR shortly after that. I have other MHA DRs if y'all wanna hear about them.

[crybaby-bkg]

sᴄᴏʀɴᴇᴅ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1

Bakugou x f!reader Warnings/Tags: threats of violence, fear, graphic imagination of violence, chasing, guns, gun violence, blood, gunshot wounds, mention of sexism, PTSD flashbacks, unmentioned men harming reader in the past (not graphic), sexist language, mentions of you bleeding Word Count: 3.2k Notes: first chapter already woooo!! this is more of an intro to how everyone gets to meet each other. I hope you all enjoy!! <3 Minors/blank/ageless blogs DNI

Main Masterlist AO3

Medusa [meh-doo-za] noun - guardian; protectress; an evil meant to protect others from evil; a threat; a victim

***

Your heart races as your feet pound against the rough pavement, cutting sharp corners with every quick turn. You’re too afraid to look over your shoulder, afraid that you’ll find faces that will haunt your every dream for years to come, sneering at you. Afraid you’ll lose your footing, that you’ll stumble, fall prey to the monsters hunting you for sport. 

You can’t breathe. Your chest hurts, tight, your lungs squeezing with every shaking gasp you inhale. They’re getting closer—they’re right on your heels—they’re gonna get you��you’ll be dead come morning, unrecognizable. 

There’s a sudden whooshing sound not too far off, and you think that it must be one of their quirks, that its truly the end for you. Instead, you hear the sounds of scuffling, of punched out breaths, of bodies hitting the pavement, of pained groans. 

You still don’t slow down, don’t stop, not until you’re safe, until you know that they can’t catch you anymore. But you’re stopped suddenly, by a burly chest too wide for any normal human. 

Your feet come skidding to a halt, barely managing to stop yourself before running into this wall of a person. Your eyes frantically search their face, and you’re even more afraid now. Is he with them? Is he apart of all of this? He’s no better than the men chasing you, after the videos of his son proclaiming abuse went viral all those years ago. 

“There’s no need to run now, the Pro’s are here.” Endeavor’s voice is booming in the echoing alleyway, and it only unnerves you even more. You can feel your knees wobbling, knocking against each other. You hadn’t even realized that there were tears until they muddled your vision, hadn’t realized you were shaking until the chatter of your teeth is audible. 

“Please, let me go.” You whisper, meek, voice barely understandable from the clacking of your jaw. Endeavor looks down at you confused, eyebrows furrowing as his lip grits. He reaches a hand out, and you jerk yourself back so hard that you stumble, tripping over a bottle left in the alleyway. 

You land hard on your back, but you never take your eyes off of the man in front of you. He tries to reassure you, tries to help you but—but his hands are too big, and those hands have hurt those closest to him, and they’re too wide, too familiar, remind you too much of the men behind you. 

Where are the men, anyway? Have they hidden somewhere, ready to plot their attack with the number one hero? Are they all in on this? Are they all going to hurt you, maim you, assault you? 

Your panicked breaths echo loudly, your hands shielding you from the too large form that still stands above you. He doesn’t try to reach out for you anymore, only glances off to the side as he speaks seemingly to nobody before his eyes dart behind you. You’re too afraid to look, think it might be a trick for you to lower your guard so he can rip out your trachea with his bare hands. 

You scream when someone gently touches your shoulder, feels like they’ve dropped hot coal onto your skin, feels like the flesh drips down your tattered clothing. But as you whip your head around, you come face to face with something—someone, softer. It’s the bunny hero, and she smiles gentler than you have ever seen her do on TV. She’s saying something to you, but your ears feel like they’re stuffed with cotton. All you focus on is the fact that, finally, you might be safe now. 

Her knuckles are bloody, and you see her nudge her head back behind her, get a glimpse of a stack of bodies trailing oh so fuckin’ close to you. It makes you flinch at the sight, at the leader with his hands still outstretched toward you, nails barely skimming your ratty shirt. You gasp, sobbing, inching and inching away from him, find yourself comforted in muscular but such soft arms. 

Miruko holds you gently, shushing you and cradling you under her chin. She sits on her knees, dragging you closer to her, shielding you from the men who were so close to ruining you, from hurting your further. Your own voice doesn’t even sound familiar once the fuzziness in your head clears as it bounces off the grimy walls with every hallowed sob that racks your entire body. She tries to get you to breathe, to calm down, but you’ve checked out since you crawled into the safety of her arms. 

As the ambulance arrives and more pro heroes show up, you sit in Miruko’s lap, shaking, thinking to yourself, promising, that this will be the last time you ever need saving. 

…

It takes months to rebuild yourself. Months of healing, of therapy appointments, of physical rehab, of integrating yourself back into society again. 

And even then—its not enough to heal you. 

Your therapist tells you that you need to move on, and you tell her that she must be a fucking quack. The next one tells you that you need to forgive the men that hurt you, and you tell him that he must’ve faked his shitty degree. And the next one is the same, and so is the one after that, until they all just start running together with the same advice. 

Do not give power to the men who hurt you. Its bullshit, you think. They don’t have any fuckin power because they were smashed to fuckin smithereens by Miruko’s heel. But apparently, your “kill all men who hurt others” ideology is “dangerous” and “directed at the wrong people.” You think you’re justified, and you don’t need anyone with a stupid fucking degree to be a yes man and agree with you. 

You don’t need anyone to agree with you—well, except for your fans online who praise you. 

Almost a year after being attacked, you became a hero for the people in your community who were oftentimes overlooked by pro heroes—male pro’s, especially. If women weren’t doling out their bodies in exchange for saving, then they might not be saved at all. 

That’s where you come in at. You trained your body to become stronger, more flexible, more agile, pushed yourself in such little time you’re surprised your body hasn’t clonked out on you yet. But its not your time to give up, to roll belly up and let the cruelness of the world swallow you whole. It almost did once—you weren’t letting that happen again. 

The public dubbed you as “The Red Medusa” because of your crimson stained outfits and the medusa tattoo visible on the center of your chest you always wore proudly. It was fitting, especially since you always seemed to exclusively fight men who were witnessed hurting a woman, or child. You didn’t have a quirk, but it wasn’t needed when you had a multitude of guns and the ability to lay someone out cold. 

Many men had tried to retaliate against you, especially the pro heroes whose egos were shattered whenever you publicly called them out online for their gross negligence and misogyny. But none had ever managed to catch up with you or leave without at least two extra holes in their body. 

Dynamight was one of them. 

…

He was cocky at first, with his too big grin and flashy quirk. You couldn’t stand the up and coming hero, with his shitty sexist comments made a couple months ago. He tried to backpedal, claim that his words were taken out of context, that it was all to just make him look bad. 

You didn’t believe it. You didn’t believe any of them, ever. 

“Getting tired, aren’t cha?” Dynamight calls out to you, aims another explosion where you stood only seconds ago. You can see the frustration in his face when he realizes that he missed you, that you’re quicker than you should be to just be a quirkless vigilante, as the media likes to call you. 

“Looks like you’re the one slowing down, shit head.” You shout back at him, sneering at his scowl. You two have been at it for only a few minutes now, and you know that in any second, more heroes are going to arrive and that they’ll outnumber you. You don’t work well with multiple attacks at once, and you’re damn sure not gonna go down yet. You’ll have to make this quick. 

As Dynamight soars through the air again, he aims another explosion at you, and you hold your breath as you wait for the right moment to strike. One second too late and he’ll have blasted your entire right side straight off of your body. You refuse to die by this sexist pigs hands. 

You inhale when you feel the heat of the blast, launching your body back just in time, don’t even wait for the smoke to clear from his explosion as you fire off two rounds into the orange hued air. Its silent for a split second before you hear it—a pained holler. But, you don’t expect for him to aim another blast at you. 

That one sends you reeling back, gasping sharply, as you dodge the brunt of it, but still feel the bottom half of your mask and neck catch licks of flame. You sit up quickly, ripping the mask off, eyes darting all around you in the isolated parking lot, wonder where his body has landed. You catch a glimpse of his boot retracting behind a blue sedan slowly, and you wonder how badly you must’ve hurt him. 

You hope its fatal. 

You should leave. You know you should leave, especially since gunshots were fired, the pro’s are definitely on their way now, and you’re face is exposed. But Dynamight just can’t let you bow out gracefully. 

“That was a cheap fuckin’ shot, you know.” He calls out to you from behind the car, taunting you. You know you shouldn’t fall for it, but you’re not gonna let this asshat discredit the move you had been honing in on for him specifically. 

“Nah, you’re just predictable.” You answer him, hissing at the sting of your jaw and chin from where his explosion grazed you. You pat at your face, finding specks of blood on your fingertips, eyes widening at the sight. None of the other men you had faced had made you bleed, never had enough close contact to let them. And yet—and yet your fingertips are stained crimson and you’re taken back to them. 

A group of faceless men stand around you, laughing at the pained moans emitting from your throat…one slaps you across the face…your hair is being tugged in every which way…you’re worthless, they keep repeating…condemned to rot away like the worthless bitch you are…

Before you know it, your legs are carrying you behind the blue sedan, and in hindsight, its a terrible fucking thing to do, exposing your identity like this. But Dynamight has become those faceless men to torture you all over again, and you think…you think he needs to pay the price for making you bleed. 

“Apologize.” You whisper, standing above him, barrel pointed right in the middle of his forehead. He looks like shit, with dust in his ash blond hair, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, a hole in his shoulder, another in his abdomen. His eyes cross to look at the gun before focusing his gaze on you, eyebrows pulled taut in confusion. He’s never seen you before without your mask, but you can’t focus on that right now. Its not like he’ll live to tell everyone who you are and what you look like after this. 

“Whaddya say?” He grunts, hissing through his teeth when he puts more pressure on his shoulder. It doesn’t phase you, his pain, no. The only thing you can focus on is the familiar throbbing in your jaw that has ached one too many times at the hands of…of…

“You heard me.” You snap, voice shaking. You wipe away the onslaught of tears with a quick swipe on your shoulder, sniffing quickly, as if he wouldn’t be able to see the pain muddying your face. 

“I got bad hearing ‘cause of my quirk. Ya gotta speak up, sweetheart.” Dynamight mutters, eyes fluttering shut as the pain gets to him. But its not enough, makes your teeth grit at his nonchalance. He doesn’t even fuckin’ respect you as a vigilante, the only protector of women in this society. You scream through your teeth in frustration, pressing the muzzle of the gun against his forehead directly until the cool metal stings, cocking it quickly. 

“Don’t fuckin’ call me sweetheart, you sexist piece of shit.” You snap at him, opening your mouth to tell him to apologize again, before he cuts you off with a confused grunt. 

“Sexist?” Dynamight asks, looking around the gun at you. “I’m a lotta things, but sexist ain’t one of ‘em.” He scoffs, gritting his teeth when you press the gun harder until the back of his head rests on the car behind him. 

“Don’t try to pull that shit with me. I heard your gross fuckin’ comments about Creati.” You snap at him, hands shaking, finger ready to pull the trigger. But Dynamight stops you again, with a dramatic groan as he rolls his eyes into his head. 

“I dunno how many times I gotta fuckin’ explain that that was taken out of context.” He says it like you’re the bother, the nuisance that annoys him, like a fly that just won’t go away. “That video was edited, I would never say some pig shit like that. ’S fuckin’ gross and shitty, and that ain’t me.” 

Most of the times, whenever you’ve confronted men for the shitty things that they had done, they either bragged about it to your face before having their teeth kicked in. Or, they denied it, up until your gun was cocked and aimed on their forehead—then they confessed. 

So why isn’t Dynamight confessing? You stare at him for a long while, at his paling face, how he coughs and groans every few seconds. He stares back at you, like he’s trying to get a good look at you, remember every detail that is the Red Medusa. He breaks the mutual silence with his stupid big mouth. 

“What, ya got cold feet? Nervous about your first Pro Hero kill, huh?” He smiles at you, teeth bloody, grin sharp. It makes you sneer at him, closing one eye as you focus your aim, trying to figure out why the fuck you’re hesitating—you never hesitate. 

“Get it the fuck over with already!” Dynamight roars at you, pressing his head against the gun, using his good arm to hold the barrel of it, jabbing himself with it. You clench your teeth, trying to fight off his hold, when there’s a sudden cracking sound in the distance. 

Instantly, your head snaps over to the sound, find big blocks of ice heading your way, a green flash quick beside it. Your heart drops to your ass—you won’t be able to fight both of them at the same time, and you needed more bullets. You look over to Dynamight, whose eyes are still locked on yours, ripping your gun out of his hands. 

“This isn’t over, asshole.” You bite at him. You dart off without another second, ducking to avoid the ice thrown at you, jumping over the cold obstacle thrown at your feet. You disappear into the woods behind the parking lot, staying low to the ground, as you hear the sounds of shouting bellow out behind you. 

Nobody chases you, though, and the thought of that both calms you and unnerves you. Being chased brings back a torrid of memories, but it feels good being able to cleanly escape without having to shoot someone from over your shoulder. 

***

“What do you mean we shouldn’t go after her?” Deku asks frantically, pulling out gauze from his utility belt as he tries pressing it to Dynamight’s shoulder. But the explosion hero only snatches it away from him with a grunt, holding it to his stomach, grumbling. He lets Deku hold the gauze to his shoulder, but not without a petty snarl. 

“Kacchan!” Deku shouts at him when his eyes close for too long. 

“What?” Dynamight shouts back, lids fluttering open and inflamed, but they don’t carry the same heat they usually do. Deku thinks he might be hurt—bad. 

“Why did you tell Todoroki to not follow her? That was the vigilante who’s been attacking people lately.”

“Men.” Dynamight corrects, hissing through his teeth when the bleeding won’t stop. “She’s been attacking men.” 

“As if that makes it any better.” Shouto replies back sullenly, eyes darting into the woods you disappeared into, but holds himself in place. He doesn’t know why he’s following Bakugou’s barked directions, but something about the urgency in his friends tone makes him stay rooted in his spot. 

“It explains why she’s doing what she’s doing. Just let her go, for now—I’ll catch her later.” Dynamight dismisses, head lolling back against the car as Shouto dials in for the paramedics to put a rush on the ambulance. 

“When?” Deku barks at him, eyebrows furrowed in worry as he holds his friends injured shoulder. “When will that be, Kacchan? When she kills another man?”

“Another rapist.” Dynamight spits. He doesn’t know why he’s going to bats for you when you just put a goddamn hole in his shoulder and stomach. But, it was something about the look on your face, the horror, when you held your bleeding fingertips inches away from your jaw. The empty look in your eyes, like he wasn’t the one you were talking to, like he was only a ghastly figure of every person that’s ever hurt you. 

“No matter a persons crime, it doesn’t give her the right to kill them. It’s against the law.” Deku states matter of factly, his voice low, eyes zeroed in on the blood now seeping out onto his own fingers. Dynamight is quiet for a long while, jaw tight, before he spits out,

“Well maybe the law should change.”

“And then what?” Deku answers him with a snap, eyes set ablaze. “We have civilians killing each other in the streets, create their own judicial system right in the comfort of their own homes?” Deku asks exasperatedly, nose scrunching in irritation when Dynamight leans forward, despite the hissed groan emitting from his throat. 

“It’s better than letting those fuckers—”

“Guys!” Todoroki snaps, looking over his shoulder as the two heroes bicker. “We can hash this out later. The ambulance is here.” Sure enough, there’s red and white lights flashing in the near distance, the sound off to keep from tipping off the press and scaring the civilians in the area. 

At that, Dynamight finally relaxes, body slumping against the car. Deku calls out his name, but he’s too tired to answer the broccoli looking fucker. He just wants to take a long nap before he can find the energy to contact a sketch artist when he awakes. He wonders if the artist in the precinct near his agency would be able to capture the likeness of you on paper. He wonders.

Chapter two — found here

please do not repost anywhere or rec on tik tok!

tag list: @endlessfreaky

[herofics]

Could you do a scenario where Hawks’s S/O dies. How would he react. How would this effect his life or relationships with other people?

Oohohoo this is a very good ask, at least in my opinion. I’ve got this post about Hawks' s/o dying but it's very different. I love angst so this was nice to write, I basically just read the first sentence and forgot your additional questions but oh well

After you were found dead, Hawks didn’t seem to be affected. He still did his job after recovering at the hospital from the burns he’d gotten while fighting Dabi. Everyone around him knew that you had been killed in retaliation for the part he played in the hospital raid and the attack on the Paranormal Liberation Front. Burnt to death, the rumor was.

Endeavor, Jeanist, everyone around him kept asking him if he was alright. He assured them he was focusing on his job, and keeping it together. Endeavor was especially apologetic, but Hawks assured him he had no reason to feel like any of it was his fault.

And at first Hawks tried to convince himself he was fine, that it didn’t affect him beyond the incredible amount of self hatred he was feeling. He didn’t even notice the little reckless decisions he was making. He didn’t notice how reckless he was being when capturing villains. He didn’t notice the bruises, cuts and injuries that were starting to pile up. Or maybe he did, and he just didn’t care. He had no doubt in his mind that he deserved everything that was coming to him.

One night, about a week after your body had been discovered, he found himself heading to your place. He didn’t fight it, he just let his feet take him to your apartment. The key you’d given him felt cold and heavy in his hand as he opened the front door. He stepped in and flicked on the lights to your living room.

The room looked so normal, like you had just left for work and would return any time now. Your tablet was on the coffee table with a pen and some paper you’d doodled on. You’d drawn feathers, hearts and some other small things. Hawks had to suppress a sob that was about to escape his lips, he had to turn away. If you knew what loving him was going to get you, you wouldn’t surely have never associated with him.

He walked into the kitchen next. Your favorite tea cup was still in the sink, waiting to be washed. You always left it there on your busy mornings, and he’d washed it more times than he could count. So he did it again, he was sure you wouldn’t want it to remain dirty in the sink. He washed the cup, dried it and placed it in the cabinet where you always kept it. His fingers lingered on the cup for a moment, before he closed the cabinet door.

Next he headed to your bedroom, or at least he tried to. He grabbed the door handle, but he couldn’t bring himself to open the door, because he knew you wouldn’t be there.

He marched out of the apartment and slammed the door shut after himself. He walked to the nearest liquor store and bought the biggest bottle of vodka they had. After he got out of the store, he gulped down one fourth of the bottle. Hawks never was much of a drinker, and he was most definitely a lightweight, but he didn’t care, he just wanted to numb the pain with something, and the alcohol seemed like a good option.

“Goddammit” he muttered as he tottered his way back to your apartment.

The alcohol was going to his head, fast. He hadn’t eaten anything the whole day so that didn’t really help the situation either.

Hawks cursed again when he dropped the keys in front of your door. He picked them back up and fumbled with them for a good while, before he got the key into the lock. When he did, he hesitated for a moment. Did he really want to go back in there, into that empty apartment? He wasn’t sure but he did it anyway, he had to at least turn off the lights he’d forgotten on. You always lectured him when he left the lights on when leaving.

Hawks stepped back into the apartment, but he didn’t flick the lights off, he just stood there. He took another sip of the vodka and walked back to your bedroom door. This time he opened the door, slowly. He flicked on the lights there too and stepped inside. Your bed was unmade, and your pajamas were on the floor next to the bed. Your ever growing collection of empty cups was sitting on your table.

Everything was like it always had been, you just weren’t there. The cups were on your table, the table was full of all the little things you liked to collect. The clothes that weren’t dirty enough for the hamper were piled up on a chair next to your table. Everything was the same, but at the same time, nothing was. There was no warmth in any of it anymore, there was no life left.

Hawks sat down on your bed, placing the bottle of vodka on your nightstand. He grabbed your night shirt from the floor and pressed it against his face, taking in the faint scent that was left on it from you wearing it.

He could feel himself tearing up.

“Damn” he muttered.

The alcohol didn’t seem to be of any help in numbing the pain he was feeling. He just sobbed into your shirt as he fell apart. This was all that was left of you. Your possessions, the things you loved, the things you found to be fun and that brought you joy, and now it was all just a painful reminder of what he’d lost. He laid down on the bed, clutching your shirt to his chest and sobbing inconsolably. 

Even though Hawks couldn’t feel it now, you had left him something he would never lose. You had left him love, you had left him joy and memories, good and bad ones, but memories all the same. Even though he was in so much pain he couldn’t even think of any of that right now, he would eventually remember what it felt like to love and to be loved. That’s what you’d left him. Love, always love, and some day when he was ready, he would remember that.

[mysteriousmissfsart]

BNHA Rambles #1

I would like to thank Horikoshi-sensei for creating Boku no Hero Academia. I appreciate his hardwork and effort that he has put into his work. Thank you.

However, I am incredibly sad about episode 11 of season 7. Episode 10 as well.

I warn anyone reading this that there will be spoilers if you are not caught up with the anime or the manga (up to this point).

This post is just me rambling about a few things. (I mean a lot of things, actually)

Do tell me what you think as well!

Spoilers under the cut!

First of all, WHAT IS IT WITH THE RIGHT ARMS OF PEOPLE GETTING BROKEN OR SOMETHING????

Like, Endeavor lost his right arm??? Now Bakugo is most likely not going to be able to use that arm as well???? Are we drawing parallels between those two? Is their redemption in not being able to use one side of their body???? This is sad???????!!!!!!!! I was literally rooting for Katsuki to become a pro hero by the end of the series.

Speaking of KATSUKI BAKUGO-

Like, is my boy dead? (I already know the answer so please, no need to tell me. Also, I really had to know, okay?)

I basically grew up with this guy???? (I was 14 when the first season came out and now I'm 22)

Am I literally going to be watching bnha without Katsuki? He was literally the reason why I watched it in the first place! I could see where his character development was headed and I knew that it would be good! Yes, the other characters are amazing as well and I am going to watch the series anyway, I don't like leaving things unfinished unless its really bad. I am happy about Shinso getting some good screentime, though. Hope he doesn't get hurt in some way, seen or unforeseen.

(Fun fact: There are only two series I have dropped and will never finish watching; 1. Kuroko no Basket. 2. Shingeki no Kyojin. Reason: For Kuroko, the only characters that were interesting to me were Kuroko and the Blonde guy, I literally forgot his name, I also didn't like the cherry stem girl really. Overall, didn't find it appealing. For Shingeki: Only character I liked was Levi, still like him. It has too much gore, I didn't know that when I was told that it was a masterpiece. I couldn't stomach anything everytime I watched an episode. Bnha is MILD in comparison to whatever was going on in Titan land. Also, I always disliked Eren with a passion. If you know you know. My friend and my sister have already told me the whole thing. I was right about you Eren Yaeger!!!!)

But-

I never expected his heart to get pierced????? Why did we have to do that?????

I was peacefully eating dinner today when I was shocked by the sheer evilry that scene presented. I have not cried this much over a character death before. The first time I cried over one was over the death of Hiccup's dad from how to train your dragon (I was maybe 11 at the time). But, never like this. Never like somebody I know has died. It's strange that I felt so connected to him. I don't know, my emotions never make sense really. Like, my breath literally hitched and my eyes just teared up and flowed down my face???!!! Like, what???? Why did he have to be done like that? The scene with him talking to All Might's Shadow (ghost, spirit????) and that tone change. We have never heard Katsuki talk in that way before, he seemed like himself there and not the tough facade he always dons.

The scene at the end when we see his heart get pierced and then when Jeanist realizes what has happened was just heartwrenching. I couldn't stop crying. He doesn't deserve this, none of them do. I literally made myself pretend that didn't happen but when Jeanist pointed it out, all I could do was stare in disbelief at the screen. The saddest part of all of this? His mom realizing that it will rain and saying "that kid doesn't like the rain". Why? Because that's when Jeanist realizes that his heart has been pierced by Shigaraki/All for One. IT RAINS WHEN THEY REALIZE THAT KATSUKI'S HEART HAS BEEN PIERCED.

Sad, I'm just unbelievably sad.

I just wish this series ends on a happy note.

To Horikoshi-sensei,

If you are reading this, may your readers' tears soon dry and there be a happy ending to your series. I am truly a big fan of this series and how it has turned out. I never expected to stick around for so long but it has been interesting. This series has kept me on my toes and has fed into my love of mystery solving. I loved discovering things along with the characters as well as figure things out on my own. The angst and horrifiying theme has been carried out so well. I hope I will be around for the ending as well.

Thank you!

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

What did you all think of this episode and Katsuki's development? I am dreading the next episode. Were you shocked by this scene? I literally couldn't keep my eyes on the screen. It hurt too much.

See you again sometime!

[intersexalastor]

civilian dabitwice au where touya's ice and fire are both activated by distinct emotions. while touya's fire flares up in joy, rage, and profound sadness, ice is chiefly fear. and touya just never activates ice because fear is just not an obstacle for him, i.e. he's never felt it strongly enough that he's even accidentally used that part of his quirk.

all this to say that one day he does use it, already hitting the mid 20s milestone. endeavor's campaign for "i have changed for the better and now i am a Good Father(tm) and i believe i am entitled to that spot in your life i previously forfeited and you should be giving me a second (or 12309348th chance if you're touya lmfao) chance" is not going over very well, at least in the touya demographic. and something has set the two of them off. touya is doing something he's never done before and sending his Very Good Friend jin bubaigawara his home address and asking him to pick him up (which is a bitch because now he's gong to have to explain that yeah, he's related to endeavor and yeah he never planned on saying anything bc fuck that noise) because he thinks that this is really it and he can't fucking take it anymore and if he doesn't leave now he's going to blow his top and really go up in flames for a second time in his life.

and idk. the fight drags on and touya is angry enough to fuck off outside in the dead of winter with no protection from the cold. and endeavor follows, exasperated, holding in his fist a jacket that he demands touya put on (under the guise that he's being a "good dad" by doing so)

they carry on and on as they get further from the home. and enji is truly dumbfounded because his worldview is abysmally narrow. he just can't wrap his mind around touya in general. years of neglect his own ego can't build the bridge between the kid who worshiped the ground he walked on and the young man who has enough metal in his face to cast a small knife and a permanent scowl scrawled across his features. surely touya of all people would forgive him and they could be the Father and Eldest Son duo fantasy he's let himself imagine since becoming No. 1

anyway. mistakes are made. in the middle of a heated exchange, jin pops into view. and to make a long story short, jin's city slicker ass does not recognize in time that he's on a frozen body of water and only manages to say "uh. that doesn't sound good" at the audible crack under his feet before he falls through the ice and into the river that will sweep him under the rest of the ice and drown him.

it happens so quickly that touya literally never realizes it happened at all. it's only enji that sees it and recognizes it for what it is. touya shoots out onto the ice like lightning before enji has a chance to stop him. there's another loud crack and enji is sure he's about to see touya drop like a stone through the ice, but it isn't so. the ice is far sturdier now than it was just a few seconds ago, and shards of it poke out of the ground like needles.

it's pure luck that touya's ice only stops jin from being carried down river and doesn't outright kill him. in a rare use of quirk, touya uses his flames where he can see jin struggling and shocks the ice enough for him to break through, slicing his hand up and somehow helping drag jin out of the ice, though much of that goes to the credit of enji who's snapped out of his stupor. and the ice that is creeping along and snagging at touya's legs go unnoticed by touya, but not by enji. the ice does not fail all three of them in such close proximity, and enji does not venture a guess as to just how thick it's become.

it's mostly enji who gets jin back to the home. touya just isn't that strong and he's bleeding anyway. and now it looks like jin will be spending the night as they stave off hypothermia. and some sweet stuff happens between jin and touya but i'll talk about that later because i'm sleepy.

[epitome-of-an-openbook]

An alternative to my post earlier this year about Steve and Jonathan revealing they used to crush on each other after coming out with their respective relationship of Steddie and Jargyle is this -

After everyone gets back into town and after Nancy and Jonathan breakup, Jonathan decides to give Steve a chance at becoming friends but it very quickly becomes apparent that they have unresolved romantic/sexual tension so they enter into a secret relationship - not because they think people won't support them, but rather because they're worried that the two of them might not make it, due to their complicated history, and then after awhile it stays secret because they like the privacy.

Anyway Will clocks immediately that Jonathan has been happier lately. And all that Will can get is that Jonathan has been seeing someone. And Robin also notices something is up with Steve and eventually confronts him when she notices he has a hickey but has quite clearly not been talking to her about any recent romantic or sexual endeavors so "What's up with that Steve?" so all Robin ends up getting out of Steve is that Steve is seeing a man and "it's new Robin so could you please be patient and let me come to you about it because I really want this to work out."

So Will goes to El and Mike and is like "Jonathan has no friends and him and Nancy broke up who could he possibly be dating?" and El is like "Argyle?" and Mike is like "No, yeah that totally makes sense it's definitely Argyle."

And on Robin's side of things she's definitely convinced its Eddie, because the two have them got really close post Vecna, and Eddie (being Eddie) is almost constantly inside of Steve's personal bubble.

Dustin and Max also notice something is going on with Steve and kind of bully Robin into admitting that he told her he was in a relationship and Max and Dustin also both go "ahhh it's Eddie isn't it"

So all this happens and so the Party + Robin all think that Jonathan is dating Argyle and Steve is dating Eddie.

And eventually it comes out when there's some sort of gathering at the Byers and Steve is nowhere to be found and so the kids start pestering Eddie about where he is and Eddie is like "Uhhh why would I know?"

Which leads to a whole conversation about how "Uh no? I am not dating King Steve Harrington."

Then Jonathan walks in from his bedroom to the dining room, a little mussed up and sleepy looking and Joyce says, "How was your nap sweetie?"

"it was good"

and then she hands him a mug of coffee, drops a kiss on his head and says "could you bring this to Steve, he looked dead on his feet when he came in today"

to which the kids start loudly complaining about how Steve isn't here, only for Steve to then stumble out of Jonathan's room also mussed up and sleepy looking wearing clothes that clearly aren't his asking them all to "please just shut up already, I was trying to nap"

Which shocks everyone into silence.

(Except Erica who loudly proclaims "Did you nerds really not know those two were dating? Because Steves been playing nothing but that stupid British experimental rock in his car for weeks.")

And then everyone has to go through the motions of explaining that they all thought Steddie and Jargyle was what was happening

(Argyle: woah i totally appreciate that you guys think that Jonathan and I could work together but I am totally in love with Eden and no offence to my boy here but even he is not worth losing that totally perfect babe over)

(Eddie: oh my god🤣 oh my god🤣 oh my god🤣 Robin YOU thought I was dating Steve? That would totally ruin my image as a scary devil worshiping metal rocker)

(Robin: Shut up shut up shut up, I think I've seen the two of them in the same room maybe three times in the entire time I've known them! How would I have possibly put that together! And you! You live inside Steve's personal bubble and you're ALWAYS flirting with him! What was I supposed to think!)

[danihawks]

Chapter 3/ DabiHawks Au

Just as Hawks was about to enter the apartment complex's front gates he got a call from Endeavor. "Hey Endeavor" hawks said a smile on his face, "what's up big guy?" "Don't call me that," the low growly voice said from the other line, "I need you to pop by my agency, there's someone here looking for you, says it's important"

Keigo's mind immediately jumped to Touya, he shook his head telling himself not to get his hopes up like he had so many times before, "right and who's this?" Hawks asked Endeavor. "Not sure, he hasn't given me a name or a description, he seems suspicious, wearing a black hoodie and a covid mask covering his face, and baggy jeans," Endeavor said, giving Hawks the best description he could before hanging up the phone. Hawks took a deep breath before putting his phone away. "stop thinking about Touya, Stop thinking about Touya," he repeated aloud to himself. "Don't let yourself gets your hopes up again just to be disappointed" hawks took of towards endeavor agency probably to deal with another fan looking for him or maybe his mom had come to visit, that would probably never happen either but it wouldn't be a horrible surprise. Hawks continued talking to himself as he flew. "What was so good about Touya anyway, why did you love him so much? You dated him for 6 years, you almost got engaged, but then he left you with nothing except a lousy note," he said. "Yeah, you don't need him," he said out loud. For all you know he could be dead… hawks stopped short just in front of the agency door, shaking the thought from his head. "He's not dead! And even if he was dead why should you care!?" he thought out loud to himself before clearing his thoughts with a deep breath and entering the agency, putting back on his normal happy smile. "Hey Endeavor, and other… guy" he said not getting a good look at the figure in front of the counter Endeavor sat at. The hooded figure turned around to see that it was in fact Hawks standing in the doorway. There was a small silence before Hawks spoke up. "Endeavor said that there was someone in here looking for me, I'm guessing that's you since, your the only one in here other than me and Endeavor" Hawks said to the man he now faced clutching a sharp feather as a sense of uncertainty washed over him, he didn't know who the figure was but his presence made him extremely uncomfortable and he couldn't tell why. The figure spoke facing Hawks, a familiar and slightly raspy but also comforting voice asked, "how are you Birdie." Hawks felt his heart drop as he saw the figure pull down his mask revealing burn scars lining the bottom half of his cheeks and bright blue eyes. Of course Endeavor couldn't see from the counter behind them. "Hawks, you know this man?" Endeavor asked in his usual demanding demeanor from behind the front desk of the agency. Hawks tried to give an answer but choked before he could get a sentence out, his heart felt like it had dropped into his stomach as tears filled his eyes, he let go of the feather standing there biting his lip in an attempt to hold back the tears not knowing what to do.

Touya was back.

[hecula-propaganda]

Inspired by this very nice piece from @the-crow-binary <3 the idea was to fill up my own prompt of Hecula + Hair, but then it evolved into some sort of writing exercise. I really want to cut down as much telling as I can and add more sensory descriptions.

Anyway. Enjoy the mental image of naked Hector in an unsexy situation :P no specific warnings, but there are still mentions of trauma.

~

The night breeze seeped through Hector’s uniform. Anyone would try to cover themselves even further, but as Hector was directed straight for the river surrounding the castle anyway, he paid the chill no mind. He was used to it by now.

The dead grass crunched under his boots. The sky was not cloudy, which allowed Hector to orient himself even with the faint light of the moon. The silence of the night was occasionally broken by the hoots of owls and the flapping of bat wings, but most animals with the barest instinct of survival gave the castle a wide berth. No, only monsters roamed free around there. Hector didn’t quite know which category he belonged to.

The pond he was looking for was not too far into the forest. It used to be Hector and Isaac’s special hiding place when they were children, where they could play and splash themselves to their heart’s content without the burden of their ever-growing duties. Now, Hector was always careful to avoid Isaac whenever he went to wash himself, and he was sure that his old friend did the same. It was all for the better: Hector sorely needed some time alone.

He called for his Corpsey to stand on guard while he dropped his heavy bag and removed his uniform. He was technically outside of the walls of the castle, those cursed walls that he could swear had eyes and ears on him, but Hector missed the weight of his sword at his hip already. It was an uncomfortable lightness: the only times when he had to drop the scabbard was when…

No, feeling safe was a mere trap, and Hector had already fallen into it years ago, and he still carried the scars with him.

He got spoiled by his Lord, by being allowed (not the word Hector would have used, but who was he to correct Lord Dracula?) to use his own, lavished bathtub, and soak in the hot water until the herbs and healing potions soothed every ache in his body. He would have never imagined, when he first called the castle his home, that he would be treated like a prince, experienced luxuries beyond his wildest dreams.

Then again, there were too many things he would have never imagined that he would experience in Dracula’s castle, when he was a child.

With a plunge, Hector welcomed the freezing water screaming on his skin.

He gasped the cool air, to allow his muscles to unclench, but never to relax. He had to stay tense and sharp, to keep an eye out on his surroundings, and to keep his thoughts out of his head.

Floating in warm water allowed his treacherous mind to wander to places and memories he would rather lock down in a box and bury in the ground; and then he’d return to his own bed with a gnawing nausea in his gut that stole precious sleep from him, and he’d get up to work still feelings hands roaming on him. Not this time. Hector focused wholly on the task at hand, which was to clean himself up enough that the beasts in the castles wouldn’t sniff at his passage and smirk at him with those odious sneers. The damage had been already done, but he was growing tired of cutting off snouts.

Searching in his bag, he pulled out everything he needed: soap, herbal concoctions and a comb.

Hector rubbed his skin, and rubbed, and rubbed, until it was of a satisfying red as if he were bathing in scalding water instead. He wished he could always look of that color, to camouflage the bruises and love bites decorating his body like a twisted painting, but they would always blossom back, new to be added to the old, and he was not one to waste time on frivolous endeavors.

Once he deemed his skin numb enough, he poured some of the lotion in his hair.

If it were up to him, Hector would cut all of it, that useless burden that marked him as something different. A cursed creature bound to walk the night, among humans. A precious prize to be praised and snatched, in the demon realm.

But he wasn’t allowed to. His Lord found him handsome as he already was.

Lord Dracula couldn’t keep his big, clawed hands off of Hector’s hair. He would gently move the longer strands in order to expose Hector’s throat, the thick veins pumping blood to give to the vampire. He would comb the waves with his fingers, slowly and meticulously, groom him as one would a pet, and Hector could do nothing but sit perfectly still, lest his scalp got slashed. He would pull it back, tied around his hand, when he needed full access to Hector’s mouth, and it stung enough that tears always welled up in Hector’s eyes and humiliation would pile on top of humiliation. His lips would land on the crown of his hair, when Hector no longer had control over his own body and he was forced to rest on his Lord’s chest, and it was mockery of love, and it was the only love that Hector deserved.

The hair was oily with Lord Dracula’s obsession. Filthy, that’s what he was, covered in grime and bruises and touches and promises of devotion that Hector could no longer remember. He scrubbed and pulled and scratched and he was sure he was bleeding or perhaps it was his imagination but he couldn’t care anymore he bled enough for two people please my Lord you’re holding me too tight let me—

Breathe.

Breathe.

Hector let the fresh air fill his lungs, and his eyes focus on the large red moon shining over his head. He could breathe, he was alone, and he was there to clean himself up. He dumped the hair that he ripped off his head into the water, and rinsed his burning face from any sign of shame.

Trying to untangle his hair with the comb, he dully wondered what other people thought of Hector’s care for his own appearance, if their impression was of a vain man. Hector had no interest in looking attractive for anyone; he did, however, find simple enjoyment in brushing his own hair (by himself, there is no need to help me my Lord it is improper), making sure not one curl was out of place (we wouldn’t want a scandal in the court, do we, precious?). Looking perfectly put together, no matter what he had just finished doing. Doing something to himself. Taking care of himself. Not a doll, not something to be played with, but a person with his own desires and his own agency, Hector.

Suddenly, the air filled with squelching sounds: the Corpsey had lunged to attack something. Hector guessed that it was a merman, judging by the slick scales since there was little else left of it. He decided, between violent shivers, that it was time to take refuge under his sheets.

After putting his uniform back on, he checked his reflection into the water. The dangling hair covered most of his face. Hector moved it out of the way in one swift motion: he looked at his own pale, sunken face straight into its eyes. They were not dim, like they had been ever since Lord Dracula lost his mind. That was good enough.

Hand gripping the hilt of his sword tight enough that he could break it, but reinvigorated by a new energy, Hector returned to the castle, bracing himself for a new day at Lord Dracula’s side.

[mx-pastelwriting]

Cat & Mouse (Chapter 4)

Gang Orca (Kugo Sakamata) x GN Villain!Reader

Summary: Kugo figuring out his reaction to you meeting while you deal with being at death's door.

Warnings: Villain Reader, Teleportation quirk, Both POV(Second & Third), Sick Reader, Third-degree burns

Words: 701

Chapter List

⭑ Your side (Second Person)

Collapsing onto your couch as the adrenaline leaves your body brings all of the pain back. Looking at your arm and seeing your bandages soaked in blood. Unwrapping it slowly, feeling the pain become unbearable as the cold night air hits it, hissing at the pain seeing the burns infected, you whine, knowing what you have to do.

Wrapping it back up, then slowly standing to your feet, limping down the stairs and out the door. Feeling the cold night once again, making your way down alleyways.

Knocking three times, you wait until the door opens to a man whose face drops upon seeing you. "I don't do that kind of business anymore," he says, but you persist. "Come on, Masaki, I'm dying here," your weak voice says, holding your arm up. His face quickly turns alarmed as he opens the door to his office.

Limping in, then sitting on a chair next to his desk, watching as he goes through his draws looking for things, he pulls out a first aid kit and various medications. Going to work, he cuts the bandage, seeing what he has to work with. "Third-degree burns, I guess, Endeavor?" He says this while cleaning up around the wound.

"I got away." You said stiffly in your chair, "Not without doing a number on you, this is going to need a lot of work." As he cut away the dead skin, he poured fluid over it, making you yell in pain.

Bandaging up your arm then giving you a pill with water—you take it no question. "You're going to need to take these every day and stay off of it for a week. It would do you some good anyway." Nodding at his words, you took the bottle.

"You know I'm going to have to call this in," he says with sympathy. "Yeah, do what you have to; just give me a head start," you say, getting up slowly and walking out the door.

-

⭑ Gang Orca side (Third Person)

Hearing the call come in, Kugo raced to the hospital, not bothering to hear the person who had called in. Going to the back of the hospital, scanning the alleys, knowing where you dwell when shit hits the fan.

Hearing nothing but trash blowing through the alley, he walks around, watching for any movement, snapping his head to the right. Having heard a trash can move, Kugo walks to the sound. Reaching the trashcan, seeing you clutching your arm, watching as you try to attack him, pushing against his chest but hurting yourself.

Kugo pushes you against the wall. "Came back for more, I see," you tease, making him huff a rough breath. Laughing at his reaction, "I get to you that easily; I can't imagine what else I do to you." Your words struck a nerve in him, making him step back, looking at you as his mind melted.

"What not taking me in?" You ask, raising a brow, "Or do you just like the chase that much?" as you move away from the wall and close into his face. Kugo took deep breaths, making you smile. "Enough with the games I'm taking you in," Kugo says angrily. "Then take me in; you caught me," you said, raising your two hands, ready for him to cuff you.

Kugo reaches out, but you teleport before his eyes, ending up behind him. "You're gonna have to be faster than that Orca," you say before leaving him for good. Kugo looks around for you all hot and bothered, again losing his chance to his loneliness.

His head dizzied at the words you spoke, his mind swirled with anger. "All that I have built,and this is my downfall, He whispers to himself, Looking at where you once stood, he takes a breath, but nothing feels different; every thought was about you.

Punching the brick wall, feeling every form of regret in letting you go, "It'll pass," he tells himself, but it did little to remedy his faults. Leaving the scene, racing back to his agency, quickly looking up all the hot spots of villains in the area, not waiting to wait until you come to him.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is and grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their work being copied, translated, or reposted on any other platform without permission.

[ugh154628]

"We weren't posting about you for a long time and Cece didn't do anything to you recently!!"✨️lies✨️

Did Cece ever tell that she was the one spilling YOUR business regarding this drama between you and that band community? You know, posted the screenshots of your messages to her blaming me for your drama with them on her "evidence" midokioaki blog? Without blurring out your face, name, social media names, the usernames of the people "harassing" you in the screenshot you sent her etc.? I wonder, because she deleted it for some reason. I also wonder if that's how all those people found your Facebook AND found out about you harassing me on your public posts or because Cece comments on all of them and drops the midokioaki blog link everywhere including your public posts about me. Although you had posted your Facebook name on the your Tumblr blogs relevant to you harassing others yourself prior. Who knows. That's a you problem at the end of the day.

Either way, you can partly thank her for me finding out that you are harassing other people on here similarly, dragging me into thar for no reason, and me making this blog in response. It was Cece's post that made aware of all of this, and this is what you get for blaming me for something I was never involved in, spilling business of me and my family to a bunch of randoms yourself before I even made this blog, and overall, starting this shit between us on your own.

At least I had the decency to blur out names of, not use names when necessary, and cover the very private information regarding my family in the things I posted. Ain't no one going to understand who my posts were about besides you on this obsolete blogging application anyways. So if anyone finds out who they are or other personal information, that's probably your fault. You already did a great job of spilling my friend's first name, even his substance abuse issues with his full name attached. Shall I pull up those screenshots? Should I show those to grandma? Trick question, I already did. If your aim is to explicitly barred from that house, you're doing an excellent job. You already associate with one of the people legally barred from it. You already disrespected the homeowner, her best friend (my MOTHER), her God daughter, and many others in our family. And you just get worse about it. You're on the perfect track to being rejected by all of us for the rest of your miserable life if you haven't reached the end of it already. I think you may have.

Like I said before, anything I posted was no secret. I obviously invited the idea of you showing him my posts and stated that I could care less what he thinks for a lot of reasons outlined previously. I want him to know how I feel after all the years of watching him use and abuse everyone around him. I want him to know I don't want him around me and remind him that his kids want him to leave them alone. Likewise, no one else cares either. The dude is a renowned fuck up around here in general, any possibility of hs associating again has done been dead, and the entirety of his family is over it, too. Besides the one girl who is smoking meth with him and your dad, the one you weirdly think holds weight in your campaign against me regarding the 4th of July party in 2023. I also already knew you were going to show them everything, as if it's going to do anything for you. You're predictable, and I'm not stupid enough to post anything that I think would really upset the people I love. Going further, I made them aware before you could. One of them follows this blog, too.

But hey, best of luck wasting your time spiraling through your endeavors for no reason. Sounds pathetic.