#cutting routine to get shredded

[fitnesflag]

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[charliemwrites]

Yes yes, I know. Part 9 for Charmed Slasher is coming out soon, I promise.

BUT! I had this Thought and just had to do it real quick!

(CW for violent imagery and actual violence)

Simon's been watching you for weeks.

You're such a sweet, quiet thing. Shy. Happy to let your coworkers lead conversations, chiming in only when directly addressed. You smile like sun peeking through clouds, slow and beaming, prying through darkness.

And they way you peer up through your eyelashes, the corners of your mouth tipping up. Oh, oh... he wants to ruin you.

Thinks of you while he strokes himself in bed, looking up at him through those thick lashes. Sticking together with unshed tears as you choke on his cock. That quietly pleased smile when he purrs that you're doing so well, almost halfway there...

It's becoming a distraction, this preoccupation with you. So many others just let their eyes slide over you, but not Simon. No, he sees you.

That you shred your bottom lip bloody when you're deep in thought. You wrinkle your nose and squeeze your eyes shut when you're trying not to sneeze. Always burn your mouth on your first sip of coffee.

He watches you in your home. The way you curl up with your favorite blanket, leaned up against the arm of the couch. A perfect open space for him to share with you. He memorizes your routines and imagines slotting himself into your life.

He shouldn't. That's not going to stop him.

Price has been staring at him hard when he thinks Simon won't notice. Gaz has been jumpier; the recruits whispering more fervently. They can sense him slipping; too many missions. Too much bloodshed. It's soaked past clothes and skin, muscle and marrow. His soul, if he has one, must be drenched crimson.

He needs an anchor to keep him from floating adrift in this sea of blood.

He's found you. So precious. So delicate. He couldn't let himself be too rough with you; you'd break so easily. Oh, his hands itch to break you down piece by piece like his favorite gun. Gut you and clean you out, only to put you back together again with his own hands, his initials stamped into you.

There's no salvation for someone like him, but you're all the Paradise he needs.

And then you go and do such a stupid, silly thing.

You go on a date. Look like something he wants to stain in your clingy jeans and low-cut top. Hair done just so. He wants to see it sweaty and tangled after burying his fingers in it; his vision goes red at the thought of anyone else getting that honor.

But no... no. It's not your fault, really. You don't know any better. But you will. You will very, very soon.

Simon watches your date greet you outside, slip an arm around your waist like it belongs there. Like you belong to anyone but Simon. The only things that saves the man from a bloody end right there is that you gently extricate yourself to go inside.

He seethes on the sidewalk across the street, fingers twitching for his Ka-Bar. The images of his initials on your perfect skin is burned behind his eyelids, and afterimage superimposing itself over his vision.

It's time you knew who you belong to.

--

Your father always said you have a temper like the Devil. Didn’t understand what he meant as a sunshine six-year-old, giggling after butterflies and munching on cheese sticks. Your parents’ pride and joy, their first and only babygirl.

You understood later, though, standing at the broken window and watching a pool of blood spread and spread and spread….. like leaving a marker tip on the page too long.

You’re Old Testament wrathful, fire and brimstone, churning beneath a lake of oil and ink. Pitch black, iridescent rainbow on the surface, too thick to realize what roils beneath until one misstep breaks that molecular tension—

Rage will boil up in your stomach, scorch your chest. Burns acidic in your throat and stains your teeth on venom. You don’t drown in anger, you wade into it until you float.

Not to say that you’re an angry person. You’re not. Not much to bother being angry about, by your estimate. Disappointed, resigned, annoyed, exasperated - sure. But the raw fury that sharpens your teeth and claws? It’s an energy expenditure your mind hardly ever feels the need to spark.

But there are some things…

“C’mon don’t be a fucking prude.” He’s drunk. He’s drunk and pushy and you feel your ribs expand, expand, expand…

“You fuckin’ owe me something.”

You show a little too much canine as you reply. “Because you bought me a couple drinks I didn’t ask for?”

“Fuckin’ spoiled bitch. Wha’ else d’you want, huh? Fuckin’ money?”

He pushes you. Your shoulders bump the alley wall behind you. The sky is so so dark above, no clouds, no moon. Even next to trash, the stink of that awful whiskey burns your nose.

You think of broken windows and blooms of blood.

“Just fuckin’ get on your knees.”

“No.”

“The fuck do you jus’ - it wasn’t a fuckin’—”

“No.”

His face twists, ugly and red (not the right shade of red) puffing up like a particularly loud bird.

“C’mere, you little—“

It’s nothing, nothing at all. A sidestep and a full-body shove. Your timing is perfect. You didn’t touch your second drink when your nail polish turned black.

Your “date” however, is wobbly and uncoordinated, you lean forwards on the balls of your feet in anticipation. Watch him bounce off the brick, stumble over a couple overfilled bags, and crack his temple on the metal corner of the dumpster.

You tilt your head as he collapses in a pathetic heap, barely conscious. Make a point to roll him over onto his back. The last sky he’ll ever see with any luck. You lean your foot into his stomach, watch him turn pale and then green. He’s not going to be able to roll over before all that drink comes up.

Satisfied, you step back as you brush brick dust and dirt from your pants and sleeves. Movement at the head of the alley catches your attention, but by the time you look, the disturbance is gone. Likely someone just passing by. You don’t care if you're wrong.

Below you, the man - you never bothered to actually remember his name - gurgles and starts to rasp wetly. The fury ebbs, a tide dragging out with bloody foam at the edge. You let out a slow, satisfied sigh and navigate to the alley's entrance.

You've barely stepped from the shadows of the buildings when there's a sharp pinch in your neck. The world goes black in seconds.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Throwing your shoe at them—headcanons

a/n: maybe had a little too much fun creating these scenarios, oops (again, thank you 🩰)

warnings: all round suggestiveness, hinted somnophilia w/ Eris, slight ‘enemies to loves’ vibes with Lucien

Azriel:

“The last time your legs were shaking this badly—”

“Don’t you dare.” You hiss, glaring up at him with fire blazing in your eyes from where you’re lying on the floor, downed by the exercises he put you through.

He crouches at your side, the heel of his palm pressed leisurely against his cheek, glancing down at you smugly, a glint in his hazel eyes.

“I thought you liked it when I pushed you over that edge,” he muses, that obnoxiously prideful look on his features.

Outrage pounds through your blood as you stare up at him with an open mouth.

He raises a provoking brow, a smirk curving his mouth. “Continuously.”

“You shut your mouth, Shadowsinger,” you snap, hands tightening into fists as you try to get to your feet. “I’m done for the day.”

He huff a low laugh, getting to his feet. “Five more. Then we can stop.”

He pauses, turning to glance at you over his shoulder, a smug grin on his mouth. “I could make you do more, if I wanted.”

The boot is off your foot and flying through the air before either of you can blink, and his shadows seem to intentionally dart away, allowing it to pass into his personal space.

Azriel catches it—barely in time—shooting a fed-up glance to his shadows, that has a spark of triumph lighting in your chest.

His attention switches to you, marking your expression, something hungry flitting through his gaze, wings flaring slightly at his back with male interest. Then his mouth curves at the edges, tossing the boot back, turning to stand beside you, again crouching down.

“Fine. You want to be a brat, that’s fine,” he murmurs lowly, having heat unspool in your lower abdomen. “But you’re doing ten more. Then I’ll really make your legs shake.”

Cassian:

“I think this one will look lovely,” Cassian remarks, holding up the red dress with a deep cut down the neckline that plunges to the base of your sternum.

“The colour won’t go with my earrings,” you reason, holding up the gold and emerald earrings you’d picked out for the night, appropriate for the dinner being held at Spring—making efforts to mend relations after centuries of unfriendly silence.

“I was thinking for me, actually,” Cassian counters, holding the lovely fabric up to himself, splaying out the skirts.

You pause, fingers poised to set the clip into your hair, before setting it down and turning to him. “Cassian…” you begin slowly, “I’m sure you’d look wonderful, but that was given to me by Mor, so you will not be getting your hands on it. You’d rip it to shreds.”

“Maybe if it was on you,” he returns lowly, eyes taking on a hungry gleam, dress lowering as his mind wanders elsewhere.

“Keep it to yourself,” you laugh, “we have a dinner to go to tonight, and I need to get ready.”

“I know something you could do a lipstick test on.”

You gape at him. “And where did that come from?”

“I listen to the things you talk about,” he counters, putting the dress aside as he walks over to you, sat prettily at your vanity. “I pay attention to every single word that comes from that lovely mouth of yours.”

You flush, something about his tone having heat warming your lower abdomen.

He smirks, leaning closer, bracing one hand on your vanity, the other on the back of your chair. “Every, filthy, word.”

Laughter breaks from your chest, grabbing one of the slippers you’d been trying to sew a pattern onto and throwing it at him. “I’m serious, Cass! I need to get ready. Don’t try to distract me.”

He chuckles, standing up, stepping back with a smile in his eyes. “Alright, alright,” he says, holding his hands up as he retreats. “I’ll let you get on with your routine.”

You roll your eyes, but return to the mirror, a smile warming your mouth.

“I’ll save the teasing for dinner.”

Eris:

Sunlight burns into your lids, and you groan, shoving your head under the pillow. “Eris please, I’m begging you to learn the concept of sleeping in,” you moan, pulling the cushion tighter as you snuggle beneath the duvet.

“If the sun’s up, so should you be,” he reminds, coming to a stop at the side of the bed, trying to pry the pillow from your clutched fingers, having to rip it away, making you whine, shying from the light.

“It’s not that bad,” he mutters fondly, pulling the duvet back and you make a show of shivering, his rosey lips cutting up faintly at the corners. “Maybe if you weren’t reading so late into the night this would be easier for you.”

You glare up at him, curling tight into a ball to preserve as much warmth as you can, rolling into the heat of the soft mattress. “Maybe if you didn’t get up so early you’d be able to stand late nights,” you grumble, finally getting up as he walks away.

“You know, early mornings wouldn’t be so awful if it was something else getting up with the sun,” you muse, legs swinging over the side, feet sliding into warm slippers.

“We both know you’d be drooling all over the place and half asleep,” he scoffs, back to you as he glances through your wardrobe.

You gasp, brows pulling together in an offended fashion, grabbing a slipper and launching it across the room, watching with distinct satisfaction as it smacks into the back of his head.

Eris pauses, as if registering what happened, before he glances over his shoulder, looking down at the shoe, then back to you. Unimpressed. “Am I wrong?”

You huff, folding your arms over your chest indignantly. “Maybe I’d like that…”

Eris stiffens, arms pausing as the confession slinks down his spine. “Maybe you’d like that,” he repeats quietly, taking a moment to comprehend.

Then he nods to himself, turning to peer at you over a broad shoulder, a mischievous gleam in his swirling amber eyes.

“Perhaps we’ll try that out…”

Lucien:

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say slightly tersely.

“He didn’t have to put his hand on your waist, either,” Lucien counters smoothly, but the tightness to his jaw belies his casual calm.

You look away, posture rigid as he walks you toward your chambers, escorting you politely. “I thought he was rather dashing,” you muse lightly, watching through your peripherals.

“Is that so?” He muses with equal lightness. “I think your standards should be raised. At least higher than a limbo bar.”

“Is that a hint of jealousy, Vanserra?” You remark, keeping your gaze off him as you open the door, allowing him entrance as you walk further into the room.

“Not in the slightest,” he drawls, though you can feel his gaze burning into your back. “Rather, I had assumed you were a lady of substance.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, not quite able to keep the snappiness from your tone.

“If all it takes is a light touch to your waist to prepare you for bed…” he responds lowly, and you’re able to hear the smirk on his mouth.

“Finish that sentence, Vanserra,” you say sharply, turning to where he’s stood by the door. “I dare you.”

His lips quirk, gaze a little more intense than before, and a surprising heat blossoms across your skin as he practically strips you naked, his eyes sweeping over you.

“I think your mind will provide ample endings there,” he remarks lowly, the light catching on the sharp canines that have dragged over your shoulder.

You seethe, nails biting into your palms as you glare at him from across the room. “You should learn when to keep your mouth shut.”

“I think you enjoyed my mouth being open.”

The heel shoots across the room with such force it thuds against the swiftly closed doors, being thrown hard enough to almost lodge into the ornately carved wood.

You hear him chuckling in the hall, thighs pressing together at the delicious sound.

“If you’re in need of a reminder…” he calls through the door, and you throw the other shoe, this one indeed lodging in the wood, calling another low laugh from his chest as he at last leaves you to your own devices.

Leaving your blood boiling and a flustered heat over your cheeks, traitorous arousal warming between your things.

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

[houseofripley]

Hotel Hell

Rhea Ripley x Fem!Reader

Hotel - Montell Fish

Part Two Pinterest

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT, Overstimulation, Cunnilingus, Strap-On, Extreme Knife Play, Blood Play, Handcuffs, Rough Sex, Just Pure Filth tbh WORD COUNT: 2,586 A/N: inspired by hotel by montell fish. my brain turned to jello while making this. mood board for this below okay toodles

Room 936.

Rhea Ripleys room was always Room 936. 

It was routine at this point. Show up, get your brains fucked out, leave right away. Repeat every three months.

Rhea was a brooding woman you came across as you worked at a concert venue in lower Manhattan a year and a half ago. Rhea sat alone in a balcony club booth as Bring Me The Horizon's live music blared through the concert hall.

Once the night had ended you shuffled through tab receipts, Rhea’s bill boasted a 50% tip and a scribbled phone number and address at the bottom.

That night you took the risk, catching yourself in a never ending loop.

You stepped into the room after entering the pin code. Your eyes searched for Rhea’s figure in the dark room being dimly lit up by the city lights seeping through the floor to ceiling windows.

You dropped your bag filled with a change of clothes on the floor. You learned to take an extra change of clothes as Rhea picked up a tendency of ripping your clothes to shreds. 

“here.” You shot a text to the woman before placing your phone on a side table you passed as you made your way to the large windows.

Getting caught up admiring New York City you were pulled out of your trance as the cold edge of a switchblade was placed against your neck. Another hand wrapped around your waist from behind, Rhea pulled herself against your back.

“Don’t say a goddamn word” Rhea murmured inches from your ear. The woman had you frozen in fear, she had never brought a knife upon you.

Your breath anchored as the blade moved to slash both the straps of your loose slip dress. Rhea nibbled at the back of your neck as the dress slowly glided down your body. 

Rhea shed her blazer and trousers off her masculine build. The woman shoved you down to your knees before pulling a nearby armchair up to the window. 

“I want this whole city to watch you devour my pussy.” Rhea declared. As you slowly crawled in between her thighs as she removed her long sleeve button up. 

You looked up at her as you pulled down her boxers. Your tongue trailed up her folds, your warm lips pecked Rhea’s clit. “So good” You quietly praised. 

A bitter slap was placed across your face causing a whimper to escape from your mouth. “Nobody told you to fucking speak slut.” Rhea scrutinized, “Now get back to work.”

You sluggishly nodded before attaching your lips to the woman's heat. Your tongue worked in circles and trails as her hips rolled against your face.

Rhea and you held eye contact while you shook your head left and right, moaning against her heat. Something was off about Rhea tonight, there was something sinister about her demeanor. 

Rhea took a firm hold onto the roots of your hair as your tongue toyed with her entrance. You hummed as you dove into her, her juices mixed with your saliva on your chin.  

You worked on Rhea as her orgasm neared. She let you taste her for several more moments before yanking you way as she was seconds away from releasing onto you. Rhea had just edged herself using you as her personal toy.

She stood up, pulling you up by your hair as you whined. “Stop your fussing.” Rhea demanded, taking a grasp of your chin. 

Rhea unclasped your bra and slid it down your shoulders before pulling you to the bed. She threw you towards the center of the bed before crawling up between your legs.

Your teeth bit down on the inside of your cheek as you watched her pull her switchblade from her bra. Rhea danced the blade across your thighs, the fear she sensed from you seemingly put her under a trance.

The blade pressed down against your soft thighs. Rhea shred the skin of your shaking legs, dark red blood began bubbling up from the cut.

You let out a pained whimper as Rhea’s tongue collected your blood. Your hands clung onto the sheets as Rhea left multiple cuts scattered across your thighs. 

“So fuckin’ sexy,” Rhea whispered as her hands spread the blood around your legs. Her blood covered hand clasped the switchblade as she began to mangle your panties. 

Bloodied fingers separated your folds, Rhea’s tongue glazed over your slick. Rhea’s eyes darted up at you, your eyes full of desperation.

“Such a tasty girl,” Rhea’s voice was menacing, it was clear she planned on destroying you tonight. 

Rhea’s lips wrapped around your clit, her tongue piercing slowly rolling over your bud of nerves. Her eyes rolled back into her head as a moan left your throat.

A quiet “fuck.” exited your lips as two blood stained fingers slipped into your wetness. Your hips rocked while Rhea’s fingers pushed and pulled from inside of you, her tongue rocking against your clit.

Clusters of moans escaped you as the woman's fingers curled up inside of you. “I’m gonna fucking cum,” you hissed out, your legs squeezing around Rhea’s head. Her mouth worked like magic on you while her fingers pierced into you.

“Ah shit!” Echoed around the room as your hips twitched against Rhea’s humming lips. You whimpered out, releasing your tension onto Rhea’s fingers.

Rhea moaned as she sucked on her cum coated fingers. “Always cumming so fast for me,” She preached out. “I’m just getting started babydoll.” 

You looked down at your blood coated legs, clenching your jaw as the pain began catching up to you. Rhea lurched over to the closet, bending down over her bulky overnight bag. 

The woman soon returned back to you with her strap-on in one hand and a vibrating wand in her other.

She placed her strap next to her trusty switchblade. Humming as she gazed down at you she turned the vibrator on and placed it against your sensitive clit.

“Fuck Rhea,” You whined out, still fragile from you orgasm that took place moments ago.

Rhea soon joined you, lowering her core on the bulb of the vibrator. The woman let out a husked groan as she began rocking herself against the toy. 

She reached for her blade, only to be stopped by your hand darting down grabbing her wrist. “Rhea please, no!” Your voice pleaded. Rhea looked down at you, pure rage covered her face. 

The brooding woman lowered herself inches from your face “Let go right fucking now or I will plunge this knife right into your goddamn cunt.” Rhea threatened under her heavy breaths. 

You loosened the already weak grip you had on her wrist. “That’s what I thought.” Rhea snarked tracing the blade down your sweat filled chest. 

Tears glazed your eyes as the blade sank into the soft skin of your lower abdomen. You moaned out whimpers watching Rhea brand her name onto you.

“Look at you, what a pathetic bloody mess.” Rhea taunted beginning to thrust into the vibrator resting against your core.

The knot in your stomach grew larger as the toy was repeatedly pushed further against your clit.

A loud yelp rang around the room, a stream of clear liquid sprayed from your insides, soaking Rhea’s legs.

“Just way too easy.” Rhea grinned watching you attempt to jerk away from the vibrator. The more you squirmed, the more pressure she put against you. “Please no mo-'' Rhea shushed you before you were able to complete your sentence. 

It was mere minutes until a pool of cum dripped out of your cunt. Rhea finally removed the vibrator from your skin. Both your legs tangled into each other as Rhea’s cunt settled onto your wetness. 

Her head threw back as she grinded against your soaked core. “Can’t t-take anymore!!” You cried out.

Sweat pooled at Rhea’s forehead “Don’t lie-” grumbled out her mouth “I know you better than you know yourself…” Escaped through heavy breaths. Her fingertips dug into your waist as her orgasm approached.

The tribbing motions shortened while her speed increased. “Such a good fuck toy mmph” Rhea slurred out. Your brain was unable to process anything other than the overwhelming stimulation between your legs as pitiful moans left your mouth.

“Aagh fuck!” Rhea’s voice howled as she came undone against you. She slowly fucked herself onto you, coming down from her high.

Rhea sat back attempting to catch her breath. You tried to sit up but Rhea halted you, putting a hand on your chest. “I’m not done with you bitch.” She growled, shuffling around as she tried to get her strap-on tightened to her body.

“Fuck you,” You muttered quietly. If she wanted to push you towards your limit you were gonna piss her off as much as you possibly could.

Rhea crawled back between your legs, she rammed the black silicone into you with no care in the world how much pain she caused you. She pulled her face up to yours, the switchblade made a reappearance pressed against your throat. “What the fuck did you just say to me?” Her voice was full of fury.

“I said, Fuck. You.” You raised your voice, spitting at Rhea. 

The blade pressed further into your skin, one swipe from stealing all the life inside your body.

Rhea’s hips began smashing into you, abusing your insides. Rhea’s free hand delivered a blow to your cheek. Not a slap, a cruel punch. 

You cupped your injured cheek as cries escaped your mouth. Rhea backed away from your face, “You wanna act like a fucking bitch? I’ll make sure you know to never disrespect me again you stupid whore!” You had never heard Rhea’s voice this loud.

The blade was moved down your torso, ready to attack if you dared to misbehave. Rhea’s free hand took hold of your throat, squeezing at the sides.

You knew that one word could make this torture stop. She’d cut it out if you blurted out your safeword. You masochistically wanted to know how much more you could take. Your hands took hold of your tits as Rhea’s hips continued their assault on your insides, your moans loud enough you were sure you’d be receiving noise complaints.

Rhea used the flat edge of her blade to push your hand off your tits. “Whores like you don't get to touch themselves.” She stated as her strokes into you deepened.

Rhea made sure you felt her anger with every stroke.

“Tell me who owns this pussy.” Rhea murmured, smirking as she realized you were dozed off into space

You had got so caught up in pleasure Rhea had practically fucked you till you were braindead.

The blade in Rhea’s hand gashed the skin on your ribs, snapping you out of your trance. The wound was much deeper than all previous cuts Rhea had given you.

“I asked who owns this pussy slut. Use your fucking words.” It wasn’t a demand, it was a threat. Her eyes seemingly pierced through your soul.

“Fucking shit!” You yelped out, your torso recoiling in pain. “You do Rhea! You own this pussy!” Your voice rang around the room, her control over you was intoxicating.

“Good girl, hm” Rhea said as her face displayed a ‘fuck you’ grin. She closed her eyes as she took in the sounds escaping from you.

You took this moment to reach down your bloodied torso and began rubbing circles over your clit. “Fuck Rhea,” You whispered out as her eyes slowly opened.

Rheas eyes filled with rage seeing you touch yourself under her. “Stupid slut cant even listen to simple rules.” She berated before slapping down on your fresh wound. “Don’t do that!” You cried out.

Rhea pulled out of your sore hole. She got off the bed and dragged you to the edge of the mattress before flipping you onto your stomach. She disappeared into the bathroom for a moment as your blood soaked into the white sheets. Rhea soon returned with a pair of handcuffs. 

She forced your hands behind your back and locked you up. “You just never fucking learn don’t you…” She taunted. 

Rhea stood you up and led you over to the window. She bent you over, holding onto your restrained hands to help you keep your balance. 

“Now everyone gets to see what a slut you are for me.” Rhea chuckled as she re-inserted herself into you.

A loud moan escaped you, her hips jolting into you as clapping noises began ringing through the room. “That's it take my cock,” Rhea hummed as she made sure every inch of her length was inside of you.

“Harder!” You pleaded, watching as droplets of your blood dropped down to the carpet. You squealed as Rhea’s strokes began to speed up causing you to squirt all over yourself again. “Such a needy girl,” Rhea degraded while laughing.

Rhea had put you through hell and your brain was borderline fried, you weren't able to do anything but shriek in pleasure. Your legs began quivering under your weight.

You let out a series of screams as you released everything you had left to give onto Rhea’s cock. Rhea pulled out of you slowly and admired the black silicone that had been coated with your cum.

The woman removed your handcuffs just as your legs went limp, sending you crashing to the floor. Rhea unashamedly chuckled as you groaned in pain. 

You curled up on the floor trying to recover from the cruelty you had just faced as Rhea walked over to the bed and began collecting her items. Aftercare was something that did not exist in Rhea’s mind, you were her toy whether you liked it or not. 

You laid down for a few moments before you stood up slowly and stumbled to your bag. “Why?” You asked as you looked at her from across the room while pulling out your change of clothes. 

“Why what?” Rhea’s brows furrowed in confusion as she put her suit back on. “Why do you do this Rhea? Abuse me for one night just to leave and forget I exist for months! Why can’t I know you?!” You complained as you slid into a pair of sweatpants.

Rhea sighed in frustration, throwing her bag onto her shoulder. “Don’t ask me stupid questions like that.” She rolled her eyes as you put your hoodie on. “See you later.” She grumped before storming out the door.

You weren’t gonna tolerate this anymore. You were going to find out what she was hiding from you. Why was she keeping you in this torturous loop? What was she protecting you from? 

You waited a few seconds before leaving the hotel room that had turned into a biohazard, making sure to close the door silently. Rhea took the elevator as you took the stairs. 

You noticed the woman's frame exit the lobby as you reached the bottom floor. You kept your distance as you followed Rhea through the streets of Manhattan, your hand placed against the laceration Rhea had just given you.

After what felt like hours of stalking the woman she turned down a flight of stairs just outside a bodega. 

You stood at the top of the stairs, your eyes glued to the black door at the bottom. “You okay? You’ve been staring at our door for like three minutes.” A man with an Irish accent interrupted you from behind. You looked up at him for a moment then returned your gaze to the door. 

“What’s in there?”

[dduane]

Salutations and good wishes to you. I am an Indie Author seeking to go Pro. Some good advice and guidance might help minimise the mountain of my anxiety about doing this. I know you got your start with fanfiction, but did you find a publisher/agent through that door? [lots sneer at these days. Still] How many rejections did you suffer before you found your place in the literary world? Thanks for your time and sorry for bothering you <3

Hi there! And don't sweat it: this is no bother.

I have to apologize in advance, because my own career arc isn't likely to serve as much of a good example. In terms of how I got into this business, I'm a serious outlier.

Quickest and easiest to discuss: my agent and I got together after my first book was already bought and published. (Which back in the day was seen as a good enough way to go forward, and then still entirely possible.) He was recommended to me by one of my editors, as—like me—he was just getting started in the business: a likely-looking newcomer then scouting new talent. We met up and chatted, and it seemed to both of us that we'd be a good fit for each other. After forty-odd years of working together, we still are.

About the fanfic: (Adding a cut here so as not to carpet people's dashes with wall-to-wall text...)

What writing all that fic did for me—from about age sixteen onwards—was give me a whole lot of practice in getting the initial garbage associated with a story written and out of the way. Best to admit it here: we all have plenty of crap writing in us. And yeah, even long-term professional writers do. Whether you're at the beginning of your career or right in the middle of it, this is what "zero drafts" are for. You tell yourself the story, first time out... and routinely at this stage a lot of what proves to be unusable stuff emerges, and can be discarded in rewrite. (Of course crap writing can also emerge without warning in the later stages of a project, but there are many reasons for that, all beyond the scope of this discussion.) And you learn even more from reworking the material after you've gotten rid of the dross.

During the period when I was executing what might have been, oh, half a million words of fanfic—Trek originally, and then LoTR—and while reading a whole lot of everything, as I'd been doing since I was first allowed to go raid the town library by myself at age eight—I learned a fair amount about writing without realizing it. Some of it was simply about writing inside a set of rules. (Which I hadn't been doing previously: between eight and sixteen I was writing original fiction, mostly fairy tales.) Naturally in fanfic you have to obey the laws of whatever universe you're working in... or even if you wind up flouting them consciously, you do have to be conscious of them. But this work also led me to something that I hadn't really spent a lot of time thinking about: the concept that fiction writing as a whole had rules. I realized I'd better find out what those were.

The best stuff I found out during this period was what I picked up by direct example from other writers, whom I'd immediately start imitating and then sort of leave by the wayside when I found others I liked better; at which point I'd start imitating them. (This being a great way to learn and hone new skills, and to start getting a sense of what a writer's "voice" is and can come to mean. I think every writer does this, to some extent: because it's really, really tough to learn how to write without reading. And the more extensively the better.)

I have to emphasize here, BTW, that the fanfic that came out of me as I started slogging up this learning curve was all almost uniformly terrible. All of it, mercifully, along with my earliest original fiction, is gone now: long since burnt, shredded, composted under many layers of time. Trust me, it's just as well. Gah was it awful! Nobody else ever saw the stuff, for which I thank great Thoth every time I think about it. ...What's interesting, too, in its way, was that I didn't even know that what I was doing was fan fiction. I had as yet no contact with any kind of organized fandom, and it would be a long time yet before "online" was invented. I was working in utter isolation, unaware that anybody else might have been doing the same thing. (And it's difficult to describe the sense of astonishment and joy that hit me the first time I went to an SF convention, saw fanzines for the first time, and found out that I was not alone. All unsuspecting, I'd stumbled onto one of my tribes.)

But somewhere along the line, as the years went by—as I finished high school and went to college, and then from there to nursing school, and graduated and started working as a psychiatric nurse, and kept on writing—at some point, as I started writing original fiction again, as well as fanfic, the quality of the output began to improve. The combination of constant practice and voracious reading of better writers outside my chosen genre was slowly having an effect. Trusted friends who saw this later material started saying, "This isn't bad, you should try to get it published!" But since none of these folks were writers, I didn't pay too much attention to their opinions.

I did pay attention, though, when my good friend and mentor David Gerrold said something similar on reading my first novel in 1976. And when that was bought by the first publisher who read it, I had to admit he might have had something there.

This too, though, is unfortunately also a way I'm an outlier: I haven't had a lot of rejection. (Even in my TV work, where rejection is pretty much the rule rather than the exception.) Speaking very generally, just about anyone I've pitched something to in the prose market has bought it—or if they didn't like the idea I came in with, they've immediately said "But would you like to do this instead?" And often enough, what they've offered or suggested has been something that sounded like fun. That's how I wound up doing the Star Trek: Rihannsu books, for example: they were "instead of" a Romulan dictionary. Paramount essentially ringfenced an entire AU-area of Trek and gave it to me to play in, which struck me at the time as amazing. And continues to do so.

Now all this may make me sound almost unfairly lucky. But things do tend, slowly or quickly, to balance out. Over time the universe has made up for its relative kindness at the rejection end of things by making sure I knew plenty about the non-rejection forms of writer-career pain: projects from which I was not rejected but which went terribly wrong (wheels come off a huge deal just before signing, promised actors or directors fail to materialize...), projects where I did the work but didn’t get paid, or where I was brought on board and then got fired/ghosted unreasonably or for no reason at all, or sometimes (mortifyingly) for quite good reason. And let's not forget how, as what could seem a very pointed shot across my bow when my career-vessel was just pulling out of port, half the print run of that very-much-buzzed-about debut novel wound up being pulped in the warehouse because another, far better-established writer's new book needed the pallet space that mine had been taking up. (insert rueful smile here) Believe me, entropy is running, and will catch up with you one way or another. So make yourself as ready for it as you can.

I don't mean to increase your anxiety. Yet that said: you're preparing to enter a business in which, for a freelancer, at least some level of anxiety is more or less part of the basic ground of being. You are going to have to develop ways of dealing with the everyday forms of that to keep it from routinely derailing your work.

I find it helps a little if you can come to consider this as a modern form of Going On An Adventure. Good things will happen; bad things will happen; and all of these will be in service of building your career. Think of yourself as being on a quest.

Your job now becomes the business of suiting up with the best equipment and advice you can find (ideally not from outliers like me). The web is full of useful pages on subjects such as how to query and how to find an agent.

Here are links to some.

Compare these resources one against another to see how their different kinds of advice seem to stack up, and which ones are the most congenial for you.

Then use this data to start drawing your personal roadmap across the terrain. Get as clear as you can in your own mind about what you're trying to get out of being in this business: what kind of writing you want to do and what results you want to produce. Then set out, redrawing your road map as necessary as you keep moving forward through the new terrain.

And I wish you good fortune on the journey! (Because luck, as you can see from the above, can definitely be part of this... but fortune favors the prepared.)

Meanwhile, get out there and have a blast. :)

[rottiens]

hi sorry for coming in your asks again lol but I'm thinking about endeavor..... like idk he's just always in the back of my head

anyway have you considered divorced detective endeavor??? like he's completely neglecting his family & responsibilities as a father, his ex-wife is shacking up with his younger (hotter) subordinate, basically drowning himself in alcohol and cigarettes. the one routine he's kept all these years is coming into your bar at the end of the week, getting a little too drunk, and letting the alcohol flirt with you (but you've always brushed it off knowing he's married). you've listened to him vent countless times and had to call a cab to take him home just as many.

you can clearly see the ways he's fucked up (it's pretty much always his fault) but you also see the regrets washing through his mind. he wants to be better, but he keeps slipping into the same habits.

he's been coming in a little more often lately, he hasn't mentioned the wife and kids in months, and he's not wearing a wedding ring anymore. He doesn't flirt with you as often as he used to, but not because he's not interested, because he is. because he's afraid of it going somewhere. because he's afraid he'll ruin your life like he has done to the rest of his family... and because he's convinced he doesn't deserve you.

i'm sorry i'm just so obsessed with a divorced detective au ok and i cannot believe this thought has not entered my head....

You really put me in a difficult situation here. Because I'm torn between the idea of, what would he really do? Would he walk away from you completely or would he continue to indulge a little more in the idea of flirting with you, knowing he shouldn't have you?

You miss him. You miss the Enji who would come to talk to you, babbling on about work problems without getting to anything specific because, of course, he can't discuss such topics with a civilian. But you are so full of life and hope, unlike him and everything he touches that he can't help but want to spend a little more time with you and Enji hates the bitter taste the hangover brings along with your image the next day.

After the divorce, he keeps wearing the ring for a few more long weeks, hoping that his failed marriage could be mended again. He knows he did it wrong, he knows he's been careless and a bastard, but he also knows he's selfish at heart and that the idea of having a happy family is so appealing.

Yet he lets it go. He lets go of his wife and his kids who are leaving with her, and you. He cuts off every shred of happiness in his life because he is tormented by the idea of being truly happy. Enji convinces himself that he doesn't deserve it. After all the bad decisions he has made throughout his life, he only deserves to sink into his misery, into the boxes full of items his wife never went to pick up from the house, into the loneliness of the cold walls, and into the ghosts his children's laughter left behind.

Enji refuses to go back to the bar, to see you. But he has no choice but to accept when one of his subordinates invites him for a beer, something to relax for the weekend.

Like every Friday, the bar is full of people. Pop music he dislikes is blaring from the speakers. I should go home, is what he's saying to Keigo just as he catches your gaze behind the bar. Your fingers greet him animatedly, sealing the words he was about to say and walking, as if spellbound, to where you are.

Enji can't believe you look prettier than the last time he saw you. You have a different haircut, a new uniform and your smile is so warm and genuine that his chest hurts; he couldn't remember the last time someone greeted him with such joy to see him.

Immediately, guilt grows like weeds inside him, weaving through his insides and creating roots.

You pour him the same old drink and his cheeks heat up at the thought that you remembered exactly which beer he likes.

"Thank you," he says without looking at you, picking at the foam dripping off the rim of the glass with one finger.

Your warm fingers cover his for a moment, drawing his attention to you. His fingers are still trapped on his lips, the gesture of tasting the beer foam.

"Is everything okay?" you raise your voice above the music.

Enji hesitates for a moment. "Work keeps me busy."

You purr away from him and turn your back on him, clearly not believing the half-truth he just told you, but you don't probe further.

Other customers approach the bar and you continue to prepare the drinks. Enji feels your gaze on him, which he avoids at all costs, gulping down the beer as fast as he can and eyeing Keigo on the dance floor, enticing some dance partner to accompany his peculiar moves. As he comes back to the front, you're smiling at him again, placing another full glass of beer in front of him.

"I thought you forgot about me," you comment innocently, leaning a little into his personal space.

Enji doesn't pull back, but you see him tense under the white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and suspenders that cling to his broad shoulders. His lips quiver not knowing what to say. Pathetic. Maybe you do the same with the other customers, and yet you still have him trembling with your mere presence.

"I couldn't forget you. You guys are my favorite."

You purr, reaching out to touch his hand to the watch hugging his wrist. The hand reads 11:35 at night.

"Are we your favorite or am I?" You look up at him through a slow blink.

Fuck. Something beats in his chest and in his pants. He'd forgotten this: the thrill of flirting with someone, with you, of feeling wanted. Of feeling desired. When was the last time someone touched him? He doesn't remember the last time he came in someone.

Enji clears his throat and, against his will, pulls his hand away from yours to toss a few wet red locks back.

"I think I should go."

"So soon?"

Enji had to get up and run before anyone else noticed the visible bulge against his thigh, smothering between the fabric of his pants and his now damp briefs.

"Yeah, I-"

"Stay. One more beer, on the house," you smile at him. Enji barely notices that you had clung to his forearm before he could escape. "Please." You lean in, and he takes a peek at your cleavage. Your lips find his hot cheek and leave a fleeting kiss there. Enji feels his whole body boil with heat.

He knows he's going to ruin you and hates himself for it. But he can't think of the consequences when that pussy wraps around his cock like it was made for him.

"Slow down, it's been a while.."

But you cling to him like you don't want to let go. Your nails on his back, mouth open gasping for air.

The bar is already closed, so your moans and his grunts are the only thing accompanying the music now. Your hips buck desperately as he thrusts you upright against the counter.

"Easy there.." growls enji, burying his fingers in your hips to keep you still. "Hold still. Just feel it."

Enji rolls his hips deep, his pants puddling at his knees. His curly hairs meeting your bare clit.

"Like this… nice and deep. Take it like a good girl."

His heart beats so fast, his balls tight around your drooling pussy. Every time he thrusts deep you lose the rhythm of your breath for a moment, the full force of his body and thighs pushes you against the counter, weakening your feet off the ground and you can only look at him with eyes full of eagerness as you split on his fucking thick cock.

And when you ask him to cum, to cum inside you; enji has no doubt. He's going to ruin you. And he hates himself for it.

[d0llfaac3]

DEVILS NIGHT

Pairing: James Patrick March x wife!reader

Warnings: not proofread!, smut, unprotected P in V, nipple play, fingering, oral sex m!receiving,use of ‘good girl’, V slapping, dirty talk, murders, blood, kidnapping (none to reader) mentions of other famous killers and their crimes, James being completely pussy whipped for you, 18+, MDNI, below the cut!

Word count: 1,452

You would talk to Liz and Iris allot, like nearly all the time, part of your daily routine, Liz would talk about her son, Doug, while Iris would talk about pop culture drama and about her son, Donovan.

It was devils night tonight, which meant the biggest party of the year, at least for James and his..friends, some of the worst, most horrible serial killers in all of America, the guest list was a crazy crazy thing, consisting of.. John Wayne Gacy, Aileen Wuornos, Jeffery Dahmer, Richard Ramirez, The Zodiac Killer and don’t forget John Lowe.

As it was your husband, James’ birthday today..you would have to bring his breakfast up to him in your shared hotel room, you made him the breakfast you would have made him 80 something years ago..While you two were alive.. your little cooking magazines you would buy called ‘American Cookery’, you would make him Coffee, shredded wheat and hot milk, it’s what was said in the breakfasts for business men and women..so you made him that, mixed with a little bowl of his favourite fruits, grapefruit, strawberries and bananas.

“Breakfast is ready sweetheart” you say as you shut the hotel room door with your foot, walking over to your shared bed, He’s half naked, he would only sleep in his pyjama pants, he was half asleep when you came in, his usual gelled hair, an absolute mess, you where still in your nightgown and dressing gown for goodness sake.

“I could never have wished for a better lover, darling” he says, in his sleepy morning voice, he’s quite cute in the morning for a man who’s killed hundreds of people, can’t say much. So have you.

He put the tray on the nightstand and smiles at you, opening his arms, one thing James would never admit is: he’s a cuddler at night, especially in the morning, his big arms wrapped around you and he smiles. “My beautiful girl” he says as he kisses your forehead.

“Jamie” you giggle in response, his face in your neck as he gently kissed and sucked on the skin, in certain places making you moan a bit.

“Mmm I could just have you as my birthday breakfast” he says, kissing down your neck and shoulder as he slipped your dressing gown off, making you giggle and always feel special around him.

“Mmm make love to me handsome” you say as he captures your lips in his, his hand sliding down your back to grope your ass through your nightgown, the fabric of the skirt moving against his fingers, you could already feel the soaking pool in your panties.

“God I love that laugh” he says as he takes your dressing gown off, throwing it to the side, then pulling down your nightgown at the front, so your tits spill out, causing you to blush and hide your face.

You could already feel him getting rock hard under you, funny thing is, ghosts can be dead but still have human emotions, it’s strange..but that also means the anatomy stays the same, you two had been dead since 1929 and still getting turned on by each other, been married in 1925.

“You know” You say as you kiss him. “It’s been nearly 100 years since we met..we met when..1924?” You say as your lips graze his.

He smiles into the kiss, his fingers sliding down you thighs, feeling your underwear. He smirks. “My word I am a lucky man..” making you whine a small bit.

His fingers trace the wet patch in your panties and you groan against his neck. “Mhm let it out, be a good girl for me” he whispers in your ears as his fingers hook the sides of your panties, pulling them down, the cool breeze hitting your pussy lips making you groan through the cold air of the room.

“Fuck you’re so wet aren’t you darling? This is what I do to you huh? You like when I’m all over you?, good girl” He pulled his hand away from your pussy and spanked it, he loved spanking your pussy with his hand, he thought it was just so..erotic the way you would writhe next to him as he knew he was in control..that’s what he loved, control.

You were so horny already, you could barley form words, only little whines and moans. “Shh baby it’s okay you’re doing so good” he says as he kisses your neck, his fingers grazing your pussy lips, his wet fingers gently touching your clit making you shut your eyes and bite your lip.

“Just..fuck me already!” You whine as you arch your back against him, he just gave you a soft laugh. “Mhmm baby, you wanna suck me off first? You look so good blowing me” he says as he grips your boobs, twisting your nipples in his fingers.

You could only nod in response to your husbands words, pulling his pyjama pants down and pulling his boxers down, giggling as his cock sprung up, she was always so excited to give him head, so eager. “Always so eager my love” he says as he touched your hair gently as he smiled at you.

You giggled as you licked a thick stripe up his cock making him let out a soft breath, he leaned back on the bed and got comfortable, you knew how to please him, you two have only been married ninety seven years…

When your mouth touched his tip he knew he wasn’t going to last long in your mouth, your hot mouth wrapped around his thick cock was something he adored for the past years, his cock hitting the back of your throat was an unforgettable experience..

His big hand pressed right against the back of your head, pressing your mouth further onto his cock, he gently started thrusting his hips up to your face, his cock now fucking your mouth.

He felt close so he tapped your cheek. “C’mon sweetie, I’m close” he says as he taps his cock against your lips, turning you around so your ass is up in the air. “Ready Darling?” He says as his hands grab your hips from behind.

He slides his cock between your wet folds, your body arching to get a better angle, He grabs a fistful of your hair pulling your hair back towards him as he fucks you.

Small mumbles of “yes” and “harder” slip out of your mouth as you two become closer and closer by the second, James had been coming inside you for the past 97 years, not like either of you cared.

You griped the sheets for dear life as he mercilessly fucked you into the bed, his grip on your hair and his right hand gripped onto your hip, leaving a red handprint, his fingers almost going pale white from holding so tight.

You two soon came, you couldn’t really hear what he was saying over your own moans and groans, his cock continuously pounding into your pussy from behind, such a sight would make a porn star look like an amateur.

After your eventful morning, You two just knew devils night was going to be a beautiful horror of a night. You danced with Aileen as you had been doing every devils night, she would jokingly kiss your face and call you sexy to annoy James. “That is my wife you’re referring to Aileen remember that”

“Welcome to Our annual devils night” James speaks up as his hand snakes around your waist to grip your hip. “We shall enjoy our food, then get onto the fun”, everyone knew what that fun meant, a murder, by all of them at the table.

James kissed your lips gently and Jeffery Dahmer gave a look of disgust, making you look at him as you filled your wine. “Now now jeffery don’t look at me like that, you ate people”

As Ms Evers came in with the dinner, she gave you a filthy look, as if you had rolled in shit and piss your whole life, yes obviously she’s had to clean blood stains off you and James’ bed from murders but..she signed up for it when she died in 1929 didn’t she.

James played with your fingers as you blew some smoke out of your mouth from your cigarette, he was absolutely whipped for you and it was completely obvious, he would beg on his knees for your attention at times.

Once the dinner was finished, Sally brought a man in, a tall man, a little overweight, balding, didn’t have any family so he wouldn’t be missed, as every devils night everyone attacked him and killed him, James looked at his beautiful woman, your hands covered in the man’s blood and James sighs happily.

“What a beautiful way to spend my birthday” he says as he kissed your cheek before rubbing his fingers across the blood stained part of your cheek.

You gently kissed his lips and smiles.

“Round two?”

• • • • • • • • • • • • • •

I DONT THINK THIS IS VERY GOOD LMAO

[delphiniumarchangelmoon]

BSD KuniZai rambles/headcanons

Dazai fell first, Kunikida fell harder. No question. Dazai WANTS to be the guy who never gets attached, but he doesn’t even realize how much he cares about people until it’s way too late to stop it. Kunikida on the other hand integrates Dazai into his routine so completely due to being work partners that he very quickly became totally dependent on his presence and any significant absence of him will tear him to shreds immediately

Kunikida experiences a bit of a paradox in regards to his routine, he needs to stick to it, but if he isn’t improving anything he gets anxious. Meanwhile Dazai can get insecure and needs regular reassurance that his partner cares and will do bullshit things to get that attention. Kunikida sores on Dazai and tries to help him improve his health and wellness, which both feeds Kunikida’s need to constantly be working on something AND satiates Dazai’s need for reassurance.

Dazai get reoccurring nightmares about his loved ones dying, and he figured out he was in love with Kunikida because he suddenly became the subject of 90% of said nightmares.

Kunikida is actually the more publicly affectionate one, though “public” is a loose term here. He is often affectionate around d the office and around other agency members, which surprises people until they remember that Dazai has a complicated relationship with touch due to his ability, and Kunikida initiating physical contact in a work setting is a very blatant statement of prioritizing his relationship and being comfortable with Dazai.

Tying into another head canon of mine re: “Dazai has tattoos from his mafia days and adds to them with symbols of people he cared about”, the first time Kunikida saw that Dazai added a tattoo for him, he cried. When Dazai explained that the placement and integration of Kunikida’s symbol was to signify him as one of the most important people in his life and someone he would lay down his life to protect (being intertwined with Chuuya’s rather than integrated with the larger piece dedicated to the ADA as a whole) he cried again.

Dazai smacks Kunikida’s butt CONSTANTLY, like every time he walks past

In return, Kunikida tickles his neck which makes him screech and pisses off everyone in the office (but they don’t get too mad cause the whole exchange is adorable

They adopted a cat together, a long haired white female cat named Ella (which Dazai insists is short for Mozzarella but Kunikida says she was named after Cinderella. The vet documents just say Ella)

Dazai calls Ella his daughter and says that a fur baby is the only kind of grandbaby Fukuzawa is getting out of him. He’s much more comfortable being a fun uncle than a dad and as such is desperately trying to get the couples around him to get married and have babies so he can spoil them.

And under the cut, an entire essay about their wedding:

Kunikida has a whole binder dedicated to their wedding, and started it before they were even together. He left a lot of open slots for information though, so that Dazai could add to it. They never really talked about the book, but Kunikida started leaving it out and Dazai found it and (once he stopped crying) filled in the missing info with stuff he wanted or ideas he had. They had an entire argument about floral arrangements via the book that never once was spoken about aloud.

Before Kunikida proposed (because he did, eventually) he asked Fukuzawa for permission for lack of anyone else to ask. And Fukuzawa gave his support but then gave Kunikida a piece of paper with directions on it and said “but I’m really not the person you need to ask”. The directions lead to Odasaku’s grave, which then prompted Dazai to finally tell Kunikida the full story. Then Kunikida took him there to propose and almost didn’t because it started pouring rain and Dazai just grabbed him and begged him to just get it over with.

Kunikida only put up a bit of a fuss about the entire damn port mafia coming to the wedding, it wouldn’t have been right to not invite them and plus Chuuya was Dazai’s best man anyway. Katai was Kunikida’s best man, and Atsushi and Akutagawa shared some weird approximation of a groomsmen/ring bearer role, and obviously Elise was the flower girl

In what was possibly the most bizarre decision of all time, Dazai decided that Mori should walk him down the aisle which confused everyone, especially Mori. But it made a bit more sense when it was revealed that Fukuzawa was officiating, which made it a sort of symbolic transition between the two, as well as a way to bury the hatchet between himself and Mori.

Mori fucking SOBBED during the ceremony, it was like the first time he felt an emotion in ten years and he had no fucking idea how to cope. Literally they were walking down the aisle and Dazai whispered “it’s MY wedding why are YOU crying so much?”

On the other side, Fukuzawa was able to hold it together until the first dance but broke down then

They did a bouquet toss that was more like Dazai pelting Atsushi and Akutagawa in the head with flowers and telling them to “get on with it! I wanna be an uncle!”

The party got way out of hand very quickly because regardless of being invited everyone they had ever met showed up

Francis gave them a car as a wedding gift claiming that Louisa has talked him down from a yacht. Kunikida begged him to take it back but he refused, citing that it was specially made for them with bulletproof glass and other extra safety features for their work.

They went on a honeymoon to a lodge in the mountains with a hot spring and lots of nearby hiking trails to explore and spent two weeks rotating between laying in their hotel room doing nothing when Dazai wanted to sleep in and going out on meticulously planned outings courtesy of Kunikida.

[incorrectmhatweets]

More MHA plot bunnies:

Merfolk edition.

Aizawa works at a security company that sends out different people for different contracts and jobs. He gets sent to an aquatic testing facility for a three month stint. Everything seems above board, but one day he stumbles upon a lower floor that is full of captured/raised in captivity young merfolk. Sure, his job can be kind of shady sometimes, his boss leaving out details, but he prefers that so he can take a paycheck and not feel too much guilt.

After some snooping he finds out that the entire group of young adolescent mer, both an endangered species and also a very dangerous species, is set to be sent to another facility where they will be euthanized, as they are getting to the age where they are too old to be manageable for testing, though their bodies will continue to be used for science both before and during and after their deaths.

When people are chosen to take the armored truck that he knows will be loaded with mer, Aizawa offers to go, giving the other person he was meant to take them with food poisoning so he and he alone will be in charge of the truck. He takes it, knowing this will more than likely be the last thing he does but tired of his same old routine. At least his death will mean something, even if he is throwing it away for a species of creatures who would probably kill him if they met in the wild.

The company realize what he is doing when he deviates off course.

Soon enough he is heading for the nearest pier with his huge bullet proof truck, gunning for the edge, police and private military and helicopters on his heals.

He is injured in the crash, but doesn’t let that stop him from unlocking the back of the sinking truck, and breaking open a few to give them the best chance at escaping before causing a distraction and fighting the trained humans while the mer help eachother break free and escape.

He is dying and bleeding heavily while the last of the mer escape with minimal injuries, several attacking and shredding the humans that are trying to kill him and stop them. He feels webbed hands wrap around his ankles and pull him under and he knows he is going to die. Suspects that they don’t care to tell the difference between a human that is helping vs a human that is hurting after all they have been through in the labs. He understands as he is dragged deeper and deeper, his head splitting and air being forced from his lungs from the pressure.

Before lips press to his and more water is forced into his burning lungs and he just knows this is it. He can’t see which of the mer it is, it’s so dark his deep. He is still bleeding from a bullet he took for a mer he rescued. He feels lips over the entry wound and feels sharp teeth digging in and he would scream if he could. Why is he still alive?

Just as he believes he is about to pass out again he feels more pressure against his lips and more water is forced into his burning lungs. Sharp claws scratch along his neck and his ribs as he kicks and for some reason he isn’t dying but he wishes he was. He is thrashing, hands coming to his neck and mouth, feet kicking, eyes rolling back as a mouth presses against his again and more water is forced into his mouth, almost like it’s trying to give him CPR instead of forcefully drowning him.

And that’s when it clicks. And he thrashed harder because yes, he did save these adolescent mers, but he never planned to become one of them! He didn’t know that was possible! And if he becomes one of them, does that mean he has to continue caring for them, regardless of how little he actually knows about their kind and the ocean?

What about other, older Mer that reside in the deep? How will they take his presence? The mer may be able to force him into being able to breath under water by cutting gils into his neck and sides and forcing a biological change that makes no scientific sense, but he definitely doesn’t develop protective scales or a fin instead of legs, though he does start to form a telepathic mind link to his small school of mer. His class, he affectionately starts referring to them as in his mind. And while he will fight like hell to protect them, he is still a very squishy human compared to their still growing and still very powerful predator mer bodies.

And he is very much seen as nothing more than an intruder and a nuisance to the much larger, dangerous, downright terrifying adult Mer that find him and his class and want to take the adolescent Mer in and have them join their pod.

[foxcort]

But with it came an opposite realization. Of a young, human girl who’d dared to defy these immortal beings for love, and won.

written for day 2: protection of @feylinweek. / or feyre and tamlin refuse to uphold the bargain made under the mountain 🌹

a/n: this one is sort of a rewrite of one of the earlier chapters in acomaf (though feylin’s relationship is portrayed differently from canon) and might contain a few taken or paraphrased sentences from the book.

tw: vomiting, slight rhysand bashing whoops

Three months.

It took exactly three month following Under The Mountain for Rhysand to come and collect her.

Three months in which she’d slowly rebuilt herself.

In the beginning, when every night was disturbed by nightmares and trips to the bathroom, Tamlin and her had held an unspoken agreement to let each other suffer silently. To not acknowledge that Amarantha still plagued them even after it was all over. Feyre couldn’t count the amount of times she’d held onto the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl and emptied everything in her stomach, and then some. Or how many times Tamlin had shifted into that beast and stayed awake all night, keeping watch for a phantom threat that never appeared.

That unspoken agreement unraveled quickly after the first month. When she felt Tamlin’s fingers gently tie her hair up and his presence settle next to her, his hands moving to rub comforting circles onto her back, as she expelled everything into the toilet. And a few nights later, when she’d wrapped her arms tight around his torso and pulled him back into bed at the tell-tale signs of shifting.

Little by little, piece by piece, they’d pulled the fragments of each other back together. A slow, arduous process — but they were steps that would put distance between the past and the future they wanted.

It became a routine, and by the time the third month rolled around, Feyre hadn’t realized how much she’d hoped Rhysand had forgot their bargain. She could never forget. No, not with the tattoo climbing up her arm and ending at her elbow. But the silence at his end had given her an eagerness to believe that maybe, in the end, she wasn’t worth his time.

She hoped.

Though she should’ve known nothing was ever so easy.

Feyre awoke one morning to the sound of low, deep voices in the hallway outside her bedroom, a stark contrast to the dawn-risen birds chirping melodies by the window. And despite their early roll in the sheets, she closed her eyes and pulled the covers up, attempting to block out the voices and return to her not-so-easily acquired sleep. Nightmares didn’t bother her so much during the day, or when Tamlin was there, and there was a distinct absence of warmth where he should’ve been.

A growl cut through the walls and Feyre opened her eyes again.

“Get out,” Tamlin warned.

She threw the covers back, slipping out of the messy bed, halfway to the door before she realized she was completely naked. Thanks to Tamlin, her clothes had been shredded and flung across the other side of the room, and she feared going through her armoire would alert them to her wakened state. Thankfully, Feyre caught sight of his tunic, haphazardly thrown near the foot of the bed, and snatched it off the floor to pull it over her head, relieved it was long enough to give her some decency.

On silent feet, she crept upon the door, opening it just a fraction to peer out, even as suspicion began to bloom in her chest, her heart racing.

The hair on her arms rose and a jolt of panic streaked through her. Rhysand stood outside her room, the grin on his face faltering as he caught her opening the door anyways and turned to face her. No, no, no, no. The nightmares came back in a flurry. Dark, endless and cold hallways. The slithering of the attor. A flash of batwings and the ghost of a pain where her tattoo now sat. He couldn’t be here. Not today. Not now. Not ever.

“Feyre?” Tamlin, who’s back had been to the door a moment before, was now by her side, peeling the door back a little with a strained look on his face. “Go back to bed, I’ll take care of this.”

Rhysand’s eyes lingered on her, taking in every detail in a way that made her skin crawl. “Are you running low on food here?”

“What?” Tamlin demanded, words half a growl as he whipped back around to face him.

Her stomach sank. It hadn’t been easy to keep the food down. Even with the small steps they were taking, those nightmares hadn’t stopped chasing her, and Feyre wondered if it was because subconsciously she knew she wasn’t completely done with Under The Mountain. She wondered if was the bargain that loomed over her. That the idea of being back in the dark, or facing batwings and a male cruel enough to force her into a life binding contract had been the reason she couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t feel right in her new skin.

Those violet eyes softened as if the stream of her thoughts had reached him. Rhysand extended a hand towards her. “Let’s go.”

“Get out.” Tamlin pointed to the staircase. “She’ll come to you when she’s ready.”

Rhysand conceded a step toward the stairs and slid his hands into his pockets. “You really should have your wards inspected. Cauldron knows what other sort of riffraff might stroll in here as easily as I did.” Again, Rhysand assessed her, a mix of emotions on his face, though when he spoke his voice was hard. “Put some clothes on.”

The simple demand sparked a flame of anger and Feyre bared her teeth as she stepped completely out of the room, “You’ve already forced me to do something once. It won’t happen again so easily.”

“But you are bound to the bargain you made Under The Mountain.” The flicker of softness before disappeared and she wondered if it had ever been there in the first place. Feyre felt her heart beat faster, the consequences of her actions approaching too quickly. “So, let’s go, Cursebreaker. You have a debt to pay.”

Fear and anger mixed, a feeling of sinking and burning enveloping her, but before she could retort back, Tamlin stepped between them. “You end her bargain right here, right now, and I’ll give you anything you want. Anything.”

Feyre’s heart stopped dead, and she turned to Tamlin, who didn’t spare her so much as a glance. The look on his face, however, was determined, not distant. She felt the back of his hand brush against hers. Trust me. She could almost hear the gruff tone of his voice pleading with her.

The problem was she did trust him. She trusted that he would give his soul if it meant she could be free from her bargain. Tamlin was her protector, how could she not know that he meant every word of what he offered to Rhysand? That he was willing to make a dozen sacrifices for her, for the peace they’d cultivated and the steps they’d taken to free themselves from Under The Mountain?

A tightness grew in her chest, eyes pricking with hot tears.

She saw it, then. Their eternity laid out before her, a string of bargains and curses wedged between them. Tamlin tearing off bits and pieces of himself and the shadow of batwings haunting her every time she closed her eyes.

But with it came an opposite realization. Of a young, human girl who’d dared to defy these immortal beings for love, and won.

Because she had killed for love.

Drove her knife into three faeries for love.

And — she realized with a clarity that burned through all the pain, loss and fear — she would do it again.

The anger within her crested and the walls began to shake. Beneath them, a rumbling sounded, spiking rapidly to the levels of her emotion.

"Feyre?" She heard Tamlin's voice as if it were spoken from miles away, the roaring in her ears threatening to engulf her whole.

Feyre only had eyes for Rhysand. For the way his face hardened, violet eyes blazing with a mix of irritation and . . . was that fear?

"Feyre, darling," he chastised, though he was clever enough to remain wary, "Behave."

But she was past the idea of listening to him.

Ripping through two floors of the manor, thick, thorned roots burst through the wooden paneling and wrapped itself around Rhysand. A shout of pain sounded from the High Lord of Night, but Feyre ignored it.

“Yes, I made a bargain with you.” At her most desperate of moments, and he’d known that. He’d taken advantage of it. Twisted her bone and tasted her tears. “And you’re welcome to try and take me. But I wonder—” she held her tattooed hand up, fingers curling into a fist, nails digging into that ever-watchful eye. “If I kill you, Rhysand, who will come to call upon my debt?”

It did something to her, to see his perfectly coifed hair in disarray, the pristine clothes he always wore torn and ripped and ruffled. To see the male that haunted her, struggling in her grip.

“Break the bond.” She gestured to her tattooed hand with her chin.

“What?” he laughed — a breathless, panicked sound.

Feyre twisted her enclosed fist and a root mimicked her motion, digging into his flesh and earning another strangled shout of pain from him. “Break. The. Bond.”

Fury gleamed in Rhysand’s eyes and he gasped out a string of words as power glowed over his body. She felt a heat over her arm and gasped, dropping to her knees. Tamlin was there in an instant, shielding her with his body as the roots and thorns began to sink away. When Feyre looked back over her arm, she saw unmarred skin, devoid of any inky black whorls.

“Feyre?” Tamlin’s voice was so close to her ears, feeding the happiness flooding through her body. “Are you okay? Are you alright?”

“It’s . . . It’s gone.”

“Yes,” disbelief colored his laughter, “It’s gone.”

But she hadn’t forgotten their intruder, and Feyre snapped her head up to look at Rhysand as he unfolded himself from the crumpled heap on the floor and stood. That fury was tinted with a wildness she’d never seen before and she scrambled to stand, to put Tamlin behind her, only to find him doing the same.

“You may have broken this bond here.” Rhysand’s voice was ragged, unhinged. “But you’ll find soon enough, Feyre, darling, that there are other bonds that you cannot escape.”

And as Feyre felt Tamlin squeeze her against him, shielding her from whatever he believed Rhysand would do, the High Lord of the Night Court vanished in a wave of shadows.

a/n: my girl needed more 'thorn-personified' moments imo. (iirc mates can’t hurt each other? we’re forgoing that here because where’s the fun in that)

[avissapiens]

Jockbull Summer Week 4 Set B (3/12/23-10/12/23)

Model Used is Oliver Forslin.

1.

I’m not adhering to this one as strictly. Maybe that’s not what abg intended but oh well. I’m more so expanding its scope to be more about risque clothing choices in general. On that front I made perhaps the stupid purchase of a thrifted Wrestling singlet. But damn it feels so good and tight on my skin. But i’m way too tall for it so the cut looks ridiculous.(Buff, hypnotic, AND tall. Swoon more.) Maybe when I'm more shredded I’ll be able to wear it more unabashedly.

2.

Maybe I should start offering a combo Hypno-workout routine. Or maybe an archetype centric workout split to enhance and build certain aesthetics. I wonder if anyone would pay for that.

3.

Got one in and because of the nature of weeks and spacing out my rest days the next one would be Monday of the week that i’m posting these. I’ll only take the cals from this week to be consistent so that's 700 calories burnt, while on a fast.

4.

Focusing the dropsets on pull day has been insane. I know it’s not likely but my arms already feel bigger. 17.5 inches. The peak that I've been missing all this time is finally starting to show through. Fuck the degree. I’d drain every course I took this year from my head (except Bio 206, 205 and 395) if it meant I could get some extra inches on these fucking pythons.

5.

First tumblr pic incoming. Try to contain yourselves(don’t contain shit. Go wild brahs)

[ashisgreedy]

König with a non-gender specific S/O

Headcannons

SFW & NSFW🔞 ⬇️ Below

Under 18, DNI

SFW

When he plans the dates it's usually some form of activity.

He'd take you on a hike or a long walk any day (and any weather to your dismay at times 🤣).

He loves to get to the end of the trial and see the view with you. His cheeks would be pink but he wouldn't be out of breath at all.

I think the only PDA he's comfortable with is hand holding. He would steal a kiss when no one was looking, but hand holding is 100% up his alley.

Also, he doesn't care who's around, you always get a big hug goodbye when you part ways.

Food! Loves to try new food with you! He loves showing you different food from all over the world.

Cooks exclusively with pre-prepared ingredients (like pre chopped onions, shredded lettuce, graded cheese and so on) to take some short cuts because he loves eating more than cooking tbh. The recipe always comes out fabulous anyway!

Learned how to style your hair for you as a form an intimacy. He said he was just learning incase you ever got sick and needed help with your daily routine. But he seems to do it to show you how much a cares.

He takes his time taking care of your hair and styling it the way you taught him. It always comes out so perfect. (You're kinda of jealous how consistently good he makes your hair style come out)

In bed = in his arms

Physical touch and time spent together are his top love languages. But he also loves gift giving/receiving.

He falls asleep instantly when it's time for bed. He says "Goodnight, I love you." And he's out before you can reply.

He's a super quiet sleeper. You've woken up many times to feel around his side of the bed to make sure he's still there. He doesn't move or snore. Literally silent all night long.

NSFW

Little too eager sometimes and has definitely stretched or ripped your clothes to the point where you can't wear them again.

Kind of ferral?! Once the relationship is established and he's comfortable, be ready for serious and instinctually driven sex.

He knows what you like and he uses that 'against' you everytime. He goes fast sometimes but is skillful and thorough.

Hugs from behind> turn to kisses on the neck> turn to his hands roaming your body> to his hands sneaking inside your clothes> to him pressing you up against the wall> wrapping your legs around his waist> and him whispering praises into your ear when you moan.

Afterwards is usually just him wanting to gaze into your eyes and cuddle you close while naked for as long as you'll let him. He's kinda cheesy but stupidly-adorable. Ahhhhh

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

This was fun to write!

I love thinking about him ❤️

[ryoko-akari]

I wrote this a while ago for @dr-docktor and his Curt Falls AU but finally decided to post it on here. For a bit of context it's set post "musical" a few months after Owen rescues Curt on the stairwell and during Curts recovery period. Because we wanted to give them a happy ending, but it'd be something they'd have to fight tooth and nail for. So without further waiting, enjoy what I've dubbed the "nightmare drabble." (Pretend the Asterix stuff is in italics I'm on mobile tumblr and it hates me)

Owen was a light sleeper, always has been. It'd helped him as a kid listen out for the blaring air raid sirens, and it'd helped him throughout his career from letting anyone get the drop on him while vulnerable.

Now, it was alerting him to how Curt needed him, and fast by the looks of it.

Curt hadn't woken up yet, but Owen didn't need him to to recognize the telltale signs of how he tossed and turned in the sheets and mumbled incoherant phrases into the pillow. Mutters of the word "no" over and over were the only ones Owen really understood. Curt hadn't gotten to the point of screaming in his sleep just yet, they were lucky in that regard (if one could call any of their situation lucky, that is). But Owen knew what to do now. He'd done it so many times the routine felt like clockwork.

"Curt? Love, it's me, it's alright. It’s just a night terror. It'll pass." Owen spoke softly, but repeated the little mantra he'd found to be effective the last few times. Careful not to hold Curt down in any way, last thing he wanted was a repeat of that instance. (While being pinned down could certainly be considered exciting, having his arms roughly pulled behind his back much further than they were supposed to was, most decidedly, not an experience worth repeating.)

Curt woke with a start, eyes flying open as he shot up in bed like a rocket, bracing his upper body with both arms behind him. Gripping tightly to the sheets as he heaved air into his lungs. Owen waited a few moments to let him process whatever he'd witnessed behind closed eyelids, waited until he heard the American's breath finally start to even out.

"You're alright, Curt. It's alright, I'm here, I've got you." Owen slowly sat up, propping himself up on a bent elbow, turning to better face Curt.

Curt, who had now turned sharply to face him, and Owen could see in the faint moonlight the way his eyes went wide. He heard the way Curt's breathing picked back up into desperate gasps as he sputtered.

"I've got you, love. I won't leave you alone." Curt's breathing only got worse then.

"No. *No no no no NO NO NO NONONONONO-"* Curt's voice started as a whisper of disbelief, but quickly picked up speed and volume as he startled back, nearly falling off the bed in a tangle of sheets and blankets. Owen barely restrained the alarm that surged through his system then, catching hold of Curts wrist to help pull him from the edge. Curt only stared down at his hand, shaking his head wildly. "You can't be here, you. *You can't!"* His voice cracked with raw desperation then, and Owen could see the sparkles of tears welling in his eyes. *And god did it tear his heart to shreds.*

"We're safe, Curt." Curt shook his head even more violently, and Owen felt something warm and wet splashing against him then. Not that he needed to question what it was.

"No, no we're not, not when they-" Curf cut himself off by covering his mouth with his own hand. Desperately looking around the room then. *"You need to get out of here."*

"Curt, we're safe. I promise you we are." Owen tried to give him a reassuring squeeze, but it only made Curt jump at the sensation. Owen let go then, and Curt instantly got out of bed, throwing the covers off him like they were burning and rushing to Owen's side.

"I don't, I don't know how they got you but we need to get you out before they come back. *Please. You need to run before they come back, promise me you won't let them ever find you again."*

Oh. *Oh.* Owen knew what Curt's nightmare had been now, and he clenched his jaw, hard. Biting back the growl of anger he wanted to roar out then. It could be saved for later, when it'd be more effective, but now all it would do is make the situation worse, and that was the *last* thing either of them needed.

"Curt you're not with Chimera anymore, remember? We're safe and far away from them. They can't find us here, love. We're safe." Owen tried to keep his voice calm, tried to keep his smile light, tried to give Curt as much stability as he possibly could. All he got in response was more aggressive head shaking.

*"No, no they wouldn't just let me go."* Owen could feel his heart shatter, but didn't dare let it show. He needed to stay calm. *Curt needed him to stay calm.* "They'll come for me, you need to get away. You can stay safe! You can-"

Owen grabbed Curt's arm then, like they always did. Curt's breath caught in his throat.

"I'm never leaving your side. Curt I promise you, you're safe here. We've been living together here for a few months now, remember?" Owen pleaded, Curt just stared at him in silence, stuttering breaths and his arm still in Owen's grip being the only indication he was even there.

"Take some deep breaths for me love, alright? Just copy me. Deep breath in the nose," Owen demonstrated, overexagerating the sound to help. Curt followed, not nearly getting deep enough, *but it was a start.* they held like that for a few seconds. "Exhale through your mouth," Owen exaggerated the sound again, and Curt followed his lead. "In." Owen took a deep breath in, and heard Curt attempt to repeat, holding for a few seconds. "Out."

They repeated this process a few more times, Curt getting better with each breath until he was able to match Owen's pace.

It was only then, when they had reached some form of calm, did a third voice make itself known in a confused chirp. Curt startled before looking over to its source, a previously curled up ball at the foot of the bed now making it's way over to them. Penelope chirped again with concern, rubbing herself up against Curt's side.

"See? You're safe Curt." Owen smiled as Penelope flopped against Curt's side. Purring loudly almost immidiately. "We've got you." Curt stayed silent, patting the cat on the head before turning his attention back to Owen. The only response the British man would get being a slow nod. And it was all he needed.

They'd be okay, *eventually.*

[luimagines]

How would a female hero of courage interact with the chain?

Well- this is certainly a new type of Reader! I know I try to keep Reader as gender neutral as possible so this kinda defeats the purpose... but just once won’t hurt anyone. Consider it done anon!

It'll be in headcanon form. I hope that's ok.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

Twilight

Weak

Drinks his respect women juice every morning like Uli taught him

And Ilia wouldn’t hear any complaints of it as they grew up

Midna made sure he kept up with his routine

And Zelda was the final nail on the coffin

Can’t say no to whatever she requests

Wild teases him a lot

And by teases, I mean secretly complains

“You let her get away it!”

“Yeah Cub, because I know she wouldn’t hesitate to throw me over her shoulder and call it a day. I’m not getting in her way.”

Doesn’t pay too much attention to it

Frankly, care less about that and more about her age

If she’s younger, she’s getting the same treatment as the rest of the youngins

If she’s older, then the more power to her

She can get away with much more

He’s soft

While others may forget, he tries to keep in mind her need for privacy and space from the boys

Especially since she’s the only girl

On her team, 98% of the time

Warrior

Oh no another one

It’s Linkle all over again

Or so he thinks

Protective to a fault, poor guy

But he’s just Like That TM

Reader would gather really quickly it’s because he cares and not because of anything else

He does the same to Wind and Twilight and Legend and even Time

Warrior is used to female fighters so this isn’t anything for him to blink at

Have you seen his game? It’s like three males total- him included, villains not included

How much do you want to bet that Warrior also knows someone from Reader’s adventure?

You know.... for flavor :D

Warrior is quick to make them feel a part of the team and respected

Warrior is the first one to ask for their opinion on matters and Reader always comes up with a point he (and others) were missing

“Thanks Girlie. I knew you were brought with us for a reason. Glad to know that you’re on our side.”

Big Brother Warrior adopts another one. A Saga

Legend

Is not above sacrificing her to do the work so that he can get out of it

Challenges her at nearly every turn

Even more so than Warrior

And it’s not because she’s female

It’s just that it’s activating his sibling behavior with a vengeance and he’s going to make it her problem

Reader found him annoying, pessimistic, dramatic and hard to get along with

It was like cats and dogs

Even if Legend actually likes her

However Reader gets talked down to in public and Legend goes off

Completely tearing the offender to shreds with his words alone- although he’s tempted to do so physically as well

Reader doesn’t think he’s so bad after that

They judge people outfits together, you honor

They are each other’s ride or die

Legend gets to the point where she’s the only one he listens to without question

The Chain try and get her to talk to Legend when they’re trying to prank him

Reader agrees more than half of the time

Hyrule

A bit of a lost cause...

Has no idea how to approach this

Hella awkward- poor guy

Ignores it on principle

Treats her like one of the guys, only be reminded that she’s not a guy

It’s like a slap in the face every time- he tries so hard to just be normal

Give him a break he’s not used to people as it is

At least the people he’s met so far are nice and she’s nice and different from any of them

Doesn’t want to treat her like glass

Doesn’t want to be too overbearing in a group full of guys

Doesn’t want to treat her as an outcast

Doesn’t want to intrude on her personal space

Is he over thinking it? Oh yeah defiantly

Another hero that means well but is in uncharted territory

However, he’s never been afraid of uncharted territory before and this is no different

He’ll figure it out

Just give him some time

Wind

Big sister?

Someone as cool and kick butt as Tetra?

But like him? With the courage and the whole... not being like the others for whatever reason?

Admiration and following like a puppy

He looks up to the older heroes and obviously tries to emulate them

But something about her hits different

And he wants to do the same

It’s a shame he doesn’t know what it is

Wind is going to talk her ear off

(I hope she has the patients for him XD)

As he can see that Reader is older, he wants to ask questions about his sister, like why girls do x? Or y? Or z?

You know, things that they have in common but for the life of him, he doesn’t know why

So he might as well ask right?

Besides, if he asked Aryll, she might give him a half answer or not even know herself

But Reader should know, he trusts Reader’s judgment

Tries to wrestle her

A lot

Loses

Wild

Younger sister?

Hello? My old heart? How have you been?

He’s going to project so much

He means well by the end of the day and frankly it doesn’t matter if this hero is older than him

He has vague memories of a younger sister and it’s going to eat him alliiivvee

Gives her the best portions of food obviously and naturally serves her first

Will want to go horse back riding with her whether she knows how to or not

He can teach her! He can do archery with her! And sword fighting and shield surfing and cooking and and and and-

So long as his weapons and equipment don’t break on him anyway

He’s going to badger her about keeping her hair in decent condition and offering to braid it or brush it or just put it up for her

Who cares if he still has twigs and junk in his hair? That’s not his point

Is he a hypocrite? ... Just a bit

Might show off from time to time by taking wild animals momentarily just so she can pet them

Cut to Wild riding into camp on a bear

“Sissy! Look what I found!”

“Cub! Put him back!” Said literally everyone in the group.

“He’ll go back home on his own soon enough. I gave him honey glazed salmon as a treat. He’s so soft. Come see!”

Four

Well he just found his new best friend

Second to Zelda, of course

Is the one to ask for help with pranking people (mostly Legend) 

Together, they nearly get away with it every time

Does she know blacksmithing? Is that a thing they teach the girls where she’s from?

It’s likely that she doesn’t

Oh well! Four is just going to have to make sure she’s taken care of

Very protective of her

Is going to get in her way multiple times

But in an accidentally on purpose sort of way

He gets stomped on, trampled and run over more times than he wishes to admit

He knows she can take care of herself, she’s just as much of a hero as all of them are

But Four sees her and sees Zelda and he gets this urge to keep her away from danger at all costs

It’s annoying

But they laugh and poke fun and he tries to tackle her for the hell of it and never succeeds

He means well, but that’s a conversation about to happen

It’s somewhere on the horizon

Time

Oh thank god, someone who knows what they’re doing

Do they? 

Who knows. But Time is going to use their ability to wrangle the boys to his advantage because honestly?

It’s like herding cats otherwise

Or cuccos- at least he has experience with that

Doesn’t think too much of it

Also takes to her on the spot

The change of energy is nice but he’s to reassure her when the case may be

Like when the boys are a bit much or when they’re teasing her

Time says near the beginning of the trip that if they bug her too much to tell him and he’ll set them straight

Not to say that she can’t do it herself but honestly- why should she have to?

Clearly she’s been through enough as it is

They both spend quiet time together

May have fallen asleep on each other at some point

Denies it but also has a picture hidden somewhere in his belongs

No one knows who he stole it from because at least three of them have a copy

And yet he never approached them for it

The mysteries add on with The Old Man

Sky

Literally no different

This guy could not care less

Forgets half of the time

It’s not something he would pay attention to

Has to be genuinely reminded at least once

He’s used to being the “mom friend” so if they help out in that regard Sky is going to give them brownie points

Because these boys don’t care about those things and Sky is tired of having to remind people to chew with their mouth closed-

Help him

He can’t do this alone

Has to be prepared for all things all the time

If Reader could just lighten the load a little bit he would be eternally grateful

He would tell her story for years to come

Granted, he was going to talk about his friends anyway but this one takes special precedence

Is the one she vents to without a second thought

If she can help carry his role in the group than he can be there as her support as well

There’s no difference between the lives of heroes

It’s hard on everyone

[nikaandtea]

top ted talks pt. 2

aka, songs written about josh/torchbearer, confirmed and not, all for fun so don't take it too close to heart (:

The Run and Go

with this song I believe Tyler has spoken before about how Josh is someone he would often call during difficult nights, and overall just someone he turns to for support. especially the chorus.

not wanting Josh to feel the weight of his own problems, but still needing him there mentally. it's a really sweet balance i think they found with one another, being able to cope in their own ways but with the assistance of the other. "cerebral thunder, and one way conversations" in my mind is like when you're having a panic attack, and the other person is 'having a one way conversation' with you as they do their best to calm you down. just a sweet song i think.

Tear in My Heart

tear in my heart pronoun change you will always be famous.

Morph/My Blood

double whammy for trench because they chose death for this album. morph is a track that i started associating with torchbearer post navigating mv. verse two, "He'll always try to stop me, that Nicolas Bourbaki He's got no friends close but those who know him most know He goes by Nico, he told me I'm a copy When I'd hear him mock me, that's almost stopped me". the idea of nico mocking the 'fake' torch, probably to stop him from fighting to get clancy to return home to the banditos, man. that morphing into someone else is a self defense mechanism, a way to protect clancy at a distance to keep him on track to their eventual goal. 'not done, josh dun' i mean cmon, they're just playing with us at this point. torch isn't done with the battle against the bishops, and will not give up on clancy no matter what. love this song.

my blood is just *chefs kiss*. the entire track is a similar idea. elaborating on the point that torch whole heartedly believes in clancy, and even when no one else believes in him, he will. it's just a very sweet dynamic, and i think it's what keeps clancy in the cycle of capture, escape, capture. knowing that torch expects him to return, that he holds the hope of winning this fight no matter how long it takes. "Surrounded and up against a wall I'll shred 'em all and go with you When choices end, you must defend I'll grab my bat". until their last breath, torch and clancy will have each other's backs, and i love that. they're truly everything.

(i would add choker, but i also don't have much to say plus i'm on the fence about it. im sorry scaled and icy you're my beautiful gf but alas you have no josh in you, maybe in another post)

Routines in the Night/Navigating

routines has a similar logic for me as run and go, as in it's also Tyler mentally opening up to Josh about his issues/ the halls of his mind.

as for navigating, little goes to say. we learn so much about torch's power in this as well i absolutely love this track as a whole. whenever clancy grabs onto torch we know that it helps him one way or another to find his way back/it activates the torch illusion to lead him back towards the banditos 'when our fingers touch i feel my way back home'. clancy thought he was just following torch, while in reality he just felt it. and don't get me started at the look they exchange when they finally reunite. the overall sound and lyrics of this track, suddenly cut to fade in 'my blood' as they meet eyes for the first time in years? insane. i n s a n e. torch means so much to clancy, we know that from the way dema citizens reacted to clancy, mocking his callouts for josh/torch. and torch going the lengths to make sure clancy makes it home? they drive me crazy.

once again, dear reader, thank you for reading my brainfart about these boys (:

[fatuismooches]

Pantalone and Dottore buzzing in my brain. Being in a poly relationship with them but they’re both so possessive of you in they’re own ways they can barely stand seeing the other with you.

Like Pantalone always pampering you and giving you gifts to show he can treat you far better than that doctor and Dottore making you little trinkets out of scrap metal (it’s endearing if nothing else) and always clinging to you, kissing your cheeks, giving you as much physical attention as he can (they both do this but Dottore would be much more public about it methinks, also Pantalone getting fussy cause he like gets you on an amazing skin care routine and Dottore has a gall to blemish your perfect skin by biting you, drives him up the wall)

Eventually from your pushing they learn to share you (maybe even tolerate each other to the point they can begrudgingly say they’re boyfriends) and just join together in their possessiveness😭

They get all fussy if you even look at another person for too long and will drag you away or cling to you to try and scare the other person away. It’s never your fault! No, no, it’s always the annoyance. How dare someone even try to take your attention, let alone speak to you when the two are around. Oughh if another harbinger grabs your attention they will not be afraid to get snappy with them, even if they’re higher ranking.

In conclusion i want to kiss them both on the cheeks [📺]

📺 ANON I'M LITERALLY TURNING INTO JELLY AHHHH I CAN'T DO THIS FLUFF TODAYYY 😭❤️❤️❤️ But omg REAL. REAL!!! All the Harbingers are possessive in their own way but these two? They're something else. Dottore for... obvious reasons and Pantalone is kinda self-explanatory too, I mean you are his most beloved treasure, it's only natural he wants you to be with only him! Especially not with the Doctor of all people. Of course the feeling is mutual, Dottore can't see anything beneficial you'd gain from hanging out with that damn banker, you should just stay in his lab and keep him company! So there is always some... not-so-hidden competition between the two. Trying to one-up the other and get you to agree with them. You've seen it all, you know all of their tactics, you aren't phased much anymore when they come up with a new scheme to get your attention and win you over. Though... you aren't complaining! It's still lovely to be the object of affection for these two men, you just wish... they would get along better. It gets awkward when they're both cuddling you and then they start making passive-aggressive comments to each other...

oh MY GOSH PANTALONE GETTING US A SKIN CARE ROUTINE AND DOTTORE RUINING IT IS MY NEW FAVORITE HC AWWW I'm chuckling way too hard at that 😭 why is it canon. Dottore does it because he loves to bite you, but it's an added perk when he sees how threateningly hard Pantalone is smiling at him. Look no matter what he does, Dottore's still biting you. Even if he cuts funding. Though please convince Pantalone that it's okay and that you don't mind the bites before the lab goes bankrupt. You're literally the peacemaker for them 😓 Omgefkfwnew now I can't get out of my mind soft moments with Pantalone doing skincare stuff together, he would be so gentle helping you apply it and all,, hng (Dottore isn't invited, Pantalone insists he can't appreciate this and for once you agree.)

HAHAHA SO TRUE getting to your breaking point because your boyfriends can't get along, you love them dearly but you cannot go another day with another passive-aggressive comment to each other. So you just leave for a bit. The only note you leave is that by the time you come back, they better be more civil towards each other. The two men are dead silent when they read that and think you just went out for a few hours perhaps but nope. You went out on a whole mission for a week or two. And they had absolutely no clue, which is a huge feat in itself... and who did you go with. Childe. Tartaglia. Oh my God they collectively agree to rip him to shreds when you get back. At least they can bond over hurting people. Mhm, having one scary dog Harbinger is already frightening, but two? Nightmare fuel for the average person. And them blaming the other person is so in character 😭 Nope, their beloved could never do anything wrong ❤️ But don't worry, you needn't worry about anyone else! All your love and affection, your smiles and laughs, should be reserved for them only. No one else should be able to bask in such things.

They both deserve kisses all over their cheeks, 100%. And also kiss them both on the lips to get them to stop arguing. But also do it quickly because if you kiss one for too long, the other will get irritated. Mhm, but then they collectively decide you haven't kissed them long enough so then you all are just kissing each other for an extended period of time. Good stuff.