#but good god does that bit stick out like a sore thumb | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

psychedelic-ink · 2 years ago

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𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒐𝒐𝒏 𝑺𝒖𝒏

pairing: jack daniels x fem!reader

genre: smut, romance, minors dni

word count: 1.4k

summary: you and jack have a lazy afternoon.

warnings: established relationship, mentioned piv, mentioned creampie, brief fingering, explicit oral sex (receiving), soft dirty talk, excessive use of pet names (sugar, sweetheart, darling, babygirl), soft!jack, no y/n

a/n: this was not planned at all and came to me completely random. My legs were aching and I was laying down thinking "wouldn't be nice if jack was here to give me a massage?" so here we are

Sun trickles down from the windows, soft curtains dancing with the warm wind as beams of light tickle your skin. Your lay on your stomach, naked, bare for the man next to you. Jack’s thumbs dig into the back of your thigh, following an imaginary spine, he gradually moves them up. Then back down. You groan into the pillows and instinctively raise your hips. He lets out a humorful chuckle.

“Does that feel good sunshine?”

“Hmmm, it does…” you sigh, a lazy smile on your lips. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do after wearing you out.”

You stretch your legs, toes curling into the warm sheets. You let out a soft whine at how the fibers of your muscle ache and relax. Jack’s hand moves to your other thigh, squeezing before repeating the movement. The sides of his fingers reach the swell of your ass, this time he cups the mounds, parting them slightly. A whimper echoes in the back of your throat. You’re still sore and wet between your legs. Despite that, you lift your hips, allowing him to get a better look. Jack dips his thumb between your folds, stroking down, he circles your sensitive clit.

“Jaack,” you object, albeit halfheartedly. “As much as I would enjoy having you inside me…I don’t think my body can handle it.”

He clicks his tongue with a teasing grin, “Poor thing.”

The pads of his fingers continue to softly circle your clit, you moan into the pillows. It smells like him. Your legs start to shake, exhaustion doing little to douse out the fire gradually growing once more. You can feel your nipples hardening. His finger abandons the sensitive bundle of nerves, moving back up. With two fingers he parts your folds that stick wetly together, he pushes in his middle finger. You wince, slick coating the digit, you clench around him.

“So god damn wet,” he whispers out, sounding as if smoke was clinging to his voice. “Jesus, sweetheart. I can still feel traces of me inside. You enjoy feelin’ me inside don’t you, baby? That’s why you’re holdin’ on?”

“God, I do,” you let out a groan, walls fluttering.

“Does it hurt?”

“Just a little.”

He pulls out his finger. With a feather touch, he moves down the back of your thigh, leaving wet prints on your skin. Your skin tingles, goosebumps rising across your skin. You feel his hands on both sides of your waist.

“Can you lift your hips for me, darlin’?”

You do as you’re told. Honestly, at this point, you’d do anything he asks for, your mind a blissful haze of lust. He kneads your ass and shifts behind you, his cock lays heavy between the crease.

“Atta girl,” he says, drumming his thumbs against your skin. Your eyes roll back, more wetness gathering between your legs. You know it’s going to be a bit of a challenge to take him again, especially after ruining your insides so thoroughly only an hour ago, however, you’re willing to give it a shot.

Jack touches his cock softly before leaning between your legs. You wait for the sting of the stretch. Without even noticing, your body tenses, every nerve buzzing with need and anxiety.

You jump as you feel something warm and wet licking into you. Jack holds you still, nails biting into your skin. He licks again. And you feel the reverberations of his groan that resonate from somewhere deep.

“Oh sugar,” he coos wetly, rolling his tongue. “We taste so good together.”

“Jack—Oh, fuck—I d-didn’t,” you break off with a sharp gasp. You’re shaking.

“What?” he chuckles, warm breath fanning your dripping pussy. A chill runs up your spine. “You thought I’d fuck you? When you’re sore? My goodness gracious, babygirl, you must really think so little of me.”

“I think the world of you.”

You’d said it with a certainty that surprised you. It’s the truth. Yet your heart still beats like it’s about to jump out from your chest. Jack is a good man. He has his faults, sure. But who doesn't? He takes care of you, supports you. You know that he’ll always be here, no matter how crazy you might act sometimes. You appreciate it and he should know. Pressing your lips together, you breathe heavily through your nose. His silence is loud. You don’t feel his tongue anymore, only his hands holding onto you in fear that you might disappear along with the sunset.

“Well,” he chokes out, his voice low. “I think the world of you too, sweetheart.”

You want to take advantage of the tender moment of vulnerability and say more but Jack has other plans. His mouth is wet and warm against you. Burying his face, he laps at you, groaning and moaning as he squeezes your ass. You moan openly into the pillows. Saliva drips down Jack’s chin, you can sense that he’s grinning. The smug bastard. He pushes your tighs open, pushing his tongue deeper. He’s gentle when he starts playing with your clit. Soft waves of pleasure washing over you with every tender caress of his fingers.

You don’t think much as you start grinding your hips, seeking his tender mouth. His tongue moves up and down, he parts and puts his mouth onto your sopping cunt over and over, repeating the movement with the added broad strokes of his tongue. You’re visibly shaking now. Your stomach flips and your hips jerk towards him, your fingers burrowing themselves into the messy sheets.

“S-Sorry about that,” you moan, forcibly stilling your hips.

“What’re you apologizin’ for?” he slurs, inhaling you. You clench around the soft muscle, your walls left fluttering. He guides the sloppy roll of his hips. “Use me, darlin’. Make yourself feel good.”

Fuck.

Pleasure prickles at your skin. Jack takes you apart and puts you back again. He has no trouble doing so. It comes naturally to him. And you find yourself shattering like glass as a way of nature. He replaces his fingers with his mouth and flattens his tongue. After giving it a leisurely lick, he sucks the nub between his lips and moves his tongue rapidly.

The room is filled with the sounds of ragged breaths and the soft squelch that makes you whimper. You gasp for air, your chest heaving as Jack's fingers trail lightly up and down your back. The warm summer evening air is thick with the heady scent of sex. You can feel the sweat trickling down your temples and between your breasts.

Your skin heats up, your pulse skyrockets. He’s drinking you like a man starved, groaning and moaning into your tingling skin. You’re breath hitches. Your composure long gone, you cry out his name, again and again. Moaning that you’re about to come, that he feels so good. From the way he starts pulling you towards his mouth, shoving his tongue deeper, he must’ve enjoyed your sultry confessions because he starts pulling you back with an iron grip.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he rasps. “Come for me darlin’.”

Your whole body stiffens, the only part not frozen being your throbbing cunt. An elongated moan echoes from your throat. You soak him, gushing into his mouth as he continues to lick and suck. His hands slip down to your tights again, squeezing and massaging the trembling flesh. The added pleasure of it makes your eyes roll back, and your orgasm hits you again. It rolls up and down your spine, forcing the breath out of your lungs. Only garbles nonsense and confessions slip from your spit-slick lips.

You think he’s praising you. His tone is soft and soothing, and the thought of what he might be saying makes you melt. You smile, arching your back like a cat. Slick trickles down the inside of your thighs, coaxing a soft whimper. Jack kisses your sex, a tender touch of his lips, before pulling back and gently smacking your ass.

Pushing yourself with a heave, you fall on your back. Jack settles between your legs, sitting back down on his knees His thumb leisurely circles the outside of your knee, you let out a giggle and jerk your leg away.

“Looks like you had a grand old time,” he teases, mustache curling over his lips.

Your eyes drop to his cock, heavy and hard between his legs. You point down where your gaze still lingers. “I’m not the only one it seems.”

Jack looks down and narrows his eyes, “Traitor,” he hisses to his cock. “We’re supposed to be on the same team.”

“Can’t blame him, he knows I’m about to rock his world.”

Jack raises an eyebrow, eyes glinting with mischief. “How so?”

You’re smiling from ear to ear as you kneel in front of him, your wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. Moving up your hand, you kiss the tip. Jack groans.

You look up at him between heavy lashes.

“I think this answers your question, cowboy.”

#jack daniels x fem!reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey x f!reader #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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forwhump · 1 month ago

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a/n; IM SORRYYYYYY I feel like I haven’t posted anything in forever here’s something horrible to make up for it <3 (wren’s tortured again in this one)(but outside pov this time ! fun fun 🤩)(not actually fun tho v upsetting) (basically point murders a family but uses them to fuck w wren a little bit first)

word count: 4.5k

tw/cw: gun violence, sexual violence, rape/noncon, mass murder, misgendering (constant but unintentional)(also intentional), transphobia, psychological torture, imprisonment, implied sexual slavery

creepy whumper, outside pov

Running so hard he doesn’t have time to stop himself, Jonny collides with his mother’s kitchen door with enough force that his teeth rattle in his jaw. Benny, running behind him, collides with his back, and the added weight of him forces open the old door and they go sprawling across the kitchen floor together.

For a second, everything is almost normal. Mama’s standing over her cutting board. Billie’s burning something at the stove. Jenny’s sitting at the kitchen table, pretending to get work done but really playing solitaire on her laptop. They’d all moved home again to help Mama out with the farm and the house after their dad had died randomly and unexpectedly. It was nice, for a time, having them all together again. Jonny isn’t usually a sap, but it was nice. Until this.

Until the weirdo moved into Meadow. Meadow’s a farm, so to speak, and it’s on farmland, but it’s fenced off from the rest of the world with rows of tall trees. The place had been empty for a long time; it was weird anybody had moved in at all. It was weirder that the guy kept so much to himself. It made the choice of farm make sense, but it made him stick out like a sore thumb. People just aren’t like that in this corner of the world. With farms miles wide, neighbours aren’t close, so efforts have to be made to get to know them. You visit. You greet. You help out when you can. Town socials. It’s just what everybody does — except this guy.

Makes more sense now, though. The privacy. The secrecy.

“Slow down,” Mama chastises, as the both of them scramble up from the floor. “You’re too old now to be playing like that.”

Jenny scoffs. “Dorks.”

“Call the police,” Benny wheezes.

Mama looks up again. “What?”

“Call the police,” Jonny pants, and as soon as he’s on his feet, he slams the kitchen door shut, bolting it as quickly as he can with shaking hands.

“Jesus,” Billie says.

“What?” Mama repeats, putting her knife down to brush off her hands.

“You pick that thing up again right now,” Jonny commands. “Keep that in your hand. Call the police with the other. Jenny,” he orders. “You’re already on your phone. Call them, too. Get everybody out here.”

“Why?” Mama asks, but she does grab the knife. “What did you do?”

Benny shakes his head quickly. He’d managed to pull himself into a chair at the table, still catching his breath. Bit of a stoner these days, Benny. Better hope they don’t need to do a lot more running. Better hope the police get here before that guy does.

“Call, Mama!” Jonny snaps.

“What’s going on?” Billie asks. She’s a stoner, too. Useless lot of them. Not that running or sharp reflexes is gonna do a lot of good against that much military grade ammunition.

“Did you call, Jenny?” Jonny snaps.

“You know we have no service out here,” Jenny says with a snort, not looking up from the screen, too calm. “Mama has to call.”

“Are you calling?”

Mama isn’t. She’s hesitating. “I won’t if it’ll get you boys in a lot of trouble.”

“Oh my God,” Benny finally roars, “he’s got a girl, Mama!”

All three of the girls look up at the same time. Not appropriately shocked, but they’re getting there.

“What?” Jenny says.

“And so many guns,” Jonny says.

“And weird shit,” Benny adds. “Weird weapons. Weird torture shit.”

“And a girl,” Jonny repeats. “We thought she was dead, Mama, that’s why we went in —”

“You went in?” Billie asks, horrified.

At the same time, light explodes through the big window above the sink. Obnoxious headlights are swung towards their kitchen, the way they had run.

“He’s here,” Benny says.

“I’ll call!” Jonny shouts, and launches himself at the phone.

It’s dead. Almost comically, the phone is dead.

“Okay,” he says, and slams it back on the receiver. “Which one of you useless fucks was supposed to make sure the phone bill was paid?”

“Phone was Billie,” Jenny says.

“No, it wasn’t,” Billie says. “It was you, Jonny.”

Something slams against the kitchen door with a force that splinters the wood towards the centre.

Jenny screams.

Jonny says, “fuck!”

The door is kicked in. Jonny hadn’t actually seen their neighbour, not himself, not yet, just a fraction of the inside of his house and the bleeding, naked corpse he was keeping chained up inside. He sees him now as he fills the kitchen doorway. He’s a big fucking guy.

Fuck.

He’s got a big fucking gun in one hand. He’s keeping the girl slung over his shoulder with the other. Her hair is really long, and it’s kind of pink. Probably with blood, Jonny realizes, and it makes it hard to look at her.

Their neighbour looks at each of them, and there’s something not right in his eyes — he doesn’t have human eyes. He has the eyes of an animal.

Jonny doesn’t mean to, but he takes a step back.

He smirks, and Jonny almost takes another one. “What’s wrong?” He asks. His accent is deep, slow and Texan. It sounds fake. “Y’all were just so keen to meet me. And here,” he says, and lifts the girl off his shoulder to drop her, limp, onto the linoleum. He’d clothed her, but he’d dressed her in some stupid little doll dress. She’s so thin, in fact, her skin, where it isn’t bruised, so waxy, she almost looks like she could be a doll. Emaciated, probably, is the word for it. She’s probably dying, actually, and if she’s not, she’s probably getting there; she looks a lot like the way dying people are supposed to look. “Since you were so keen to get a good look at my wife.”

“Your wife?” Billie repeats.

Not a lot of her skin is waxy, in fact, because most of her is mottled in bruises or pink, shiny burns. Her hair is pink with bleeding. Her head moves a little, but she’s still face down, and she doesn’t move at all after that. For the second time that night, Jonny’s certain he’s looking at a corpse.

“Purty,” he says. “Ain’t she?”

“Oh my God,” Mama breathes.

“Oh my God,” he mocks, “how rude of me. I haven’t met you yet,” he says, and points, with his gun, at Mama. “I’m Darren. I’m your neighbour on Meadow. In the house your boys broke into.”

He keeps pointing it at her. She’s still holding a knife, but it’s a big fucking gun. Who brings a knife to a gunfight? What are they supposed to do? “I’m sorry,” Mama says.

“You will be,” Darren answers.

Without warning and with a speed Jonny would swear was unnatural, he turns the gun on Jenny. He pulls the trigger, and the gun sprays ammunition. He blows a good chunk out of her face.

For a second, after the skin of her cheek and the grey of her brain have sprayed the wall behind her, her body stays upright. Then it slumps forward onto the table with a horribly wet sound and Benny just manages to push back from it before he leans over and throws up, splattered with blood and chunks of teeth. Jonny can’t tell his shouting from Mama’s, from Billie’s, from Benny’s once he starts.

“You should’ve stayed away from my house,” Darren says, and his voice isn’t Texan at all.

“I’m sorry,” Benny breathes.

Mama’s wailing, unintelligible, and Billie slides an arm around her.

Jonny doesn’t mean to but his legs give out and he sinks to his knees. His ears are ringing. He doesn’t want to look at Jenny, what’s left of her, but this close to the ground puts him too close to the neighbour’s wife and Jonny doesn’t want to look at her, either. He can’t help it.

“Not yet,” Darren says. He pulls the trigger again, blows Mama’s kneecap right out of her leg and she goes sprawling across the kitchen floor with a scream. The barrel is still hot, sizzling against Jonny’s skin as Darren uses it to tilt his face upwards by the chin. “You,” he says. “You’re looking awfully hard at my wife,” he says, and his fake accent is back. It’s hard to tell if he keeps forgetting to put it on or if it’s just a layer to fucking with them. Something psychological.

He looks too close at Jonny with those fucked up eyes and Jonny can’t say anything.

“You like what you see?” He asks, and he asks like there’s a right answer. Jonny has no idea what the right answer could be.

“Is she still alive?” Is what comes out, and it’s not the right answer.

He frowns. “Of course she’s still alive,” and kicks her hard in the side. She makes a soft sound, and it makes the hair on the back of Jonny’s neck stand up, but she makes a sound. She isn’t dead. Darren clicks his tongue. “C’mon, cowgirl. Rise and shine, now.” With his boot, he pushes her onto her back.

She makes another soft, horrible sound. Jonny inhales sharply. Slowly, she blinks up at the ceiling, wide eyed and probably dazed. She has startlingly dark eyes, and her left eyes, where it’s supposed to be white, is a dark, bleeding red.

Darren smiles with all his teeth and it’s unnatural the way it stretches across his face, like he’s wearing a mask that doesn’t quite fit. It doesn’t reach his eyes even a little bit. “There she is.”

“What?” The girl says, definitely dazed. Her voice is rougher than it looks like it would be. She sounds like she’s from Texas, too, but she sounds like her accent might be real. She blinks at the ceiling, vacant.

“It’s time to meet our neighbours, baby,” Darren says. “And you’re being awfully rude, sleeping through it.”

Her hands are tied tightly in front of her. Slowly, her head turns against the linoleum, just far enough that she looks, for the first time, at Jonny. For a long few moments, she looks right through him. Then she sees him, and something horrible dawns on her face. She looks quickly up at Darren, who grins again, grotesque. “What are you doing?” She breathes.

“They wanted to meet you,” he says. “And I know you’ve been getting lonely in that big ol’ house, only me around to keep you company.” He smirks as he looks up, and it’s still unnatural, but it reaches his eyes. He’s mean. “Used to have a lot of gentlemen callers, my girl. Didn’t you, baby? Wasn’t anything I could do to get her to keep her legs closed.”

She starts to sit up but Darren plants his boot hard in the centre of her chest, hard enough it knocks the wind out of her. She gasps.

Benny sniffles and says, “listen, man —“

“Listen, man,” Darren mocks. “I have been trying to mind my own business. We have been trying to keep to ourselves. You broke into my home. You put your hands on my wife.”

“Oh my God,” she says, still winded, but her words fold in disgust, “I’m not —“

He points the gun down into her face and says, “stop talking.” She does.

It had been pretty obvious something really fucked up was going on over on Meadow. It was weird anybody had moved in because it had been vacant for so long, and it had been vacant for so long because it just had such bad vibes. Anybody that came to look at it left and didn’t come back for it. It was too isolated. Creepy. Anybody that moved into that place had to be up to something. Jonny and Benny had been curious, that was all. Jonny had figured it was some weird, creep old man with a taxidermy hobby, that he’d borrow one of their horses sometime to fuel it. Benny had said doomsday prepper; Benny was closer, in the end. When the first thing they had seen were all the military weapons, they thought he was right, actually. The bound, naked girl that was obviously not his wife had thrown them off course a little.

And still, Jonny couldn’t have anticipated he’d be the kind of man to then show up in their kitchen to shoot his sister in the face. They’re all gonna die, right? That has to be how this ends. How else are they gonna get out of this? What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

Across the kitchen, crouched protectively next to Mama, Billie sniffles. “Jenny didn’t do anything. Jenny didn’t break into your house.”

“She knew too much,” Darren answers, lifting his head too quickly, jerky. “You all know too much now, matter of fact. Figured your boys wouldn’t do a good job of keeping their mouths shut.”

“Then what are you doing?” Billie asks. When did she get so brave? Jonny must’ve missed it while he was cowering. “Get it over with.”

“Nah,” he says, and grins again, most grotesque this time. It reaches too much of his weird eyes. “I wanted to play with y’all a little. And you,” he turns the gun suddenly on Jonny, “are still looking awfully hard at my wife.”

He’d been trying really hard not to look at her, in fact. He swallows, and it kind of hurts.

“C’mere,” Darren says.

It goes in one ear and leaves out the other. Jonny only looks at him. Swallows again.

“Now,” he orders, and the irritation that leaks into his voice clears it of the fake accent.

“What?” Jonny says.

Darren sucks his teeth and says, “come here, boy. If I have to repeat myself again I’ll put down your other sister.”

Billie inhales sharply.

Dazed, Jonny heaves himself to his feet. He staggers closer, closer to Darren, to the barrel of that fucking gun.

Darren lifts it and says, “go on, now. Since you’ve been so fuckin’ curious. Get a good look at her. Go on.”

With shaking legs, Jonny kneels again, somewhere close by her thigh. He tries not to touch her. It’s hard to look. She probably was very beautiful once; she looks really sick now.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

Darren points the gun at her again. “Stop. Talking.” She does, and he turns it back on Jonny. “Well? What do you think? Looker, isn’t she?”

Jonny doesn’t say anything. Swallows again.

The gun clicks. “Isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Jonny says.

“I know,” he agrees. He’s forgetting the accent. It’s starting to slip, replaced with something Northern, something more carefully militant. “You like what you see?”

“Yes,” he repeats.

“Go on, then,” Darren says, Texan. “Fuck my wife.”

Her knees close in time with Jonny’s leaning away. “What?” He says. Mama sobs, and Jonny hears it clearer than anything.

“Oh my God,” the girl says, and she sobs, too. “Point —“

He aims the gun at her. His face is completely blank. He’s probably old — he’s twenty years older than her, at least — his hair is starting to grey by the temples, but he has skin kinda like a doll. Jonny doesn’t think there’s anything artificial about it — he wonders if any sort of expression just doesn’t come naturally to this guy. “Don’t call me that,” he says, flat. Northern. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop talking?”

Jonny wonders if he’d really kill her. It doesn’t seem like she’d be so lucky; he’d probably just make it hurt.

She sobs again. Jonny wonders how long she’s been with Darren, and for how much of that time she’s been sick. He wonders how old she is. He wonders if he wants to know.

“Relax,” Darren says to her, dismissive and cruel. “You used to fuck dogs. You can take this.”

Her chest heaves with crying but there aren’t any tears. Jonny wonders if she just doesn’t have any left. “Shoot me,” she says, thick.

He does. He points the gun down and shoots her in the foot. Jonny scrambles away. The gunshot is loud, explosive; the sound she makes is soft. Wet. Her head lolls to one side.

Darren steps down hard on her foot and she barrels back into consciousness with a cry, something ear piercing. “Be a good girl,” he says, “and keep your eyes open. You,” he says, and points the gun at Jonny again. “Get back over here and fuck my wife.”

Jonny swallows audibly. What is he supposed to do? He’s gonna die anyway. But how much does he want it to hurt?

Maybe it doesn’t have to hurt. Maybe he won’t kill them. Maybe, if they just play along —

“Darren,” she’s sobbing. “Darren, I’m sorry, please —“

Darren’s mocking the way that she cries, a hitching sort of rasp of a sound. “Be a good girl, now,” he says, and he lays the accent on thick. “Hitch up your skirt, cowgirl.”

She covers her face with bound, trembling hands. Sobs something that sounds like, “I’m so tired.”

“You can lay right there, sugar,” Darren says. “You know you do your best work on your back.” She sobs, and he says, “lie back and think of Texas.”

She lowers her hands. She’s getting really pale. “I think about Silas,” is what she says.

Darren’s face falls, right back into something flat and doll like. He points the gun down, shoots her in the same foot. She screams at a pitch that makes Jonny flinch. Darren spits in her face. “How many times do I have to tell you,” he seethes, lethal and Northern, “not to think about that fuckin’ thing? Get over here,” he snaps, and he’s speaking to Jonny this time. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

Jonny swallows bile.

Darren says, “you know what? What the hell,” and points the gun at Benny. “You, too. You’re watching awfully close. Get over here.”

Benny doesn’t look up from the girl, but he shakes his head.

Darren turns the gun. Aims it into the kitchen. “You boys get over here,” he says, “or I’m gonna shoot your mother in the fuckin’ face.”

Mama screams. Billie sobs as she hugs her tighter.

Jonny’s ears rings with the sound of them as he looks at Benny. Benny looks back, and he looks at him blankly before he looks away. Slowly, he heaves himself from his chair. Staggers to Darren and the girl like he’s possessed.

Darren smirks, angling his head towards Jonny. “Your turn, now.”

Jonny doesn’t remember moving but he finds himself swaying on his feet.

To Benny, he says, “kneel by her head.” To the girl, he says, “be good. Spread your legs.” She doesn’t, but she’s sick and she’s skinny and he kicks them apart, anyway, easy, steps down again with all his weight on her broken foot to keep her still. She cries out so hard her back arches off the floor and Jonny takes an instinctive step back. Just as quickly, he’s looking down the barrel of the biggest fuckin’ gun he’s ever seen. “Kneel,” Darren says.

Jonny does. He wishes he didn’t, but he does, sinking to his knees between the spread of her thighs. Her tied hands are shaking. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Don’t,” she begs softly. “Please.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and she sobs.

“No —“

“Tip your head back, cowgirl,” Darren says. “Open wide.”

“No,” she says, and her breath hitches.

Benny doesn’t say anything but he slowly slides his fingers into her bloody hair, turning her head gently.

“No,” she pleads, trying to reach out with tied hands and it makes Jonny’s skin crawl. “Don’t,” she begs, and Jonny retches.

The barrel of the gun is pressed to the base of his skull and the size of it could probably blow his head clean off his shoulders. “Go on, now,” Darren says.

“Please,” she sobs, and she’s looking up at Benny as Benny tips her head back.

Jonny’s hands are shaking so hard he struggles with the button on his jeans. The ruffles of her dress are already soaked with blood and he retches again. She’d been bleeding when they found her in the house, but not this much. What did he do to her before he brought her to them? What’s wrong with this guy?

There’s something still so surreal about it, even with Jenny’s brain staining the wallpaper, even with the barrel hot against his scalp through his hair. This kind of shit doesn’t happen in real life, especially not to people like them, like Mama, unassuming farmers. Maybe a little nosey, but they’re only bored. Harmless. This is the kind of shit that happens in horror movies that aren’t even all that scary, they’re so unrealistic. How can this be happening to them?

He leans into her and her whole body trembles as she cries, as she pleads. Jonny tries his best to leave his body, to go somewhere else, but there’s too much and it keeps pulling him back to himself, to this place, to the floor of his mother’s kitchen. There’s the girl, the rough, panicked hitching of her crying, how desperately she begs him to stop, how hard she trembles. She presses her knee into him, tries to push him away, and Jonny can feel too much of the bones in her leg.

And then she isn’t crying, she doesn’t beg, because Benny is holding her head still as he eases himself into her mouth and Jonny doesn’t mean to, but he sobs, something hoarse.

Still, she struggles, but her hands are braced against Benny as she tries to push him away and it isn’t much of a fight as Jonny pushes up her skirts. As Jonny pushes himself inside her.

He tries to go somewhere else again, somewhere far outside himself, to someplace he isn’t fucking a crying girl in his mother’s kitchen on the floor in front of her at gunpoint. It’s hard to escape. He screws his eyes shut, tries to think about anything else, but she’s so wet and she’s so warm she’s almost too warm and Jonny knows it’s with bleeding, he can’t think about anything else, accidentally pushes into her harder than he meant to and her bleeding body makes a wet sound that makes him gag.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs.

Benny doesn’t say anything. Benny doesn’t say anything until he grunts. Shudders. Scrambles away from her suddenly and unsteadily.

She has just enough time to turn her head before she vomits across the linoleum.

Jonny bows his head as he sobs again.

Darren says, “enough.”

Jonny jerks away from her too quickly and her body makes another horribly wet sound. The sound she makes in return is too soft, kind of broken. “I’m sorry,” Jonny says.

“I’ve been telling you,” Darren says with a smile, “you will be.” There’s nothing natural in his smile. There’s nothing human in his eyes. “Get up,” he tells them, and steps over the girl, crossing the kitchen with slow strides. He stops, standing across from Mama. “And come here.”

Slowly, they do. They stand, fix their pants, stagger across the kitchen. It’s hard to explain, but Jonny feels kind of out of it, like he’d been hit really hard in the head. Everything’s gotten kinda fuzzy around the edges.

Darren smiles again. “Face your mother.”

Slowly, they do.

“On your knees,” Darren says.

Jonny doesn’t sob again but the tears don’t stop.

“I’m sorry,” Benny’s stuck. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Darren exhales a sound that might be a laugh, if he were human. “Choice last words,” he says. The barrel of the gun finds the back of Jonny’s head.

“Please,” Mama says, and he hears her louder than anything. “Don’t hurt my boys.”

“What would you propose I do?” Darren asks. The barrel is so hot through his hair Jonny’s sure his scalp is burning. “Your boys just raped my wife.”

“I’m sorry,” Benny’s chanting, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He’s always been a big guy, now a farmer — he’s never seemed so small before.

“I’d hope so,” Darren says, and he says it with a flat, Northern accent, nothing Texan about it at all.

“Darren,” the girl says, and Jonny feels a bit sick, he still doesn’t know her name and he probably won’t ever find out, “don’t do this.” She sounds like she’s from Texas for real, and it’s not the first time Jonny’s noticed but it’s the first time it occurs to him that maybe Darren’s accent isn’t psychological warfare at all, maybe he’s making fun of his wife.

It’s obvious, suddenly, in the way he drawls, “I’m defending your honour, cowgirl.”

He’s quick. It almost seems like he’s too quick, too, to be human. The barrel is pressed to the back of Jonny’s head one second, and the next, Benny’s head bursts into plates of skull and meaty chunks of brain tissue. Blood is sprayed aagainst Jonny’s side.

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t do anything; he freezes, and he watches across the kitchen through red mist as another gunshot rings out and crouched next to Mama, a hole explodes in the centre of Billie’s chest. She makes a wheezing, gasping soft of sound. Her throat bursts open with the next gunshot, and she never makes a sound again.

“Why are you doing this to us?” Mama breathes. She’s been painted red with Billie.

“This is what happens to nosey families who don’t mind their fuckin’ business,” he answers. And he shoots Jonny’s mother in the face.

Finally, he turns the gun on Jonny. “Any last words?”

“I don’t know,” Jonny says.

He doesn’t hear the gunshot, there isn’t time, but he can feel the heat building against the side of his face.

Then, finally, it’s over.

For a long time, Wren stares up at the ceiling, at the blood splattered across the beams.

It was their kitchen. Point had slaughtered these people in their kitchen.

Wren doesn’t know why the cruelty surprises him, but it does. He didn’t think he had it left in him to be scared anymore but he’s that, too.

Point’s face comes into view above him. “This is what happens to people that try and help you,” he says. “I want you to remember that.”

He doesn’t look disturbed that he just massacred a family in the heart of their home, but he doesn’t look pleased, either. He doesn’t look anything. Somehow it’s worse. “What are you gonna do with me when I die?” He asks.

It makes Point smile. “You know I won’t let that happen,” he says. “We’re having too much fun, cowgirl.”

#i wrote a couple drabbles like this ‘cause i was big into these vibes at the time but this one is my fave #I THINK TBH I didnt read them all if I find another good one i WILL rinse & repeat #wren & silas #whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump scenes #whump story #whump stuff #whump writing #whumpee #whump scenario #whump series #whump blog #whump tag #whump fic #whump snippet #whump things #whump torture

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yuseirra · 3 months ago

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**Spoilers**About 161,

I read the spoilers(people bug me about these and at this point, I figure it's just better if I just see it for myself before someone screams to me about me because it totally stresses me out... I'm sorry, but it's been getting on my nerves and it's gradually been making me a bit furious every time it's been happening) and if this is really all there is to it, I think I should revert back to drawing persona fanarts because it's too shallow for my taste. There's better stories than this out there. I'm not saying the entire thing is bad, but... It's not a very good closure.

I would have gone along with this if the entire movie arc didn't exist, it'd have been better if it didn't...I don't know if there's going to be ANOTHER twist to this (which I really, really hope) but if there isn't, I did preorder vol 14 along with the novel today and I would read that... But I won't buy any physical copies for this series containing chapters past 154 (I still like that chapter a lot, btw)

I'll just hang on a little longer... Because it just makes way better sense for the movie arc to have been nonexistent if the story goes this way. It's just better storytelling WITHOUT that arc and it'd stick out like a sore thumb if this is it.. And I actually like that arc a lot. But the god should be right, wouldn't she? If the god is wrong, then.. There's nothing so much to have as the baseline.

I can accept this if this is what the author wants to do with it, but I personally don't think this is good. I'm not that bitter about the ship.. It's just.. Why make an arc that doesn't have a point?; In what ways does that movie expose how horrible the guy is, because we never really saw him being depicted that way during that actual arc. So would releasing the movie ACTUALLY tarnish his reputation?; I think they should have hinted on that at least a little, but the reactions towards the screenings felt quite the contrary, it was about Ai's love towards the guy, right?

With all that being said... I think I will wait out still, but I'm not sure if I can expect so much. Really, it's better if they never had that arc, so I'm confused why they had to make it if THIS was how things were going to end the entire time.

#oshi no ko spoilers #spoilers

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generouskittentidalwave · 10 months ago

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Hamster and Gretel, oh boy..

Now we are gonna move past the unforgivable and horrendous act of this series being greenlit and given a second season immediately over giving us more Murphy's Law which, unless this show proves it's worth, I will not be forgiving anytime soon, but anyway let's talk about the actual show itself.

It's honestly not that bad. The more I watch it the more I find myself enjoying Gretel and Kevin's relationship and of course Kevin is the TRUE protag of the story (no one will convince me otherwise, we all know it's true), his character is PEAK. I genuinely like the songs, hamster is amazing and Fred is a MOOD. I like the concept of an alien species giving someone powers and then also creating villains for them to fight as well. It's actually a pretty cool concept and makes you wonder what is more at play here. I also LOVE the songs, as usual Dan's shows produce hella bangers. I also love the relationships and dynamics between all the characters.

HOWEVER

I like that they made Kevin the center focus but I'm gonna be frank, I DO NOT like Gretel as a character (so far, this is obviously subject to change as the series goes on). First of all Gretel's face makes me hella uncomfortable everytime I take a second to look at her. Her smile doesn't have any emotional weight behind it so it loses all meaning (with her character in general being as bland as white bread with no crusts, but I do respect the accurate ADHD they added to her character) and on top of that her smile is so unnaturally wide and her eyes are so big and she sticks out like a sore thumb amongst her friends and family to the point it feels uncomfortable. I get they wanted to make her overly cute but that's less cute and more reaching into uncanny valley.

Milo's wholesome smile and character was optimistic and cute, so was Isabella's, even their pets. But Gretel? I'm sorry but it looks like she is staring into my ever waking soul and plotting my demise as we speak. I'm a younger sister myself and I understand where they were going with her character, believe me, but OH MY GOD can she GRIND MY GEARS sometimes with her character and choices.

They made such a good realistically optimistic and calm yet still remorseful and caring character when it came to Milo, they treated it all with care and gave his gentle smile towards his shitty situation so much weight but with Gretel they made her optimism intentionally over the top with no other parts of her character aside from her having ADHD and nothing else, along with the fact she normally succeeds in nearly everything she does, and rarely ever see her need or try to fix mistakes she'd made on her own, and all this makes it to the point that she just feels- soulless to me and I don't like it. It rubs me the wrong way. I love the ADHD representation but they could've done a hella a lot better with her character as a whole, especially with her being a character meant to represent and inspire others.

I stand by what I said that people need to stop treating optimistic characters in media as a bad thing and projecting their issues onto them, but it's a different story when you have a character who is completely hollow and only has an over the top amount of optimism to the point it becomes boring and diminishing because that's all they are. I'm sorry but her character, to me, is like the embodiment of a children's song that is so repetitive you wanna replace your ears with cotton balls.

This show has so much potential and I love so SO many things about it, but they still have A LOT of work to do, especially with one of the heroines of the story. Here's to hoping season 2 will, hopefully, be better than the first one and they'll patch some things up at bit.

And no, her being a little sister doesn't justfy her character as in both pnf and mml they main characters were younger siblings and they were not like this, at all.

#hamster and gretel #phineas and ferb #milo murphy's law #pnf #mml #milo murphy #isabella #disney xd #disney #disney series #animated series #cartoon series #tv show #tv shows #tv series #cartoon #Dam #dan povenmire #dwampyverse

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buttercuparry · 2 years ago

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This post is inspired by @fromtheseventhhell's post

If Sansa isn't just seeing what she wants to see, but following LF because she has no alternative ( I mean fair...what's a girl to do? She needs roof over her head at least), then it means she knows now what sweetsleep does.

Father and I have larger concerns.

This was said by her when she was thinking of how what's best for Robert the boy is not always good for the Lord Arryn of Vale. And it might be argued that since Sansa hadn't known about the plan it was simply stated with the view of state matters. However were Arya or Dany in her place, and they chose as she has chosen, this alone would have been enough to vilify them. Interestingly enough Sansa's choice to overlook her cousin's health in favour of political matters is shrugged off. I am not trying to give an opinion about Sansa's choice of actions here (for I have none), I am merely stating what I found in the text.

Now what about what happens after? In the sample chapter of Twow, we see her not mulling one bit on the fact what seducing Harry leads to. Harry the Heir becomes more than just an upjumped knight only when the condition of his being the heir is fulfilled. And it can only be fulfilled through Robert's death.

I know that we can't judge without reading the whole of twow and this is why I usually do not take part in the conjecture of Sansa poisoning Robert. But what sticks out as a sore thumb is when Sansa is said to be this masterful little politician in making. More intelligent and more artful than the teenage politicians who have actually proven their worth. She is also said to be the most innocent and kindliest of them all, having clean hands and no blood on them. Not so innocent now is she?

I mean even if we are to interpret that she is being forced to do this because she has to keep LF in her favour, it should ( at least to those who are so eager to criticize Dany for forgetting the name of the girl who was burnt to death by her dragons) ring alarm bells about how Sansa spares not one thought to the plot in the Twow sample chapter. I mean we see her thinking that Robert is a fool for wanting to marry her and claiming to love her; we see her happily jaunting around with Myranda Royce, being quite proud of the tourney she has helped arrange, hoping that Harry the Heir would come to at least like her, being over the moon that her "father" should raid the whole of Vale for lemons just so she can have the spectacle of an impressive lemoncake. Not once in this chapter we see her thinking about sweetsleep being forced to run through Robert's blood or the ominous wording of not "if" Robert dies but "when" he dies. It is true that nothing can be said for sure from only one chapter of a yet to be released book but for now this is all we have.

Now if we are to say that Sansa truly doesn't realize what she is being made to do, then we have to say that she is once again seeing what she wants to see. I find these lines odd:

He does have pretty hair. If the gods are good and he lives long enough to wed, his wife will admire his hair, surely. That much she will love about him.

A consideration of a future where Lord Arryn has a wife brings the possibility of an heir from Robert's own line. Harry the Heir would then be pushed back further down the line of inheritance and possibly then all the gifts that LF promised Sansa then would only be that: empty promises. So Sansa considering a future where Robert lives long enough to wed means that she isn't seeing what LF plans to do. Even when LF has conspired right in front of her. It cannot be anything but a deliberate coping mechanism then. Which again begs the question about all those bloggers who dismiss Arya's own experience of being bullied as her being an unreliable narrator and throws stalk into everything Sansa says...how come they never discuss this?

The political genius in the making gives no extra thought to the overheard conversation where LF is deliberately causing a scarcity of food while simultaneously throwing a feast fit for a king. If this girl truly were to trump both Jon and Dany, shouldn't there have been idk some thought given to this?

I am not saying that Sansa is stupid. She has potential and I am truly impressed how she reeled in Harry the Heir. But the way her stans talk about, especially when they disgrace so many other characters to prove how much better Sansa is than them, where every little thing that Dany does is considered to be a symptom of madness, while Sansa's own involvement in a possible murder is dismissed as her being naive, while simultaneously where Jon is bashed for his stupidity while Sansa's continuous lack of political awareness of the lives of the mass is not even deemed to being an important topic of discussion...it feels a certain kind of way. There is also the continuous insistence that Arya is an unreliable narrator even though the readers face the most confusion while reading Sansa's chapters.

Sansa cannot be the child prodigy of political matters and the naive dove with a dangerous coping mechanism in the same breathe. The only other explanation can be what has been pushed onto Arya for so long. That is, Sansa doesn't care one whit for Winterfell. She truly cannot perceive Robert Arryn being murdered. She wants Harry as someone with whom she can build a life with and cares not for his supposed inheritance. She cares not for her own claim on her house's ancient seat and would eventually live her life away from it. But I am sure even this wouldn't be satisfying to them.

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 2 years ago

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Schrodinger’s Cat

Fandom: The Suicide Squad, Rick Flag

Summary: Rick is about to leave on his next mission with Task Force X, and you have a bad feeling about it….

Word Count: 1628

TW: Canon Character Death

You hated that he was leaving again. You knew he didn’t have a choice, but that only made you feel worse about the situation. Both of you had thought things would be different once you had been released from Belle Reve, once you were out from under Waller’s thumb. But you both should have known better. Waller may no longer have access to you, but that had just caused her to tighten her hold on Rick.

"I know it’s a pain and you can't always get service, but please try to call me. Or at least text me. I don’t care what time it is here." You were sprawled wildly across the bed, your head and shoulders hanging over the edge. You watched, upside down, as your boyfriend packed his bag for another mission to God knows where, for God knows how long.

"Baby, you know how it is. I can't always do that."

"I know. But every time you leave, I can't stop worrying. At least when I was on the missions with you, I knew you were alright. But now, until you call, I’m in this weird limbo of not knowing if you’re dead or alive. It's like that damn Schroeder's cat paradox."

Rick chuckled softly. "Schrodinger."

"What?"

"It's Schrodinger's cat."

"Really? Then who the hell is Schroeder?"

"He's the kid who plays piano in the Peanuts comics."

"Are you sure?

"Pretty sure, darlin'."

You thought for a second, then shrugged. "Well, whoever's cat it is, you know the thing I’m talking about. Where you don’t know if the cat is dead or alive until you open the box. You’re the cat."

“Does that make you Schrodinger?” Rick chuckled again. “And I’ll be fine. It’s just a quick in and out reconnaissance mission, nothin’ to worry about.”

“Rick, it’s not funny. And you can’t lie to me. I’ve been there, I’ve seen what can happen. Good people, highly trained people, can be taken out in an instant. All it takes is one lucky shot or one tiny mistake and it’s all over. We both know that.” Rick gently placed his hand over yours to still it, and you realized you had been unconsciously stroking the large scar above your collarbone. The one you had received on your first mission together. The one that almost ended your relationship before it ever had a chance to start.

Rick sighed. “You're right, okay. I know things can go sideways at any time. But Harley and Harkness are with me this time. You know they’ll have my back.”

“They better,” you grumbled, sitting up on the bed. While you were glad to be out of that hellhole of a prison, you really did miss your two best friends. But you knew they would do anything they could to help bring Rick back home to you, and that did make you feel a little bit better. “I didn’t realize Harley was back at Belle Reve. Who else is on the team?”

“She was picked up yesterday for a bank robbery. And it’s a bunch of new recruits. Mongal, Blackguard, Weasel, and a few others I don’t remember.”

“Wait, they’re having you bring Weasel? What help could he possibly be on an in and out retcon mission? Or Mongal for that matter. They both stick out like a sore thumb. You might as well bring Nanaue,” you scoffed, but then your face grew serious. “Rick, please don’t go. I don’t know what’s different, but I have this feeling of…. dread that I’ve never gotten before any mission, even when I used to be on them. Something about this one just doesn’t seem right. Please, call out. Just say you got sick, or you can crash your car on the way into work. Make it look like an accident. I can blow out your tire! Just…. something!”

“Darlin’, you know I can’t do that. Besides, Waller would still drag my ass in even if I was in a full body cast.”

“Then we can run away! You can just go full AWOL and we can disappear together. I still have some contacts in the Gotham underground. Ozzy told me he’d always have a job for me at the Iceberg Casino, and I used to plant sit for Ivy when she was in lock-up. Plus, she’s really good friends with Harley so I’m sure she would help us.”

“Y/N, we are not going to become fugitives and go live with criminals. You just got out of prison, are you really so eager to go back?”

“If it means being there to watch your back….in a second.” Your eyes bore into Rick’s with a fury and determination that revealed how deadly serious you were.

Rick reached down to where you were still seated on the bed and took your hands in his. “Okay, listen. I was going to talk to you about this when I got back but seeing as you need some reassurance……. I spoke to some of my buddies in Washington. They think they can pull rank and get me transferred.”

“Transferred? Where? When?”

Rick shrugged. “I told them I didn’t care where, as long as they got me far away from Waller. They should be finalizing everything in the next couple days. Which means, if all goes according to plan, this will be my last mission with Task Force X. One more, then I’m done.” He beamed enthusiastically as he stepped back and opened his arms wide, probably expecting you to jump excitedly into them. But you only stared back at him in horror.

“Take it back! Don’t say that, you never said that!”

Rick’s face fell. “What? I thought you’d be ecstatic. We can get out without having to become fugitives. We can start our life together, do all the things we planned.”

You placed your hands over your ears and shook your head violently. “Stop it, Rick. I swear to God, I am serious. Stop talking now.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Rick asked exasperatedly.

“I have seen too many of those stupid cop movies you make us watch to know that the best way to get yourself killed is by giving the whole ‘I only have one more day ‘til retirement’ speech.”

Rick rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed. “Please tell me you aren’t serious?”

“I am dead serious. I already have a terrible feeling about this whole situation. You don’t need to make things worse by jinxing it.”

“Baby, this isn’t a movie. Jinxes, curses, that’s not how the world works.”

You stared at him in astonishment. “Excuse me? Have you forgotten the world that you live in? Rick, your ex-girlfriend was possessed by a thousand-year-old sorceress, we’ve been on teams which consisted of a crocodile man, a guy who manipulates fire, and a warrior whose sword devours the souls of its victims, and, in case you’re forgetting, I have the ability to blow shit up with my mind. That is exactly how the world works.”

“Yeah, but none of that’s not the same thing.”

“It’s exactly the same thing!” you screamed in frustration. But then you let out a big sigh as you tried to regain some of your composure. “Look, I don’t want to fight, especially not right before you leave. Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled to know this may all be over soon but I’m just stressed enough as it is about this mission. Stupid or not, you telling me about this probably being your last one just adds another reason I don’t feel good about the whole situation.”

Rick came over and he leaned down to kiss you softly. “I know. And I wish I could say somethin’ or do somethin’ that could make this all better. But I just don’t know what that is.”

Standing, you pulled him into a tight hug, his strong arms wrapped instantly around your smaller frame. You could hear his heart beating strongly as your head rested directly above it. You whispered, “Just come back, please. Just come back to me.”

You could feel his response as it rumbled through his chest. “Always, darlin’.”

The phone rang at 4:37 in the morning, waking you from your restless dreams involving cats, boxes, pianos, and Weasel. It had been three days since you had heard from Rick and his last call had done little to ease your fears. Whenever he was on a mission, he would always try to keep things vague and light, so as not to worry you. But this time, his voice had sounded edgy and anxious. Things must have gone sideways, and he had possibly lost a lot of people. You just hoped Harley and Boomer were okay, but you knew Rick wouldn’t tell you until he got home even if anything had happened to them. The fact he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell you more just added to your anxiety.

You scrambled to grab the phone before it stopped ringing, not even glancing at the caller id since Rick was the only one with this number. Finally answering, you mumbled with a sleepy yet relieved chuckle, "It’s about time you called me. I was getting pretty worried, babe."

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a moment. Then a familiar voice spoke up, "Y/N?"

You jolted up in bed as your heart dropped in your chest and your blood ran cold. "Ha-Harley…?"

"He asked me to call you if anything happened... I'm so sorry...."

The phone slipped from your hand as a howl tore from your lips. You could still hear Harley’s voice coming faintly from the phone now lying on the floor, but you don’t need to hear any more. You already knew.

The box had been opened.

#sfw repost #fic #rick flag #rick flag x reader #rick flag x you #colonel rick flag #colonel rick flag x reader #joel kinnaman #the suicide squad #suicide squad #dc #dc x reader #angst #fluff #major character death tw

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fixfoxnox · 2 years ago

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This is random as fuck but I just randomly thought while drawing something, “what would Simon’s (from roach’s last life) reaction be to Ghost? (His current life) and vise versa?

I actually really want to explore this more later, in like a one-shot or something once I finish the fic cause I have so many thoughts with it.

I would like to say, we will be getting more of first life Simon in about two chapters, but something I have to make clear about those chapters is that they are being told through Roach's dreams.

They're going to be scenarios that are created by him and not actual memories and thus not fully accurate to how first life Simon actually was.

This is all being said because currently the only actual memory that Roach has had of his first life's Simon (that we've seen) is in chapter 18. So some of what I'm about to say might be a little bit weird or not exactly match what you read later, but this is like if the actual past! Simon met present! Simon.

So generally, I feel like they'd lowkey hate each other lmao

Not like a lot, but I think that while they are so similar, the things that they are different about would stick out to them like a sore thumb and they just wouldn't be able to get past it.

Lets start with style. These two have completely different styles and tastes. Past! Simon has his piercings and his kinda punk/metal style while Present! Simon prefers a softer more expensive kind of style.

While I don't think this would necessarily cause a lot of issues for them I do think Past! Simon would be like "oh my god this guys kinda lame" and Present! Simon would be "why the fuck does he look like that?"

I think the first thing that would really cause problems/stand out to them would be the masks. I think the first time Past!Simon would walk into a room with just the 141 and immediately pull of his mask, Present! Simon would freak the fuck out. Like generally stressed because, while that isn't him, they do look pretty much identical outside of piecing and different tattoos, so people are technically seeing him.

Past! Simon definitely would not understand Present! Simons stress and would probably get easily frustrated with him trying to get him to put the mask back on/not take it off. I imagine this would cause a light argument but nothing much other than that.

I think the biggest issue between the two would be the Soap/Roach situation. Past! Simon has a real problem with Past! Soap and while the two can be friendly and do co sider themselves to be friends at times, they also argue a lot because of both of their feelings for Roach. To Past! Simon, Roach is his person. Roach is literally the most important person in his life.

So I think for him, finding out that Present! Simon is dating both Soap and Roach and was dating Soap first? He's fucking confused. He's lowkey pissed. He definitely does not understand this guy and he makes it known.

Meanwhile Present! Simon is fucking pissed at Past! Simon for how he seems to hate/argue all the time with Past! Soap. And, let's be real, some of Past! Simon's frustrations with Past! Soap are going to come through when he's talking to Present! Soap.

I think Present! Simon dislikes how much Past! Simon hates Soap and he does not like how possessive over Roach he is. He does not understand, in the slightest, why Roach is with him.

Now keep in mind, I also think that these two are probably ignoring the others good traits just because of their own Self-deprecation, and this is like a real, physical version of themselves that they can get a bit of that self-hatred out for.

I think after an initial probably few meetings of troubles, they'd kinda mellow out a bit and just quietly dislike the other without causing any problems.

One last thing, if these two see the other fight, that is one of the only moments that they will be openly impressed with the other.

#thoughts with luke #you asked luke #something in the orange #ghost x roach #ghostroach #ghost x soap #soapghost #simon ghost riley

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anonanimal · 1 year ago

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been listening to tswift for hater reasons and got some random notes

wildest dreams kinda sounds like several lana songs to me, mostly young and beautiful

vigilante shit sounds like dollar store billie eilish. vocals on the bridge even seem like she's trying to do the restrained thing

her delivery on fearless re-recorded is weirdly...deliberate?

i was surprised by how much i didn't hate red, i was aghast, like "it's a perfectly enjoyable pop album? and i finished it without getting mad or bored??"

bad blood sticks out like a sore thumb on 1989, it sounds like a reputation reject that traveled back in time. god i hate it so much

her music has matured a bit, if she does the next album with literally anyone but jack antonoff i might have to stop being a hater. someone who can take the good bits of folklore, evermore, and midnights and make something less boring

i like what she's doing with her hair right now

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exoticalmonde · 1 year ago

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Evealia x Mink (Dramatical Murder VN)

I don't know how cringe self-inserting yourself into games is at the moment but I am a reader AND a writer, so here is my DMMD self-insert (lacking art because my PC has been exploded for 3 months now and fate just doesn't want me to do my work).

With a small part of my self-ship fic that I have been unable to finish on time for my birthday. As a treat.

I'm making mine under the pretext that Aoba has decided to be with Ren as the true ending. That actually leaves me with other people I could have experienced Over Tower with (or had an entirely different situation) and that other people is just Mink.

I'll refer to this OC in 3rd person with the name Eve, because it feels weird to say 'my' although it is 'my' in the sense of

At this point her AllMate is recycled Maine Coon, the size of a big dog (around 70cm of body height) but de-clawed. The previous models were meant as guard animals in a very popular fashion shop/show thing but many of them became susceptible to viruses and those viruses ultimately destroyed the feline population of these AllMates made them aggressive. Declawing was the first attempt to keep them despite the faults but since they would also have to alter their teeth/jaw, it was just easier (as they were a limited number) to get rid of them and get new ones.

The way Eve managed to fix her AllMate was exchange parts from a scrapped dog AllMate, which is why he often shows puppy characteristics. Like randomly barking between meows.

Oh, where did she get the parts? She works at a repair shop as a clerk and knows this or that. She originally came from a different country, so getting instantly into robotics was her way to 'fit in' when in reality she sticks out aesthetically like a sore thumb in that world.

AllMate’s name is Noon because its serial code is N00N265 and they are not really fit for Rhyme battles, so that’s how she manages to avoid all the battles. They are ginger, of course, so the cat itself is a little bit insane, and despite the name being more feminine the cat has a deep masculine voice box.

Haha, Noon and Eve, get i- *Gets shot*

She lived in one of those apartments on the 14th floor on the main road and her room used to never have any light in it no matter the time of day. It made her really unhappy because she loves plants that bloom, but those don't last long in the shadows. After getting with Mink she's crazy for making the back of the house into a garden and once in a while he ends up minding something like... a pot of mint in his room because she needs it to be somewhere cozy until the leaves take root.

When she meets Mink the first reaction is to run, the second one is to be pathetic on the floor and because she’s a woman he hesitates for 0.00003 seconds, just long enough for her to kick him in the shin and run literally 4 meters before he catches up and the entire scenario of what happened there happens, we all know Mink's route.

Actually when it comes to other characters she’s not at all battle-ready and would rather run than fight, be it because she has never had to learn how to fight or because that primitive part of her brain clicks faster than 'I should defend myself'. So she'd probably be a good punching bag if she wasn't so pathetic and big doe-eyed teary-eyed.

Mink will pick up the name Eva eventually if it reminds him of his own gods (Eva is a goddess mother that brings life and destiny/death along with it, or a goddess of water and the earth) so he thinks that it’s okay if she carries that name as long as she honors the goddess. And Eve of course does so Mink doesn’t slap the spirit out of her in return.

Noon and Lulacan constantly fight.

Anyways, when he disappears for a while she is MAD, probably because she pops off at some point and says that he doesn’t deserve to die and should keep living so the memory of his people would remain and somehow through gaslighting and mental gymnastics and he recognizes the goddess’ name he decides to survive.

After they get together she is totally the type to think she’d get abandoned again and sleeps on the couch until she almost freezes over and dies from abandoned puppy syndrome although Noon is always with her and he’s a purring heat blanket draped over her at all times.

In their relationship while Mink is the brooding and 'actions speak louder than words' kind of quiet guy she is the FMA radio in the background, always talking to the cat, to Mink or to herself without really caring if he is listening and without trying to be interesting, just spilling all the information ever and if he doesn’t like it he can always move away into another room and she would never be mad.

He doesn't, but sometimes he has his ways to shut her up if he needs peace.

When Eve does want attention though she would sit in his feet like a dog, leaning against his knee and would do her thing until he gives up and asks what she wants. It’s usually to go on walkies or to be taught stuff or for him to talk nonsense to her instead.

She doesn't pick up on his job but she's a magpie and begins making the beads he uses instead. He doesn't allow her to sell any since the production is slow, but if he likes anything in particular he picks it up. He got her the tools to begin.

Also totally the person to think Mink would leave again and sit outside in the cold all by her stupid self, the only reason she survived abandoned puppy syndrome is because Noon laid on top of her and kept her warm on the couch.

Otherwise she's not jealous, even worryingly unmoved if other people say something in mild interest about her husband. Truth is, she gaslights herself into believing that it's stupid to think Mink would go back on his words. Does it in front of the bathroom mirror every evening.

She also brings flowers and trinkets she got throughout their first 5 years of being together for the memorial/gravesite and left them there without telling mink whenever something reminded her about a specific person Mink opened up about at some point.

Silly details people usually insert in their OCs information:

Date of Birth: August 5th

Age: 23 years old

Zodiac sign: Sun - Leo; Moon - Scorpio; Rising - Leo

Fav Food: Anything that has chicken and cream in it

Detested Food: Zucchini, Eggplant, Pumpkin, Melon, Animal innards (except liver)

Fav Animal: Jaguar/ Bird of Paradise

Fav Gem: Fire Opal

Fav Colours: Royal Red/Purple/Green

Character Base Colour: Blood Orange

Morning/Night person: Morning person

Also tea person, cat person, spirit animal is either fox or deer and I can't think of anything else, I am sqeezed dry.

#dramatical murder #mink dmmd #oc #dmmd oc #self ship

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claudiajcregg · 2 years ago

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I love these! (Doing and asking :) 🙅‍♀️ 🤔 🏅☀️

Grrr. Tumblr ate the mostly written post because of course it did. Thank you for asking, Mia 💕 These were really fun to answer (and also hard). For someone who's really her worst critic, I do enjoy talking about my process and whatnot. I'm sorry in advance for all the rambling.

(If you want to ask me more, the questions are here ✨ )

🙅‍♀️ What is one trope you refuse to ever write?

I just don't see myself doing incest or bestiality. If we're talking more general things, I can't see myself writing cheating (with the asterisk of this being one member of the couple straying, and that there are possible situations where I wouldn't mind). Also, anything extremely violent, mostly because it's not something I often consume in media.

🤔 What’s one genre you’ve never written that you’d like to try?

Oh, maybe action and/or suspense? My writing style (intimate moments, conversations, just vibes) is not the most compatible, but if the situation arose... Sure! (I guess that, in a past life, I wrote around mysteries and crime and whatnot. I was too young then 😬 )

I also would love to be better at writing stories-within-stories. I absolutely do not have the talent to convincingly seem like the talented writers I'm doing. (Once again thinking of the fluffy memoir fic. And another one, which has a super fun premise, but my writing is failing it with this aspect, I fear.)

And not a genre specifically but collaboration? Again, I have super talented friends. I'd stick out like a sore thumb. I think it'd be fun!

🏅 What is the fic you’re most proud of?

I am my own worst critic but I would still probably say all of them, maybe? I saw something in them that I thought might connect with others and that's why they're out there. Even the ones that aren't (so many of them) and might never see the light of day. Writing isn't easy. It makes me nervous and makes me crave validation.

Anyway. The pageant answer is still true but as for actual ones, but using the way I would mentally refer to them, lol.

Big Block of Cheese 2008. I just saw it's at almost 100 kudos... excuse me what. I just felt it was something special from the moment I wrote it. I think I always would've posted it at some point, even if I hadn't made friends. None of my fics come close to it in terms of "love" and tbh, I'm fine with it.

St. Augustine. Just because it came to me so fast (I think it was mostly written in a morning?) and IDK, I love the scene. This one has broken out from most of my other purely CJD stories, whether it was timing or it getting recommended by the right people. It was nerve wracking writing something pre-canon but I think it went well! It was fun to write. I haven't read it in forever so I reserve the right to remove it from the list.

Obviously, star shine started it all but if I had a third spot... Portland. It's probably one of my flops (everything is, but this one especially) and yet. I recall being so proud right after I finished it and wanting people to read it. (It obviously grew since then because I can't shut up.) It's long, maybe unnecessarily so, but god does it get to me. I was in a writing rut (see next answer) and challenged myself to write 'canon' stories, and I think the two are good.

But... To be honest, the answer has to be my unposted multichapter. I always think it's bad until I read it, and it kinda hits, all imperfections aside. 150k words in 5-and-a-bit months (26/3 to 2/9?), 33 chapters. I wrote 2/3 of that in two months (with 19 being the last one I wrote before 19/5), until my muse decided she was done and I decided to actually change jobs. (I also wrote now-published fics like haunted by the notion or don't want you to go, as well as a bunch of other smaller ones, in between! WTF was I on in 2021? I think the mini reunion altered my brain chemistry.) I've considered just dropping a link to the unedited, unbetaed drive on the server one day, ngl.

ANYWAY. Too long-winded!

☀️ Has anyone ever left you a comment that made your day? What did it say?

UM. All of them? real talk here, I don't get many comments so I love them all. I write for a show that ended 17 years ago, for a small (and surprisingly divisive) ship (their loss - there's so much talent) so I should've known going in. It took me some time to internalize it. I'm also not that good a writer, so I'll take it. Comments mean the world to me, even if it's a "lovely" or "great job." Just taking a few seconds means a lot and writers aren't kidding when they say it's motivating. It's also how I've made friends in the fandom so yeah! comments!

To highlight some rather recent ones!

Haunted by the notion got so many from so different people, and they were all so incredibly nice when I was terrified. All of those broke me, and might be the reason why I've been struggling with a followup! (And why I've been wanting to post again soon, rather than wait.) From the other stories, I have two ~recent ones~ I actually bookmarked because they broke me.

miabicicletta's (💕 ) on St. Augustine. I woke up on a Saturday and I remember reading it from bed and crying. It was so incredibly kind and lovely and I couldn't remember the last time anyone had written anything as long. I still think about it all the time. 🥂 (I've now realized Steph also wrote another lovely one ♥️ That story and the love it got, man.)

krazykitkat's on all's well + her comment on St. Augustine because her stories are some of my favorites. I couldn't believe that someone whose work I adored and have read countless times since I finished the show six years ago had read one of my stories, but had liked it???? Didn't compute. Doesn't compute. She's read many since (see St. Augustine, the most recent one), commented and left kudos on a bunch, and it still... blows my mind. (This one happened while I was flying back from Stockholm and was the first thing I saw when I landed.)

But really - so many people have left so many kind messages over the last couple of years, and I've probably gotten emotional at all of them. That there are people out there who are reading the silly little stories that have come out of my brain... wonders never cease.

#miabicicletta #asks #this is unnecessarily long and I am sorry #I really could have talked more about all of these things #as I said I hate my writing but I'll talk nonstop about it

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scribblingplace · 29 days ago

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Guild Rats

Dirk runs into a friend in the Guild Hall. Set pretty early in Act 3. I can not stress how much my sewer druid has feelings about these Tiefling kids. Espeically Mol.

It’s a rare moment of joy when Dirk spots a familiar face amongst the kids hawking stolen goods. Not that she hadn’t been expecting familiar faces. She’s been one of those kids, she recognizes plenty of people in the guild hall in passing. She owes a bunch of them money. (Which is making this whole thing a bit more stressful.)

But the flash of red sticks out against the green and gold like a sore thumb.

“Mol?” She mutters in disbelief. Grabbing Astarion’s sleeve and tugging on it. To get his attention, see if he’s seeing the same tiefling.

“It is, isn’t it?” He says. Confirming that yes. It’s the right kid.

“Did she always have two eyes?”

“I guess so.” Dirk is currently carrying her eyepatch. Shoved somewhere in the depths of her absurdly deep pockets.

If any kid would give Moonrise the slip, of course it’s Mol. And of course this is where she’d end up. But still. It’s a surprise, and a relief, and the first thing to go right since she got back to this stupid fucking city.

“Well, go on then, catch up, swap urchin trade secrets or whatever it is you are dying to do.” Astarion gives her a little nudge, rolling his eyes.

He really can’t begin to understand why Dirk is so invested in the gaggle of tieflings from the grove. Or why she’s so desperate to impress this specific twelve year old. But, Gods, Dirk has been miserable since getting back to the city, maybe this will cheer her up enough that she stops snapping at him over completely reasonable complaints. Besides, they can’t really get on with things until Karlach finishes her beer.

Dirk doesn’t need to be asked twice, she moves over giving a quick browse of the stolen trinkets on display, hands jammed firmly in her pockets to resist the urge to filch something.

You’d think baubles wouldn’t hold much appeal to someone carrying half her weight in magic items, but old habits die hard. And being in such familiar territory had Dirk sliding into them with shocking ease.

“Well, look who it is, glad to see you made it to the city, bet you found plenty of coin in Ketheric’s coffers!”

Mol greets her first, waving her over, though it’s hard to say if she’s happy to see her. Mol has the tone of someone mid scheme, who's about to rope her into it.

For Mol that probably counts as happy.

“Ready to do some business?” Mol asks, and Dirk can't help a tiny smile.

“You aren’t dead, how’d you get out of the mindflayer colony?”

“I made it out of The Hells when Elturel fell. Moonrise was child’s play.”

Fair point. Extremely fair point. “Oh, well, good. Nice to see someone made it all the way here.”

There’s a flicker of something on Mol’s face, concern maybe, she hides it quick. Dirk's grumbling probably implies worse than she means.

“Everyone who was at Last Light is still stuck in the queue at Rivington.” She clarifies.

“Guessing you skipped it though,” it's not a question, Dirk skipped the queue too, anyone with a lick of sense and an ounce of discretion could manage it. Mol has both in spades.

“Course I did,” Mol confirms with a grin, taking the chance to brag with glee.

“Snuck right past the checkpoint! Don’t know why everyone here’s so worried about The Steel Watch. Guess the rest of them aren’t as good at this as I am.”

The bragging earns another smile from Dirk, it's not much, but this is the best she's felt since getting into Baldur’s Gate proper.

“They do seem a bit dim, only as sharp as your average pig.” She agrees, relaxing a bit. “You can walk right past ‘em if you're quiet.”

“Already had a run in with The Fist? Thought you were supposed to be a hero.”

Dirk grimaces. She does not need to admit why she was in trouble with the fist, so she just fidgets with some loose coin in her pockets biting her lip.

“There was a rat I needed to see in the clink.” Dirk says with a shrug.

“A rat?”

“Yeah, uh, Skittle. If you ever get locked up, he'll be able to get you out, just make sure you have some cheese on you, and tell him you know me, he might give you a discount.”

“Rats running shops here? This city's got everything don't it?”

“Mostly it just has rats.” Hard to say if that's a joke from Dirk, or her honest opinion, if it was supposed to be funny Mol doesn't laugh.

“Speaking of, I am doing business here.” Mol points out, trying to get the conversation back on track. “So, unless you’re buying something.”

“Depends what you have.”

“Well, Sticky’s the one selling things, I’m more management.”

“Dondo and I have history, I'd rather do my business with you.” Dirk gives Sticky a once over, he’s currently chasing Us and her rat in little circles. “Sides's, he's distracted.”

Mol follows her gaze.

“Kids, I tell you, no working with ‘em.” Mol grumbles.

Dirk lets out a little huff of laughter before digging through her bag for things she knows will be useful for Mol’s burgeoning career.

Fireworks, spell scrolls, potions of invisibility, caltrops. Anything to put some distance between a kid and The Flaming Fist.

“I ran into Arabella too, in the Shadowlands.” It’s hard to say whether Mol perks up more at that, or at the scroll of Tasha’s Hideous Laughter Dirk hands her.

“Bells? She’s alright?”

“Was last I checked. She’s in the city somewhere. I think. Following the weave or some other load of shite.”

“What’s The Weave want with Bells?”

“That Idol you wanted her to pinch gave her magic. She’s basically a Druid now.”

“Oh.” Mol seems to need a minute to digest that. “Can she turn into stuff too?”

“Couldn’t last I checked, and we tried it. She stayed in camp with me for a bit.”

“Shame, it seems like a neat trick.”

“Useful for this line of work.” Dirk agrees. She's gotten herself out of the clink a dozen times just by being a rat.

“Her folks?”

“Corpses.” You’re not supposed to be that direct with kids. Dirk knows this, given that every other time she’s tried the tactic it results in someone crying. But Mol Is barely a kid, she doesn’t need to be treated like one.

“Huh.” The tiefling says, shrugging it off like she's been told it will rain tomorrow. “They never liked me.”

“Anyhow, thanks for the tip, I’ll keep an eye out for her.” Mol says, before giving Dirk a once over, considering something.

“Course if Bells is a Druid now I don’t think I’ll need you much for my outfit.”

Not for the first time seized with the urge to yell at Mol till the kid realizes what a rotten time she's in for here. What shit hole the city is. That she does in fact need someone in her outfit who knows the place.

She swallows the rant, it would fall on deaf ears anyways, and changes the topic.

“You working with Fetcher then?”

“Yeah, haven’t met him yet, but I hear he’s alright for a geezer.”

“He is, ‘cept all the cats.”

“What his cats do to you?”

“You don't want to know.”

“Aw come on, now you got me curious?”

Dirk looks miserable just thinking about it, chewing her lower lip as she hesitates.

“Look I-”

“Darling, are you done yet? We do have important things to do.” Astarion's timing is perfect. She'll probably thank him for it later. Right now though she gives him a little nod, then turns her attention back to Mol.

“Look if you need someone who knows the undercity, just give me a shout, we’re staying at the riverfront, past Nortale’s, near the strand, there’s a sewer entrance, but I’ve wired it.” She pauses, weighing how much she should say about defensive measures, given all the ears present. Glances around furtively. Yeah, best to shut up.

“So uh, good luck with everything.” She gives Mol a quick attempt at a smile before going with Astarion to join the rest of the group and have a chat with Nine-Fingers, a prospect that's only slightly less daunting than talking about Fetcher's miserable cats.

#Bg3 #Mol #Mol Baldur's Gate 3 #Baldur's Gate 3 #Astarion #Named Tav #Writing #Fanfiction #Dirk Knifely

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