#changes-a-poll-fic

[meowmeowriley]

Changes: a Poll-Fic

Chapter 7: Side With Ghost: End

The Fic on Ao3

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6

Ghost must know something he didn't, and Gaz had never tried to interfere. Soap decided to side with Ghost, give him a moment to explain himself.

Aheh… hahah… ahahahaaa….

"Cap, let's hear him out."

Price looked equal parts surprised and concerned. At first continuing to hold the canister away from Ghost, before finally narrowing his gaze and slowly proffering it back towards the man he'd swiped it from. "Talk first." He demanded.

"It's an antidote." Gaz cut in before Ghost could speak. "Of sorts..." he added hesitantly.

Heheh… mmhmhhmhm…

"I just wanna fix what they did to my mouth." Ghost said quietly, voice barely registering over the roar of the engine and the sounds of the truck bouncing along the uneven dirt road. "We don't have enough to fix everythin'. Just let me fix this."

…Monstrous…

Hah… ahaha… ahahahahahahuhhhhh…

Price seemed to be shocked into silence. Or at least he had been, but he quickly rounded on Soap, and snapped at him. "Would you stop fucking laughing, Sergeant, this isn't the bloody time!"

What? "Ah'm no-"

Heheh… huhhhh… ahah…

"Dammit, Soap-"

"I don't think he can help it, Price." Once again, Gaz seemed to know more than the rest of them. "Doesn't seem to know he's been doing it. Must've been exposed."

"Exposed?" Soap asked dumbly.

Oh, so he didn't know… I'm sorry, Johnny…

"Gas born... something, that gets into you not through your lungs, but through an injury." Gaz gestured towards his arm with his head, where he had his free hand clamped hard over the wound. "Like a bullet wound or," he gestured towards Ghost. "His... everythin'."

"Your hand?" Price asked with a gentleness that he hadn't had since he'd picked the three of them up.

"He was laughing before they lopped off his fingers though." Ghost pointed out.

And that tracked. Soap had been hearing, no, apparently he had been producing the laugh since he'd entered that cursed spiral hall in the basement. Since he'd picked the locks... since he'd-

"I rubbed my eyes?" That couldn't have been it, could it?

"Before or after being exposed to the gas?" Ghost prodded.

"When was I exposed?" Soap hadn't noticed a gas, it must've been odorless, invisible.

Gaz confirmed that, then continued. "There were symbols painted on the door to where they were keeping Ghost, painted in this stuff." He kicked the backpack at his feet, full of canisters or the mystery substance. "The gas was the bio weapon we were sent to investigate. They've been testing it for a while. You would've been exposed to it when you broke the seals, and after, it spread throughout the entire facility."

"The laughing started after I opened that door, yeah. I didn't know it was me." Ghost put his left hand on Soap's shoulder, and Soap was grateful for the contact. He leaned his head on the other man's hand.

Mmmmmhmhm… hmhmhuhh…

Price seemed to make up his mind suddenly, as he grabbed his radio. "Laswell, you are clear for your airstrike."

"You all are danger close, John." She cautioned, her voice crackling through comms.

"Don't care, bring it all down." He sighed heavily. Then, "The research. What'd you find?"

Gaz looked at Ghost, then looked down at his feet. "They had a ton of test subjects. Every one of them developed some sort of insect-like features after exposure. Depending on the wound and the person, it could be more or less disturbing." He winced a bit, probably realizing how his words could hurt Ghost.  "Some of the changes caused by a lengthy exposure seem to be irreversible, even with the yellow stuff." He continued avoiding eye contact with the Lieutenant.

Ghost leaned back and let his head knock off the side of the truck. "Fuuuuuuck." He closed his eye. He let his arm fall from Soap's shoulder.

Gaz continued. "It's suspected that there's a short window of effectiveness for this stuff. There was one guy, poor bastard, who was basically made of roaches. They'd cut him open and the bugs would pour out. Don't know how long they kept playing with the poor guy, but eventually they dropped his entire body into a huge vat of the stuff, and all that came out was a swarm of thousands of 'em. It didn't fix him." He took a shaky breath.

It occurred to Soap then that Gaz must've read about, or worse, watched, what had happened to the countless men who'd been tested on. What's more, he'd swiped the research data, so they had with them whatever he'd seen. Soap wasn't sure if he wanted to see it himself.

"I'm sorry, Ghost-" Gaz started, shakily, but Ghost cut him off.

"Pour it on your arm, Sergeant." He ordered.

"What?"

"Were there timestamps on those videos?" Ghost asked.

"I, erm... I had it on double speed, and wasn't really lookin'-"

"I was there. I saw what they did to him. It's too late for me." Ghost looked so dejected.

Aa Gaz did as he was instructed, Soap reached for Ghost. He brought up his right hand, the injured one, to place on Ghost's shoulder in support, to return the gesture, and it was then that he noticed it. His ring and pinky finger on that hand seemed to have been replaced.

Heheh…

He hadn't felt it happen, but something tore through the bandaging and was filling the fingers of his gloves. Slowly, Soap pulled the glove off. What appeared to be the pincers of a stag beetle were jutting out of the nubs where his fingers had been. He flexed his hand, and the pincers went up and down with his fingers. Tentatively, Soap tried and succeeded in opening and closing them as well.

Gaz started speaking again. "There was one scientist who theorized that it wasn't time based, but instead had to do with whether the person had all of their body parts back, as to whether or not they could be fixed. They took a lot out of that roach guy- oh shit." Soap looked up to see the others all watching him play with his new appendages.

Silently, Ghost handed him a canister.

"I don't have the fingers..." Soap whispered sadly.

"All we can do is hope you don't need 'em. Pour it on." When Soap took the canister and did as he was told, Ghost smiled. It was half hearted, but full of affection. "There's a good lad."

The odd not-quite-liquid, not-quite-gas flowed slowly over Soap's arthropodic digits. It chilled his entire hand, and sent electric tingles through his blood stream.

"Your eyes too, Soap." Price instructed. "Just to be safe."

Ghost took hold of the canister in his left hand, and cradled Soap's chin with his right. "Lean back." He instructed gently.

Heh…

Soap brought up his hand, making sure to cover Ghost's replaced digits with his own. "If it doesn't work, we'll be okay, yeah?"

Simon smiled at him. "Yeah, Johnny. We'll be alright, love."

Huhmmmmmm…

Behind them, Soap could see the fireball as the base was struck by the rockets.

***

Somewhere, deep within the jungle, a stag beetle with human fingers where it should have pincers followed closely a centipede with an eyeball for a head.

The pair made their way out of the burned rubble of a base that had come crumbling down on top of them. They made their way into the undergrowth, homing in on where they were meant to be, an entire world away.

The two were succeeded by a veritable army of roaches, dozens of them carrying teeth, and one a tongue. 

[kissmypoets-hp]

📚Fanfic Classics: Sports AU Edition

(Muggle) Sports AUs that perfectly capture the inherent homoeroticism of having a decade-long rivalry... the triumphs and defeats and the epic highs and lows of sports...

🏎️ Rush (For A Gap That Exists) by @sleepstxtic

♟️ The Pirc Defence by @sleepstxtic

🏊🏼‍♂️ Freely Given by InnerLilith and @kk1smet

🚣🏻 Our Objective Remains Unchanged by @citrusses (has its own post here)

art credits below!

Images used (in order):

"Abstract fast speed motion blurred light background" by khoroshkov via Getty Images *

"Chess Board" by AndrewX89 via Getty Images *

"A Bigger Splash" by David Hockney (1967).... iykyk

"The Finish" by J.C. Leyendecker (1908) * note: Getty images were accessed via Canva! these covers are intended for personal use ONLY so i figure it should be fine to share, since i'm crediting the source....

this series was inspired by zeziliazink and bubu0h's fic covers since i want to make my kindle library look cute too :)

[dropoutfailure]

ok, enough wholesome dadson. time to sexualize terrible fathers. (cw for: dadson incest + FtM son POV + transphobia / misgendering / fetishizing / forcemasc)

transphobic dad: doesn't approve of you transitioning or taking T, but isn't stopping you and doesn't seem turned off by the changes, even after you pass consistently as a man. doesn't know how T even works, always lowkey curious about the changes. he does like that you're so much hornier on T and don't even have periods anymore. tugs at your facial hair (ow? wtf :/) and goes "huh? it's real? I thought you drew it on every morning!" with a hearty laugh. dad joke? he might have actually thought so. backhanded praise, mean jokes at your expense, and moments where he genders you correctly, by accident.

thought you would eventually change your mind and give up transitioning "when you realise that being a man is hard," as if he's not the one making it hard. he might actually think of you as a son at some point, but he was never taught to apologize, he's "always right," he's stubborn, so he will keep calling you a daughter because a father can't show weakness. wants to call you homophobic slurs sooo bad, but that would be admitting defeat.

gets angry when you bring up surgery bc he likes to squeeze your tits and fuck your pussy. won't do any anal because it's gay. and clearly, he's isn't, he says. definitely closeted.

trans boy chaser dad: for better or for worse, only took an interest in your life when he found out you're a trans guy, fixed his relationship with you by treating you more like a date than as his son.

excited, touchy-feely, even creepy. eager to please. just pathetically horny for the way your body's changing from T - he won't misgender you. you get aggressively reaffirmed to the point of it getting annoyingly patronizing actually. regardless, he fucks you hard, encouraging you to moan with your cracking voice, and is too horny to feel bad about the incest. it's a welcome change from the previous emotional distance, but you feel used, like he's taking advantage of your newly high libido.

fixated on your body and everything "clockable," would rather you didn't get any surgery... says you're already perfect as is, from just testosterone... it does feel nice that he takes some sort of pride in having a son now, fully embracing you, the way he finds even all the awkward changes (sparse facial hair, voice cracks etc) not just endearing, not just attractive, but really fucking hot. and it's a relief for your body which craves that release. but. dad might just completely lose interest a few years into T, if you pass consistently.

bisexual, he says. but of course not into cis men.

transmed dad: thinks he knows what's best for your body, forcemascs you in his own ideals, pushing you to work hard to speed up your transition, to become a "real" man. you were so happy that dad accepted you being a trans guy so wholeheartedly and proudly, but the acceptance seems to have turned into overbearing surveillance...

dad insists on doing your T injections himself, because he doesn't trust that you'll actually do them. "no son of mine will be a fucking embarrassing softboy pansy who never transitions for real, have some dignity, god damn it! either you transition fully or you don't transition at all!" ...he pushes you to consider top and bottom surgery asap, to become a "real man," regardless of what you might want. he very excitedly looks forward to the day you can top him with your real cock, like a son should. :)

he makes you like anal because that's how real men do it. you're absolutely not allowed to derive any pleasure from anywhere but your ass and T-dick, and the phantom sensation of a strapon. he's good at working your T-dick though, it's all almost worth it just for that...

love, validation, and praise only when you've "earned it." if you fail to live up to his strict expectations, the things he says fucking hurt. misgenders you as punishment and threatens to withhold your testosterone "since you want to stay a girl so bad."

......

so, all of these options leave you feeling unsatisfied and degraded in one way or another!! yippee! no, there's no option for a Normal About Trans Men And Masculinity Dad, this is the Terrible Fathers dadson poll. you must choose.

[snakebites-and-ink]

Whumper-Turned-Caretaker CYOA 27

CW for the series | Masterlist

You chose to take Whumpee on an outing.

“Whumpee,” you start, “I’d like to take you outside. And not just to the backyard. I was thinking a walk around the neighborhood. Can I trust you not to…get me in trouble?” They acted trustworthy before, when they kept quiet with your friend over, so you believe you can trust them again. But this is a new level of freedom and opportunity, so you’d like to make sure.

They nod. “Yes,” they say, voice soft but not weak.

“And are you ready for that?”

“Yes,” they say again. “I would really like that.”

“Okay. Let’s go, shall we?”

You bring them outside—out the front this time, where there’s sidewalk leading away from the house and no tall fence enclosure to keep the two of you hidden.

Whumpee gawks a little. It’s understandable; they haven’t seen a space this open in a long time.

You let them pick a direction, and start walking down the block, side by side. Whumpee enjoys the fresh air, the sunlight, and the birds that occasionally fly by or sing from the trees. You enjoy seeing their renewed wonder at a world that you’ve taken for granted but that they’ve spent too long cooped up away from.

They don’t shout or make a break for it. It seems you’ve succeeded in building up a trust that goes both ways. You make it back home without any incidents.

Whumpee looks a little regretful that it’s over. You promise them they’ll have the chance to stroll the streets again before too long, which cheers them up and earns you one of those smiles you’ve learned to value from them.

What you don’t tell them is that you’re not sure whether that chance will be with you again.

It’s time to make a choice. Whumpee has come a long way. As far as you’re able to tell, they’ve gotten through the biggest parts of the recovery you decided to help them with when you first brought them out of the basement. Whumpee is about ready to go back to whatever life they had before. Still, you can't help but wonder if…maybe they didn't have much to go back to. No one came looking for them in all the time you’ve had them, after all.

Taglist:

@kabie-whump, @whumpanthems, @whumpsoda, @3-2-whump, @generic-whumperz, 

@taterswhump, @alivenova, @whumped-by-glitter, @expressionless-fr, @whumpycries, 

@whumpsday, @moons-cozy-corner, @echo-goes-aaa, @whumplr-reader, @starfields08000, 

@whump-blog, @ivymyers, @currentlyinthesprial, @lumpofsand, @coffin-hopping, 

@ragin-cajun-fangirl, @catnykit, @indigoviolet311, @dragongodryss, @kira-the-whump-enthusiast,

@risk606, @natthebatt, @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94, @whatwhump, @venusski

@hermitcrabs-1,  @croixph, @mj-or-say10, @kawaii-cakes, @gevwer,

@fourwingedwriter, @turtlesnap1

[ruvviks]

The Dobrynin family is a corpo family through and through, rooted in Arasaka and Orbital Air going back by several generations; though their powerful position within the corporate world ends with the children of Nadya and Matvey Dobrynin. With Vitali and Daniil fired from Arasaka and Kang Tao respectively— the former indirectly getting his parents fired, too— and Roksana having refused to set foot within a megacorporation from the start, the family begins crumbling apart at the very seams when clashing interests lead to grudges, betrayal, and pointless acts of revenge. ↳ read the unrevised fic here if you're interested!

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @roseeway, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree;

@kanos, @swordcoasts, @ordinarymaine, @claudiawolf, @strafethesesinners

[voxofthevoid]

Poll time, yet again ❎

This isn't what I'd call a problem per se, but I'm writing at a pace my posting cannot keep up with, even with me currently posting 5 fics a month—4 for JJK from a roster of 5 and 1 for MCU/Bleach. This'd be fine, but posting for MCU and Bleach long after leaving those fandoms has made it clear that I will significantly slow down on posting for those regardless of the size of my backlog. While I continue to love sharing those stories, the editing process becomes more of a chore than usual, and I just...sit on those. I'd like to avoid that as much as possible with JJK.

I'm still very firmly in the JJK sauce and haven't slowed down any, but I'd rather do this while I'm at the zenith of my inspiration, so these fics (which are the longest among my unposted JJK fics) can see the light of Ao3 while they and I are both hot, so to speak.

I'm upping my ongoing JJK roster from five to six, though whether the updates will increase to five a month or stay four a month remains to be seen. I can handle both based on monthly energy levels and have drawn up schedules for each, but I might run another poll for that to see what y'all can take. But that's for later.

For now, pick a fic ✨

Descriptions, titles, and choice WIP Wednesday links for the fics under the cut. I'll reblog the poll once a day or so till it's over.

Amnesiac Yuuji

the ghost in me was true (but you were haunted too): No-Shibuya AU where Gojou sends Yuuji out of the country after he eats all the fingers. Yuuji goes AWOL a year in and reappears 12 years later without any memories. Gojou doesn’t deal with that too well. Goyuu.

Shibuya Swap

(this is also part of the story) how the story changes: Just as the PR ensnares Gojou, canon!Yuuji switches places with his older self from an alternate dimension where he’s Gojou’s teacher. Goyuu.

Mundane Unclekuna

bloodstains on the collar means just don't ask: Mundane AU Yuuji’s sexual awakening is his big, mean uncle and then his high school teacher makes him realize he just has a specific type in men. Goyuu and Sukuita.

Surprise Rut Sex

taking the flesh is the only virtue: Yuuji goes into premature rut after the vs Mahito arc, and Nanami ends up “helping” before Gojou shows up to escalate matters. Goyuu and Nanaita.

[tanoraqui]

the real problem with The Silmarillion is that the creative sandbox is SO big, from the literal world map to the many-millennia timeline to the characters who are half historical figure constructed from 6 different half-contradictory drafts, half mythical archetype, and don’t even get me STARTED on the theological philosophy… that there is NO chance anyone else will remotely properly write the fic in your head. In other fandoms, I can be pretty sure that at least the people in the carefully chosen 12-person discord server I belong to all have the same fic in their heads that we jammed together at 2am, with the same interpretations of character and theme which we’ve debated and discussed at length. But The Silmarillion? You can spend 3 hours discussing a single character in like a 5-year period and walk away completely happy with shared headcanons BUT SIMULTANEOUSLY certain that their interpretation of the character is fundamentally different than yours, such that any fic they write would suffer from notable if not severe “he would not fucking say that” disorder…and that both your and their interpretations are completely reasonable reads of the text, so you can’t even be mad.

So you HAVE to write ALL your own fic or it’s AGONIZING.

[plusultraetc]

do you see what I mean 😭

[meowmeowriley]

Changes: A Poll-Fic

Chapter 6: Yell, Hope He Startles

The fic on Ao3

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5

Soap had often been called a loud mouth, among man, many other things. He quickly decided to use that to his advantage here, seeing as he couldn't hope to close the distance quickly enough.

"STOP!" He roared, hoping to startle his Lieutenant into not cracking open the glass canister in his hand.

His outburst caused Gaz to jump, and Ghost to look at him like he was the one with weird centipede limbs.

It worked though, and gave Soap the distraction he needed to approach Ghost and snatch the canister away. He tried to ignore the hurt look in Ghost's eyes, and the way said look caused his heart to writhe within his chest.

Ghost wasn't himself, and he needed to keep that in mind. I'll make it up to you, Simon. He vowed internally. When we're back and safe, and you can think clearly. I'll tell you everything.

Soap looked the other man up and down. Crusted blood, dirt, the strange semi-invisible sickeningly yellow liquid. Beneath all of that was his Lieutenant. "I'm sorry." He said, before tearing his eyes away and stuffing all the canisters he could see into Gaz's discarded backpack.

"Why would you yell like that in the middle of a covert o-"

Ghost's scolding was cut off by a man down the hall saying "Contact" before opening fire on the doorway. He was joined by seemingly dozens of others.

"Way to bloody go, Soap." Gaz spat, taking cover away from the doorway. "Catch." He tossed Ghost's other missing eye towards him, legs flailing and body twisting as it flew.

Aheheh... aheheheheheh...

"Cheers." Ghost called as he caught it with his still connected hand. It crawled down his wrist then up his arm. Across his chest. Over the mess that was his neck.

Soap watched it all, the world seemed far away.

The bug seemed to slip and lose its grasp as it tried to crawl up the muzzle. As it fell, so did Soap's heart. He lunged forward now, and caught it. It writhed in his hand and once again, so did his heart. He held it back up for Ghost.

Haha... aaahahhah... ahahaaaa...

It lifted itself up, half its body off his palm, legs undulating in waves, and gripped at Ghost's muzzle once more. It found purchase this time, yet made no move to burrow into its intended socket, as the other had. Instead it made its way up further, nestling into Ghost's shaggy, greasy hair. "Bird's eye view, then?" He asked it, before turning his attention to Soap. "Get your head outta your arse, Sergeant, get a move on!"

HAHAHAHAAAAAHAHAHAHA

Gaz was already charging out the other door, the one that had previously been booby trapped. the one that Ghost's severed hand had saved him from opening.

Speaking of, Soap saw the enormous arthropod wrapping itself around Ghost's arm. Its feet dug in, tearing the fabric as they nestled into his flesh. The hand hung over the bloody stump, only just offset from where it was meant to be.

Ghost shoved Soap towards the door before popping up to follow. Despite everything he'd seen thus far throwing him off kilter, he refused to be dead weight. Soap brought up his rifle.

The trio cleared the hall as they ran, Gaz taking out anyone who crossed his path, Soap taking care of anyone in any rooms who'd managed to dive out of Gaz's way, and Ghost clearing out anyone who started to catch up from the rear.

Their mad dash took them off course from the bit of the building Soap had traversed, and he desperately hoped Gaz was at least backtracking how he'd infiltrated.

"Fuck, last mag!" Ghost cursed from behind them.

"Same here." Gaz lamented ahead of him.

Soap took stock of himself. He had one more spare, and half a mag still in his rifle. "Got one and a half." This wasn't looking the greatest.

Gaz led them through a set of double doors and into what looked to be some sort of lobby or reception area. A couple men were guarding the glass doors that separated them from the outside world. The golden light filtering in framed their silhouettes.

More company burst through a door to their right, and more yet could be heard behind them. They were about to be pinned down with heavy fire from all sides.

Ghost quickly grabbed both of his Sergeants and hurled himself and the two of them behind a reception counter, buying them precious few seconds.

There wasn't time for them to hash out an exit strategy, and the only cover the desk afforded was a simple break in line of sight. It wouldn't stop bullets. A fact that was punctuated by Gaz gasping and grasping his arm. Red blooming through the navy fabric and into his gloves. Somehow, he didn't cry out. Didn't alert their adversaries that they'd hit their target.

...No...

Scanning the area he feared would be his grave, Soap laid eyes on his comrades. His friends. He locked eyes first with Gaz, who still had his jaw set with resolve. He wasn't giving up. Then he looked at Ghost.

Heh... hmhmhm... hhmhmhmhmmhuh...

Ghost, with one eye where it should be and the other... missing? Had it lost its grip in his hair and gotten left behind as they'd scrambled through the maze of halls? "Johnny," Ghost began, and he leaned in towards Soap.

For a moment, Soap thought he was going to pull him close, offer a confession in their final moments, perhaps remove the muzzle and press his lips to Soap's own. He craved it. It would be a fittingly violent end for two violent men. Dying on the battlefield as they finally, finally admitted to one another the feelings they'd been dancing around for months. I don't care that you've become some mad creepy bug monster thing, you're it for me. "Why the hell 'avent you used these bloody things?!" Ghost hissed as he lunged forward and yanked several grenades off of Soap's kit. He pulled the pins and lobbed them towards their assailants.

Soap began ripping others off and tossing them as well. "Well if ah had, we wouldn't have them now, would we!?" His answer dripping with as much venom and snark as he could manage. Why the fuck did he have to be so fucked in the head as to fall for this asshole? Scolding him in the middle of a firefight.

He knew, though. It was because Ghost would scold him in the middle of a firefight that he'd fallen. The man was mad, sure, but he was level headed in even the worst of shitshows.

Explosions and rubble rained down around them. "Will you two stop flirting for five fucking minutes while we save our own asses?!" Gaz wasn't facing them but the eyeroll was palpable.

A body landed on the desk above their heads.

"Hey Soap, what has two legs n' bleeds?"

"I swear to God, Ghost, ye've told this one before."

"This guy, I lied about the legs." Ghost pulled the body down by the arm hanging next to his head, and sure enough, the man had bled out through the stumps that had previously been his legs.

AHAHAH AAAHHHAHAHA HAAAHHAHA

Oh. Alright then. "Good to know they actually improved your sense of humor, sir."

Oh, Johnny...

The rate of fire died down around them as the soldiers scattered, and the three of them bolted for the doors.

They'd been shattered by one of the frags and Gaz didn't even attempt to open them, instead he lowered his head and crashed through, using his helmet and the shoulder that didn't have a bullet in it to take the window out completely. The other two vaulted through as well.

The second they were free Price was barking at them over comms. "Get your asses into the truck, NOW!"

The enemy had recovered and the earth sprayed into the air as bullets rained down around them. Their little team hurled themselves into the back of the truck as Price provided cover fire and miraculously no one went down.

"Help me out here!" Price grumped as he mowed down men trying to exit the building. The three joined in, with their sparse ammunition.

Whoever was driving punched it.

They made it a little ways away when Price removed the gas mask he was wearing, and proceeded to scowl at his men.

"The fuck were you two thinking?!" He snarled. "You disobeyed Laswell's direct or- Simon, Jesus Christ..." So he'd finally noticed Ghost.

The man in question rolled his surviving eye and held his hands up placatingly. The one higher than the other, as it was still not attached to his wrist, but to the long glossy bug wrapped tightly around and nestled deeply into his arm. "I'm fine. Gaz took a bullet, worry 'bout him."

The wound... he's been exposed...

"What did they do?"

Aheh....

"Nothin' a little a this won't fix." Ghost said, whilst reaching into Gaz's pack, and pulling out one of the canisters.

He leaned back, as if intending simply to enjoy a soda, and began twisting off the top.

Price snatched it away. Ghost sputtered indignantly and leaned in to get it back.

"Soap, keep him steady!" Price ordered.

"Soap, no!" Ghost warned him.

Ghost had been trying to drink that shit since they'd met back up with Gaz.

[izukus-shattered-elbow-bones]

Mha fans who read fanfic where the story is rewritten to where Izuku stays quirkless or has a different quirk entirely, when they get to the sports festival arc, do you prefer the author change it or keep it the same?

I prefer it if everything in the sports festival is kept mostly the same.

I prefer it if everything is kept the same but things are added during lunch or in between the 1v1 fights. (i.e. conversations that didn't happen in Canon, little extra interactions between characters, ect)

I need everything to be the same except Bakugo doesn't win.

I prefer it if everything is the same about the sports festival except the way Izuku fights in the 1v1 fights is changed because he is quirkless/has a different quirk but the outcomes remains the same.

I prefer it if everything is the same about the sports festival except the way Izuku fights in the 1v1 fights is changed because he is quirkless/has a different quirk and the outcomes change.

I prefer it if who fights who during the 1v1 fights is changed but everything else about the sports festival arc remains the same.

I prefer it if the teams for the team battle are changed as well as who fights who during the 1v1 fights. But everything else is the same.

I prefer it if the race is changed, the teams for the team battle are changed, and the 1v1 fights are changed. But everything else is the same.

I need at least one of the competitions to be changed to something else.

I need all of the competitions to be changed to something else.

I need literally everything about the sports festival to change. The competitions, the winners, the conversations between the people, all of it. I can't read the same sports festival arc again.

I don't really care/ I am supportive of the author's vision, whether they choose to change it or keep it the same.

[camgoloud]

i’m pretty sure this was done on the tlt subreddit once before but i haven’t seen it here and i’m curious to know tumblr’s opinions on the topic! personally i like the second two much more than the first—gtn didn’t really grab me that much and i wouldn’t have even called myself part of the fandom until i decided i might as well give htn a go and immediately got sucked in—but i’m guessing that most people’s experience is different, since the first book seems like the most popular based on the impressions i’ve gotten. also feel free to put in tags where you’d rank the short stories (as yet unsent and doctor sex) relative to the books! i would have stuck those in the poll too but there are. 120 different ways to order 5 unique objects

[snakebites-and-ink]

Whumper-Turned-Caretaker CYOA 12

CW for the series | Masterlist

You chose to try to comfort Whumpee without waking them using gentle touches.

You tiredly heave yourself out of bed with a grunt. You try to be quieter as you lower yourself next to the air mattress Whumpee’s sleeping on.

You hesitantly reach out and touch their hair. When that doesn’t disturb or wake them, you start petting their head lightly. You gently rub their arms and shoulders in a way you hope feels comforting. You stick to those areas; you don’t want to do something that might be creepy while they’re sleeping.

It seems to help somewhat, but doesn’t beat the nightmare entirely. Whumpee gets stiller and their whimpers get a little softer and farther between. That’s probably as good as you’re going to get. You get back in your bed, but keep an ear out in case things get worse again. You don’t hear any signs of that, and eventually you fall back asleep.

When you wake up in the morning, Whumpee’s breathing is even and gentle. They’re sound asleep. Any of the night’s intense dreams have passed by now.

You’re hungry; you want to get up and fix breakfast. But you’re not sure about leaving Whumpee in here on their own. What if you can’t trust them unsupervised? What if they wake up alone and it frightens them not knowing what you’ve gone to do? What if they’re confused when they come to in an unfamiliar location?

Taglist:

@kabie-whump, @whumpanthems, @whumpsoda, @3-2-whump, @generic-whumperz, 

@taterswhump, @alivenova, @whumped-by-glitter, @expressionless-fr, @whumpycries, 

@whumpsday, @moons-cozy-corner, @echo-goes-aaa, @whumplr-reader, @starfields08000, 

@whump-blog, @ivymyers, @currentlyinthesprial, @lumpofsand, @coffin-hopping, 

@sunglasses-in-the-bentley, @catnykit, @indigoviolet311, @dragongodryss

[danandphilplay]

the final ultimate punk vs pastel edits!

you know what makes rpf better. when the fic writer makes the characters have some kind of opposite personality or life experience going on. like 2 people you might not expect to get along and boom they are perfect for each other.

i just realised this is missing punk dan x pastel dan and punk phil x pastel phil. feel free to say that in tags if thats ur fav

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi, Jin Ling, and Ouyang Zizhen listened attentively as Wei Wuxian explained his newest invention: a way to send memories to the past. Satisfied that he dealt with all possible paradoxes and running on -2 hours of sleep, he didn't make note of his sons' frankly concerning expressions. "We could change everything!" they shouted simultaneously. For better or worse, only time will tell.

Author: animeloverhomura

[hunnicute]

“Hello! You there, in the cot. I know you’re feeling sleepy, but I wonder if you’d mind taking a brief survey. I’m sure it will make you feel right as rain. Five questions.”

There’s a crackling over the speaker. Or maybe it’s in his head. Everything feels at once itchy and gloopy. He tries to sit up as the speaker fizzes, there’s mumbling on the other side but it’s indistinguishable as language.

“Where am I?” The man asks, pushing up from the bare cot, looking around the room which seems to be made up of concrete walls and little else.

“Close, the first question is actually: who are you?”

Where was it coming from? The voice seemed to echo off all of the walls, its source at the moment unknowable. The man jumps off the cot, barely that - it’s only some green canvas stretched over a metal frame, an intense prickling filling his brain and sinking down his spine. What was that called? Anxiety. This wasn’t right.

“What is this place, where am I?” He asks again, pacing the room. There’s one exit. A metal door set into the concrete walls. Beside it a black panel with dozens of tiny holes. The speaker. Beside the cot he woke up on there’s a chair made of metal. Florescent lights beam from the ceiling causing the man to squint as he zeros in on the speaker grill. He nearly trips over his feet reaching for the door. He tries the handle, it doesn’t budge. He pulls. Nothing. Pushes. More of the same. Not even any give in the hinges or lock. Whatever was holding it in place wasn’t something he could get past.

“Who are you?”

Calm down, breathe. The man tries to order his thoughts into rationality, fighting the building rage and stress that's filling his entire body. Find out what they want, if you can give it to them then you may make it out alive. If you can’t… convince them you can. The man analyses the voice. Young, most likely male, tone what could be called chipper. It doesn’t seem threatening, or deceptive. Still best to be cautious.

“Who are you?” The voice comes once more, some of the cheerful edge is dulled this time, like it expected an answer by now and doesn’t know why it’s not getting a response. Like turning on the radio and expecting a song but only getting static when everything seems to be in working order.

Play along for now, the man thinks. He goes to answer, only to find out he can’t. Nothing’s physically stopping him, there’s air in his lungs and his lips are free to move. But he can’t answer. The simplest of questions, he reaches for the information in his brain and it’s just- gone. He clamps his jaw shut, teeth clicking together. His veins turn to ice.

What the hell is going on here.

“If you can’t answer, feel free to say unknown.”

He needs to get out. He needs to get to- Make sure- Is safe- It’s his job to- Home is-

There’s only one way out of this room, built of concrete and smelling of freshly printed pages and antiseptic (how does he know that?) and it’s through that door. Whoever is talking through the speaker can open it. He picks up his hat and runs a hand through his sandy blonde hair.

“I don’t know.” The man says, voice floating out of him like it doesn’t even belong to him. Maybe it doesn’t, how would he know?

“Unknown. Okay. Second question, in which US state or territory were you born?” He reaches for it. Nothing again. The ice in his veins spreads again, as the anxiety builds. His breath speeds up and his fists clench. He takes a step back from the door. Stay calm. He shakes his head. They must be watching him because the voice goes on.

“Unknown! Great.” Some of the chipperness has returned. He didn’t notice the round black bump above the door before, like a beady eye staring him down. How does he know that it’s a camera? He’s never seen one before, but he knows exactly what it is and what it does. The urge to run begins to overwhelm him the longer this goes on. His stomach twists with nausea. Commonly caused by motion sickness, intense pain, early pregnancy, food poisoning, various enteroviruses or in this case emotional distress.

“Question three, please name any US state or territory.”

“Uh- I don’t know… Delaware.” Delaware? Where did that come from? What else? Georgia. Iowa. Alaska.

“Delaware.”

New York, California, Virginia, New Mexico.

“Question four, what is Mr. Eagan’s favourite breakfast?”

Illinois, Rhode Island, Texas, Idaho. There’s another voice in the background, one he hasn’t heard up until now. It’s deeper, exasperated. God, he thinks it says. The chipper voice ignores it. So there’s someone else there. Maybe someone higher up, someone in charge?

“I don’t know who that is.” He reaches for the handle of the door again and jiggles it futilely. “Maybe we can have a conversation and you can tell me face to face.”

“I’d love to chat with you, after we finish the survey.”

He lets out a terse laugh, a smile tightening his lips - but not with amusement. The action feels familiar.

“And would you look at that, we’re on the final question! To the best of your memory, what is or was the colour of your mother’s eyes?” Does he even have a mother? He must. Everyone has a mother. The nausea threatens to take over and the man turns around looking for a bucket or a trash can. There’s nothing but the cot and the chair. He stumbles towards them.

“I don’t remember.”

“Unknown! Wow!”

“What the hell is this?”

“Unknown, unknown, Delaware, unknown and unknown right?”

“Look if you don’t tell me what the hell I’m doing here I-“

The door swings open and out of it comes a kid who can’t be older than 17, holding a clipboard and grinning behind large circular glasses.

“Gee sir, you got a perfect score! And quicker than most too, that first question is usually what really trips people up but you done it just swell.”