#d for danger(d-team)

[ttrpg-smash-pass-vs]

Fraz-Urbluu, demon lord of illusion and deception. Sorry, were you wanting the usual size and weight and such? Unavailable, reality itself is at his whim. He has innate magic to basically control all of your senses. Your touch, smell, vision, hearing are shrouded in illusion, he can create things and terrain that your brain treats as real and make the whole area seem to be whatever he needs. And if he REALLY wants he can even modify your memory once per day, making you forget something or gaslighting you with a fake memory. He can terrify, grapple, even make temporary clones of anyone he sees. He can even modify the room your in, shuffling doors and walls around. A modicum of his power, as his (currently lost) staff let him literally shape the entire layer of the abyss instantly and at his whim. Yeah, he's not just an architect of lies, he's also an architect in general. However, note that there's no domination, no mental orders or suggestions, no forcing you to like or believe him like other lords. His charms are through skill and pretty settings. frequently tricking even demon lords who KNOW what he's about through sheer Charisma. In the past he's shown to court clever and creative individuals, so if you're chosen I'm sure it'll be a ride of your life!...but not one in your control.

[bruciemilf]

“You remind me of somebody. Know any Ghost?”

“Like, personally?”

[good-beanswrites]

Yor Week Day 5: Family ☕🍵

A quick drabble of Yor and a teen Anya! I just wanted a sweet little snapshot of their daily life post-canon/post-reveals

“Your birthday’s coming up.” Yor stirred her coffee. “Are you busy? Your father and I were thinking of taking you to the aquarium, he said there’s a special event going on the same day.”

“I’m not sure,” Anya leaned her chin in her hands. The pair sat at an outdoor table at the local cafe. “Becky wanted to go out. She and a few friends wanted to spend the day together.”

The aforementioned friend’s sense of fashion had started to rub off on her. Happy to lose her high school uniform on breaks like this, she was dressed in current trends and styles. She’d grown her hair long to style in her own way, refusing help from her friends. Yor never said anything, but she recognized the way the thick braids tucked just at her neck, with curling pink locks framing her face.

Anya’s features scrunched up, lost in thought for a moment. “So...” 

She was slowly ridding herself of the habit, but Yor couldn’t help her thoughts from carrying her away in nervousness. Of course the girl’s friends would want to take her out. She thought the aquarium was a good idea – Yuri had loved going too, as a kid. But that was just it, Anya wasn’t a baby anymore. She had to stop thinking she knew how to care for a family just because she’d cared for her brother for a little while. Having a daughter was different.

“That sounds fun,” she forced a smile. Knowing it wasn't the most convincing of looks, she flooded her mind with the thought. She did believe it. It did sound fun. Things with friends were always great. Yor was so happy Anya had such wonderful friends in her life. Anya deserved to have fun with them.  “Yes, you should do that!”

Sure enough, she saw Anya’s bright eyes studying her. Though her mind was spilling with positivity, the conflicted look on the girl’s face didn’t lessen.

“The thing is… we’ve been doing a lot as a family recently, and, well…”

Yor’s hands clutched around her mug. Hairline cracks appeared on the side. She willed herself to calm down, but her heart was breaking as much as the cup. It was no wonder her daughter would rather spend the day with others! She’d been too overbearing, too enthusiastic to do lame things. She’d been keeping Anya from being the free teenager she wanted to be. 

She’d heard accounts of children growing up too fast, but it was even more painful than she’d expected. It seemed like only yesterday she was threatening parents of students who were insulting Anya’s tiny stature, and now she was grown and running off to make her own birthday plans.

“So it was you that scared Mrs. Greene our first year!”

“What?!” This time, the mug did shatter. Coffee and porcelain shards spread across the cafe table.

“I knew it!” She let out a giggle. “You had papa fooled, though.” Anya handed her a napkin, and helped to mop up the mess. “And mamaaaa…” She tugged on one of her pink curls, looking away.

Yor was surprised; that little gesture was a habit of her own. “What’s wrong?”

“I was going to say… I really want to hang out with you two.”

Her eyebrows raised.

“I just thought it would be silly to cancel on Becky, you know? Since we’ve already done so much together lately. But… the aquarium sounds fun. I really want to spend my birthday with you.”

Yor nodded, trying not to let her face betray her giddiness at the sentiment. “That sounds wonderful!”

The two continued making plans. Yor wanted her to be able to see her friends as well, and there was certainly room for everyone at the aquarium. Anya wanted to make sure the 'special event' wasn't an invention of her workaholic father. The three were used to working cases together, but it was her birthday, after all.

Suddenly, Anya’s eyes narrowed. Her lips twisted into something mischievous. “So… what are you guys getting for my present?” 

“I told you, it’s a surprise,” she said as her daughter stared intently.

Her look of triumph immediately turned to horror. She swatted her hands at Yor. “Noooo! Stop that! I don’t need to hear about you and papa making out!”

“Maybe you shouldn't have been snooping.” Yor grinned shamelessly. “Come on, I get to keep one thing from you all year.”

“That’s still gross.” She made a theatrically disgusted face, which only made Yor’s smile soften. “Hey! It's not adorable when I do that.”

“You’re always adorable.” 

Anya huffed. 

“And also,” Yor grimaced.

“Mm?”

“That whole thing about Charles’ parents stays between us, alright? Your father can never know.”

The girl let out a laugh. “Aw, mama. I'm you're daughter – you know I can keep a secret.”

[sunshineyoujustwait]

currently losing my mind because 'would've could’ve should've' is the perfect charles x ferrari and seb x ferrari song and it's making me scream

[vynnblr]

i’m alive lmao come attack me

https://artfight.net/~Frreezeburn

[dcxdpdabbles]

Could I ask you for more Freelancer Danny? I love his denseness (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

Damian knew about Danny Fenton due to the multiple assassination attempts his mother had ordered on him. And how everyone had failed over the years as the man thawed whatever she sent out to kill him.

At first, Mother wanted to recruit Fenton, but he refused to join the great cause. He claimed he did not believe in their methods and would not serve a man like his Grandfather.

She later discovered that Fenton was the target of Father's affection and the main block between them, rekindling any romantic bond. Mother claimed she did not hate Fenton for this, as his parents wanted different things and views, but Damian did.

Damian could not stand a man who would think himself a better choice than Mother. He could not stomach the thought of Fenton being so powerful he could dismiss his family's organization as simply as rejecting a misbehaving dog.

How dare Fenton keep Mother away from his Father. Every day, Damian trained as hard as he could so that he could one day be able to best mother in combat and have the right to meet Father.

Then, he would work to defeat his Father so that he could demand Fenton's head on a platter. He had a long way to go, but Mother still attempted to kill the undeserving man while he grew more assertive.

Mother's assassination attempts began around the time Fenton had uncovered one of their youth training camps and set it ablaze. He had a problem training children to their limits, which made no sense to Damian. How else would those urchins become useful if they were not pushed past their limits?

Yes, a few of them died, but if they could not handle the training, there was no chance they could handle the actual missions. Fenton thought it was "cruel" and took all the children to an American orphanage that Father funded and ran.

Grandfather had been angry—angry more than Damian had ever seen in his young life. That training camp had been one of the first he had established; it had much history. Mother had assured him that she would make the attacker pay.

"Beloved will understand." She said, signing off on Fenton's death warrant. "He knows our ways."

That was that.

Until the people carrying Fenton's death warrant returned…in body bags with a note that read "Nice try" and a stylized white D underneath as a calling card, attached to each one.

That was four years ago. Damian is ten, has bested Mother, and is coming to meet Father. He had studied the fools Father had taken into the family.

He planned on taking out Drake first, for not only was he unworthy to be called Father's son, but even Grandfather had an eye on him. He needed to be handled before he grew to power.

Fenton turned out to be rather insightful. Damian had been in the Wayne Manor—quant that it was. He thought his Father was supposed to be wealthy, but he had been forbidden from being seen in public.

Then, he would take out Fenton.

It angered him to be treated as a secret. Again.

Before, he knew it was because Father was waiting for him to earn the right, as he needed to complete his training. He did.

He worked so hard to be the best. His mother and the man she spent years telling him was slightly less than his Grandfather refused to acknowledge him.

He disliked him.

Father's adoptive children treated Damian like a burden. Worst, Father treated him like an unstable bomb that was thrown on his lap like a common curd. Damian thought that he would have finally proved himself if he had just taken out Drake.

But the little insect turned out to be rather hard to kill off. Not to mention Todd, who had interfered more than once in his plans. Apparently, despite the fact that it was Fenton who had brought Drake to his Father—and not because Drake had any real skill—Todd thought the boy was an invaluable member of the team.

He did not think Drake was a danger to his position, which meant Todd was far too arrogant, and he did not have the skills to defend this mindset.

If anything, Fenton seemed delighted to listen to his stories of Mother and his homeland.

If Damian could not beat Drake, what hope would he have for Todd?

Fenton, on the other hand, treated Damian with respect. He considered his position and never made Damian feel wrong for his upbringing.

Damian, at first, had been free with his words. He was purposely throwing in comments of blades, screams, and blood. Fenton, in turn, told him the tales of growing up with his parents producing weaponry in the basement and the number of times he had to dodge a blast from something lying about in the house.

When Damian informed him of his training, Fenton applauded his abilities instead of pitying him for living through it.

Fenton then took him to a zoo. Damian had always been fond of animals, a weakness he attempted to hide. He could not exactly contain his urge to walk around the whole place, rolling his eyes when Fenton made a mistake on facts regarding the beats and spending an entire afternoon correcting him.

Fenton had not once dismissed or babied him. Unlike his servants, who are forced to listen to him, he seems genuinely happy to hear Damian speak. Strangely, Fenton even took Damian's training seriously, helping him sharpen his spy abilities by helping him go undercover in various settings.

Father had wanted him behind closed doors, but Fenton took him bowling, around the city, to the soup kitchen, multiple animal shelters to venture, and even to see various art museums. Whenever he asks Damian to explain his hostility to Drake, he reminds him that he would not be allowed to harm Drake.

"You just have to remind yourself that you're not there anymore," Fenton said over a Tabbouleh. Fenton had tracked down one of the few Arabic restaurants in Gotham because Damian mentioned how he missed his county's food.

He pointed out multiple reasons, but unlike when his Father, Grayson, Todd or even Pennyworth did, Fenton reframed from using emotions. He understood that where Damian was from, the weak deserved to be crushed to move up.

It warmed his chest in a way he only associated with his Mother when Fenton drove them there. "A good warrior adapts to his new settings and social customs. You aren't a mercenary."

Damian's nose wrinkled. "Those are the harlots of the world of warriors."

Fenton waved his fork at him. "They'll kill anyone for a dollar. They're far too easy to open their blades. Like their legs."

Damian ducked his head to hide the giggle that slipped out. They returned to the Wayne Manor to find Drake packing a bag. He returned to grab more clothing since he was still staying with Fenton. It was for his safety as Damian posed a real threat to his life.

For a moment, the blood son wondered if he could sneak up on him and slash his throat before Drake knew he was there, but then he thought about what Fenton said and chose to walk up to the teenager. "I shall allow you to live."

Drake froze. "Thank you?"

He nods, placing his arms behind his back. "I can still defeat you in combat. You breathe at my mercy."

Saying his piece, Damian glances over his shoulder, watching Fenton beam. The warm feeling returns as the man seems proud of him for not taking the chance to replace Drake.

Behind him, Father also smiles as if pleased. It's the first time he has ever looked at Damian that way. It was due to Fenton's advice and gentle guidance.

Fenton wasn't so bad after all.

He would refrain from plating his head for now, until he had enough information and experience to blend in with the American crowd and earn his Father's approval.

[ruthlesslistener]

Okay having now seen Jurassic Park in full I can say:

a.) Everybody telling me not to bring back the dinosaurs because they're dangerous is full of shit, all these animals are attacking people because they are VASTLY underfed and understimulated. The entire movie was the animals toying with them bc they were bored and likely hungry, not because carnivores just...do that. The entire animal care team and handling was a goddamn disaster. C-

b.) The geneticists were fucking stupid, who the FUCK would patch AMPHIBIAN DNA into REPTILES, they're as distantly related to them as amphibians are to us!! Use bird DNA!! Or DNA from other reptiles! Fuck!!!

c.) On the same note, whoever thought to use all female dinosaurs was huffing paint thinners bc fucking. DAMN IT. PARTHINOGENISIS IS A THING IN REPTILES. YOU DONT EVEN NEED FANCY AMPHIBIAN DNA FOR THAT I AM RATTLING THEIR GENETICISTS BY THE SCRUFF OF THE NECK WITH MY TEETH ARE YOU ALL FUCKING IDIOTS

d.) The lysine contingency plan wouldn't have worked as a useful failsafe because it would have taken too long for the animals to run out of lysine to halt their metabolisms- the killswitch idea is excellent tho and is a legit tactic used for transgenic organisms so A+ for them implimenting that there. I don't exactly have an alternative method either bc I'm not good with metabolism, I just know that depriving them of lysine would likely be bullshit

e.) All the kill scenes were waaay too censored and way less people died than I thought :( major salt to my dad for not letting me watching this as a kid because it would be 'too scary' or 'make me violent' bc this shit was a letdown for how tame it was. Still a good movie but very much not a horror movie

f.) This is an outstanding movie about the hubris of man but I see now why people would think that the moral of the story is 'playing god and bringing back dinosaurs bad' when its really 'billionares are fucking idiots and should trust a wide variety of scientists'. Hammond chose a bunch of fucking idiots to help run his park and trying to monetize living creatures is never a good thing. This is why peer review exists!! This is why its important!!!

g.) this film reminded me that i will never see a living non-avian dinosaur irl and i am sad :(

[headkiss]

I LOVE the idea of protective Hotch constantly having an eye out for younger bau!agent who’s literally sunshine personified and the complete opposite of him!! Do u think u could write something along the lines of that—maybe him protecting her from something or just their dynamic?

i also love protective hotch!!! tysm for the request i hope u like it baby :D | 1k of fluff, tw for a small burn!

You’d been surprised when you got a job at the BAU. You didn’t have that much faith in yourself at first. Not to say you don’t believe in your skills, but it’s a widely known part of the bureau. A lot of people wanted the job.

And then, there’s Agent Hotchner, unit chief and intimidating though you’re sure he doesn’t mean to be. You were insanely nervous at the beginning.

That was before you started, before the team welcomed you as the new media liaison after Agent Jareau became a profiler. You met Garcia and her collection of fun high heels, Reid and his never ending supply of facts, and you sort of fit right in.

Hotch became much less intimidating. A kind man who cares so deeply for his team that you couldn’t help but like him the way you do. Not to mention the dynamic that built between the two of you.

The small things he does for you that are impossible to ignore. A hand covering the edge of your desk to protect your head when you were searching underneath it for a dropped paper clip, the way he physically places himself between you and danger if he ever gets the chance.

He’s always there, protecting you in ways both big and little, and you enjoy it more than you should.

It’s even brighter on nights like tonight. Drinks and snacks at Penelope’s after a tough case. Nights when you get to call him Aaron instead of Hotch, when he smiles and laughs freely without restraint.

The beep of the oven cuts off yours and Garcia’s conversation, and when she shifts to take care of it, you stop her, “I got it! You’re already hosting, just relax a little.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, squeezing your arm as you walk by.

The smell of food in the oven hits your nose as you walk into the kitchen, humming along to whatever song spills through the speakers.

You pull the oven open, reaching in without thinking and touching the pan with your bare hand. You drop it quickly, metal clanking as it falls back onto the rack in the oven.

“Shit!” You say it loudly, and then, even louder, addressing the team in the next room, “I’m okay!”

They all laugh a little at your reassurance, and then, like they know he wouldn’t let anyone else check on you before him, pretty much every set of eyes in the room lands on Hotch.

He shakes his head and heads to the kitchen, because he would’ve gone either way.

“You okay?” He asks, finding you with an oven mitt on your non-burnt hand, reaching into the oven, and your burnt hand shaking by your side.

“Oh!” You set the pan of nachos on top of the stove and slip off the mitt, turning off the oven and looking at Hotch. “I forgot oven mitts were a thing for a second there. Burnt my hand, I think.”

He’s on you in a second, his hands gently grasping your injured arm, pushing back your sleeve and guiding you over to the sink. His hold is light, never bruising even though you know he has the strength to do so.

It’s the kiss of sunlight on skin.

Aaron turns on the sink, places his fingers under the water to make sure the temperature’s okay before guiding your hand under the stream.

“You still took out the nachos first?” He asks, even when he knows that’s what you’d do, because of course you’re worrying about everyone else before yourself.

“I didn’t want them to burn.”

You’re trying to be brave, though your hand hurts so much there are tears misting your eyes. You’re bouncing on your feet a little to try and deal with the pain.

“How bad does it hurt?” Hotch checks.

Aaron’s felt this sort of protectiveness over you ever since you started. A little younger than him, this ball of light that’s come bursting into his life. You’re always the positive one, even in the darkest situations and he can’t help but want to shield you to keep it that way.

There’s this thing in his chest that tugs and tugs when you’re around, that makes him stand next to you in any room, in front of you in darkness.

“It’s okay,” you say, though your voice cracks a little. “I’m sure you’ve seen much worse, Hotch.”

“Aaron,” he reminds you gently, “and you don’t have to pretend. It’s alright if it hurts, I just wanna help.”

The sink running mingles with the music coming from the next room, the background noise to your moment with him.

“You could bring the nachos out? I told Garcia I would, but we see how that turned out.”

“Okay, I'll bring them out.”

“Don’t forget oven mitts!”

He huffs with a smile, somehow always surprised with how easily you can turn something around. A smile on your face even with tears shining in your eyes and a hand that’s surely stinging.

Aaron carries the tray of nachos and drops them off, then turns to Penelope, “you have a first aid kit?”

“Oh my gosh! Yeah, bathroom cabinet, I can grab it.”

“It’s alright, Garcia. I’ll get it.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Don’t worry. Nothing major, I’m taking care of it.”

He grabs the first aid kit and heads back to the kitchen where you’re still holding your hand under the stream of water.

“Okay,” Aaron sets the kit down on the counter, opening it and then turning off the tap. “Let me see, honey.”

The word melts into you, sticky sweet, and you hold your hand towards him, palm up.

He starts by drying your hand with a piece of paper towel, pressing your skin lightly. His other hand is under yours, his palm against the back of your hand a painkiller in itself.

You hiss when he hits a sensitive spot, and he’s quick to apologize, his voice low and quiet. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Almost done.”

“It’s okay, Aaron. It's not your fault I thought I was heat-proof.”

“You’re cute.”

A smile spreads over your face, your head tilted down to stare and his hands around yours. You watch him spread some Polysporin over your burn, his fingertips featherlight over your skin, soft apologies leaving him every time you flinch a little.

By the time he’s done, the first aid kit shut on the counter, you’ve both forgotten about the rest of the team in the next room. Aaron’s happy to bask in your sunshine.

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week

1. Arizona governor Ok's over the counter birth control

Arizona Gov. Katie Hobbs (D) has expanded access to over-the-counter birth control that will “soon be available to Arizonans,” according to a press release.

Arizonans 18 and older will soon be able to go to their local pharmacy and purchase oral contraceptives without a doctor’s prescription.

2. ‘Great news’: EU hails discovery of massive phosphate rock deposit in Norway

A massive underground deposit of high-grade phosphate rock in Norway, pitched as the world’s largest, is big enough to satisfy world demand for fertilisers, solar panels and electric car batteries over the next 50 years, according to the company exploiting the resource. About 90% of the world’s mined phosphate rock is used in agriculture for the production of phosphorous for the fertiliser industry, for which there is currently no substitute.

3. U.S. Is Destroying the Last of Its Once-Vast Chemical Weapons Arsenal

Decades behind its initial schedule, the dangerous job of eliminating the world’s only remaining declared stockpile of lethal chemical munitions will be completed as soon as Friday.

4. Chinese scientists create edible food packaging to replace plastic

By incorporating certain soy proteins into the structure, Chinese University of Hong Kong scientists successfully created edible food packaging.

5. World's 1st 'tooth regrowth' medicine moves toward clinical trials in Japan

A Japanese research team is making progress on the development of a groundbreaking medication that may allow people to grow new teeth, with clinical trials set to begin in July 2024. The tooth regrowth medicine is intended for people who lack a full set of adult teeth due to congenital factors.

6. No Longer Endangered: The Bald Eagle is an Icon of the ESA

When the Endangered Species Act (ESA) was enacted in 1973, bald eagle population numbers across the country showed that the species was close to disappearing. Before the ESA, in the 1950s and ‘60s, eagles were shot routinely despite the protection. The ESA listing helped bring public attention to the issue.

Through the early 1970s and into the early ‘80s, numbers increased gradually. Then, as you got into the ‘90s, there was still gradual growth. From the late ‘90s into the 2000s, the population really exploded. There was a doubling rate of every several years or so for a while.

7. Deforestation in Brazil's Amazon drops 34% in first half 2023

Deforestation in Brazil's Amazon fell 34% in the first half of 2023, preliminary government data showed on Thursday, hitting its lowest level in four years as President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva institutes tougher environmental policies.

Data produced by Brazil's national space research agency Inpe indicated that 2,649 square km (1,023 square miles) of rainforest were cleared in the region in the half year, the lowest for the period since 2019.

----

That's it for this week :)

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

Against Lore

For the rest of May, my bestselling solarpunk utopian novel THE LOST CAUSE (2023) is available as a $2.99, DRM-free ebook!

One of my favorite nuggets of writing advice comes from James D Macdonald. Jim, a Navy vet with an encylopedic knowledge of gun lore, explained to a group of non-gun people how to write guns without getting derided by other gun people: "just add the word 'modified.'"

As in, "Her modified AR-15 kicked against her shoulder as she squeezed the trigger, but she held it steady on the car door, watching it disintegrate in a spatter of bullet-holes."

Jim's big idea was that gun people couldn't help but chew away at the verisimilitude of your fictional guns, their brains would automatically latch onto them and try to find the errors. But the word "modified" hijacked that impulse and turned it to the writer's advantage: a gun person's imagination gnaws at that word "modified," spinning up the cleverest possible explanation for how the gun in question could behave as depicted.

In other words, the gun person's impulse to one-up the writer by demonstrating their superior knowledge becomes an impulse to impart that superior knowledge to the writer. "Modified" puts the expert and the bullshitter on the same team, and conscripts the expert into fleshing out the bullshitter's lies.

Yes, writing is lying. Storytelling is genuinely weird. A storyteller who has successfully captured the audience has done so by convincing their hindbrains to care about the tribulations of imaginary people. These are people whose suffering, by definition, do not matter. Imaginary things didn't happen, so they can't matter. The deaths of Romeo and Juliet were less tragic than the death of the yogurt you had for breakfast. That yogurt was alive and now it's dead, whereas R&J never lived, never died, and don't matter:

https://locusmag.com/2014/11/cory-doctorow-stories-are-a-fuggly-hack/

Hijacking a stranger's empathic response is intrinsically adversarial. While storytelling is a benign activity, its underlying mechanic is extremely dangerous. Getting us to care about things that don't matter is how novels and movies work, but it's also how cults and cons work.

Cult leaders and con-artists know that they're engaged in mind-to-mind combat, and they make liberal use of Jim's hack of leaving blank spots for the mark to fill in. Think of Qanon drops: the mystical nonsense was just close enough to sensical that a vulnerable audience was compelled to try and untangle them, and ended up imparting more meaning to them than the hustler who posted them ever could have dreamt up.

Same with cons – there's a great scene in the Leverage: Redemption heist show where an experienced con-artist explains to a novice that the most convincing hustle is the one where you wait for the mark to tell you what they think you're doing, then run with it (scambaiters and other skeptics will recognize this as a relative of the "cold reading," where a "psychic" uses your own confirmations to flesh out their predictions).

As Douglas Adams put it:

A towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that a hitch hiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have "lost". What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with.

Magicians know this one, too. The point of a sleight is to misdirect the audience's attention, and use that moment of misattention to trick them, vanishing, stashing or producing something. The mark's mind is caught in a pleasurable agony: something seemingly impossible just happened. The mind splits into two parts, one of which insists that the impossible just happened, the other insisting that the impossible can't happen.

You know you've done it right if the audience says, "Do that again!" And that's the one thing you must not do. So long as you don't repeat the trick, the audience's imagination will chew on it endlessly, coming up with incredibly clever things that you must have done (a clever conjurer will know several ways to produce the same effect and will "do it again" by reproducing the effect via different means, which exponentially increases the audience's automatic imputation of clever methods to the performer).

Not for nothing, Jim Macdonald advises his writing students to study Magic and Showmanship, a classic text for aspiring conjurers:

https://memex.craphound.com/2007/11/13/magic-and-showmanship-classic-book-about-conjuring-has-many-lessons-for-writers/

There's a version of this in comedy, too. The scholarship of humor is clear on this: comedy comes from surprise. The audience knows they're about to be surprised when the punchline lands, and their mind is furiously trying to defuse the comedian's bomb before it detonates, cycling through potential punchlines of their own. This ramps up the suspense and the tension, so when the comedian does drop the punchline, the tension is released in a whoosh of laughter.

Your mind wants the tension to be resolved ASAP, but the pleasure comes from having that desire thwarted. Comedy – like most performance – has an element of authoritarianism. You don't give the audience what it wants, you give it what it needs.

Same goes for TTRPGs: the game master's role is to deny the players the victories and treasure they want, until they can't take it anymore, and then deliver it. That's the definition of an epic game. It's one of the durable advantages of human GMs over video game back-ends: they can ramp up the epicness by "cheating" on the play, giving the players the chance to squeak out improbable victories at the last possible second:

https://wilwheaton.typepad.com/wwdnbackup/2009/03/behind-the-screen.html

This is so effective that even crude approximations of it can turn video-games into cult hits – like Left4Dead, whose "Director" back-end would notice when the players were about to get destroyed and then substantially ramped up the chances of finding an amazing weapon – the chance would still be low overall, but there would be enough moments when the player got exactly what they'd been praying for, at the last possible instant, that it would feel amazing:

https://left4dead.fandom.com/wiki/The_Director#Special_Infected

Critically, Left4Dead's Director didn't do this every time. As any showman knows, the key to a great performance is "Always leave 'em wanting more." The musician's successful finale depends on doing every encore the audience demands, except the last one, so the crowd leaves with one tantalyzing and imaginary song playing in their minds, a performance better than any the musicians themselves could have delivered. Like the gun person who comes up with a cooler mod than the writer ever could, like the magic show attendee who comes up with a more elaborate explanation for the sleight than the conjurer could ever pull off, like the comedy club attendee whose imagination anticipates a surprise that grows larger the longer the joke goes on, the successful performance is an adversarial act of cooperation where the audience willingly and unwillingly cooperates with the performer to deny them the thing that they think they need, and deliver the thing they actually need.

This is my biggest problem with the notion that someday LLMs will get good enough at storytelling to give us the tales we demand, without having to suffer through a storyteller's sadistic denial of the resolutions we crave. When I'm reading a mystery, I want to turn to the last page and find out whodunnit, but I know that doing so will ruin the story. Telling the storyteller how the story should go is like trying to tickle yourself.

Like being tickled, experiencing only fun if the tickler respects your boundaries – but, like being tickled, there's always a part where you're squirming away, but you don't want it to stop. An AI storyteller that gives you exactly what you want is like a dungeon master who declares that every sword-swing kills the monster, and every treasure chest is full of epic items and platinum pieces. Yes, that's what you want, but if you get it, what's the point?

Seen in this light, performance is a kind of sado-masochism, where the performer delights in denying something to the audience, who, in turn, delights in the denial. Don't give the audience what they want, give them what they need.

What your audience needs is their own imagination. Decades ago, I was a freelance copywriter producing sales materials for Alias/Wavefront, a then-leading CGI firm that was inventing all kinds of never-seen VFX that would blow people away. One of the engineers I worked with told me something I never forgot: "Your imagination has more polygons than anything you can create with our software." He was talking about why it was critical to have some of the action happen in the shadows.

All of this is why series tend to go downhill. The first volume in any series leaves so much to the imagination. The map of the world is barely fleshed out, the characters' biographies are full of blank spots, the mechanics of the artifacts and the politics of the land are all just detailed enough that your mind automatically ascribes a level of detail to them, without knowing what that detail is.

This is the moment at which everything seems very clever, because your mind is just churning with all the different bits of elaborate lore that will fill in those lacunae and make them all fit together.

SPOILER ALERT: I'm about to give some spoilers for Furiosa.

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FURIOSA SPOILERS AHEAD!

Last night, we went to see Furiosa, the latest Mad Max movie, a prequel to 2015's Fury Road, which is one of the greatest movies ever made. Like most prequels, Furiosa functions as a lore-delivery vehicle, and as such, it's nowhere near as good as Fury Road.

Fury Road hints as so much worldbuilding. We learn about the three fortresses of the wasteland (the Citadel, the Bullet Farm, and Gastown) but we only see one (The Citadel). We learn that these three cities have a symbiotic relationship with one another, defined by a complex politics that is just barely stable. We meet Furiosa herself, and learn something of her biography – that she had been stolen from the Green Place, that she had suffered an arm amputation.

All of this is left for us to fill in, and for a decade, my hindbrain has been chewing on all of that, coming up with cool ways it could all fit together. I yearned to know the "real" explanation, but it was always unlikely that this real explanation would be as enjoyable as my own partial, ever-unfinished headcanon.

Furiosa is a great movie, but its worst parts are the canonical lore it settles. Partly, that's because some of that lore is just stupid. Why is the Bullet Farm an open-pit mine? I mean, it's visually amazing, but what does that have to do with making bullets? Sometimes, it's because the lore is banal – the solarpunk Green Place is a million times less cool than I had imagined it. Sometimes, it's because the lore is banal and stupid: the scenes where Furiosa's arm is crushed, then severed, then replaced, are both rushed and quasi-miraculous:

https://www.themarysue.com/how-does-furiosa-lose-her-arm/

But even if the lore had been good – not stupid, not banal – the best they could have hoped for was for the lore to be tidy. If it were surprising, it would seem contrived. A story whose loose ends have been tidily snipped away seems like it would be immensely satisfying, but it's not satisfying – it's just resolved. Like the band performing every encore you demand, until you no longer want to hear the band anymore – the feeling as you leave the hall isn't satisfaction, it's exhaustion.

So long as some key question remains unresolved, you're still wanting more. So long as the map has blank spots, your hindbrain will impute clever and exciting mysteries, tantalyzingly teetering on the edge of explicability, to the story.

Lore is always better as something to anticipate than it is to receive. The fans demand lore, but it should be doled out sparingly. Always leave 'em wanting more.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/27/cmon-do-it-again/#better_to_remain_silent_and_be_thought_a_fool_than_to_speak_and_remove_all_doubt

[maxwell-grant]

There's a trend people have pointed out in superhero stories over the past 20 or so years that is the death of "regular" supporting casts, an increasing absence of un-powered sidekicks or people involved who aren't in the thick of the action or in the hero's secret. Everyone who interacts with superheroes is a couple issues away from becoming one, every story involves a supervillain encounter or several dozen, every hero's gotta have a lunchbox-ready "superhero family" made from these characters, and every side character that doesn't join them is either going to die or become a supervillain.

The defining example people use for this is Spider-Man's supporting cast, with every Spider-Man cast member short of Aunt May and J Jonah Jameson getting some kind of powered upgrade or symbiote, and I'm gonna say Amanda Waller is an excellent case study of how this kind of thing happens, and I think it helps to explain why Amanda Waller has been, Like That, for the past 30 years.

She’s wearing a grey shirt underneath a blue blazer and it’s tucked into a similarly blue skirt that stops at mid calf. She reminds me of the neighbourhood aunties I used to see leaving for church every Sunday morning.

My mom used to say that you are the company you keep. So what kind of person does it take to keep a variety of bruised, battered, and dangerous personalities in check? - Amanda Waller: DC's Most Terrifying Woman

To those of you who haven't read John Ostrander and Kim Yale's Suicide Squad, there once was a time where Amanda Waller was something more than a powerful antagonistic force able to butt heads with the biggest superheroes, and something other than a heartless establishment face out to make superheroes miserable for ill-defined reasons. Structurally speaking, Suicide Squad is a comic about marginal DCU characters forced to deal with actual real life problems, and it's central character is a marginalized person forced to deal with DCU problems and characters. The members of the Squad are a rolling parade of costumed misfits and maniacs assigned to go around the globe to fight and kill and die on dirty missions to deal with dirty laundry and stop war zones from erupting, while Amanda Waller is forced to shuffle around her cadre of D-list supervillains and disgraced superheroes and get into stand-offs with secret spy societies, living nukes, voodoo cartels, and Batman.

Amanda Waller neither looks nor acts like the kind of character that stars in a superhero comic, and she is the central character throughout the 66 issues of the run and we follow her character arc from beginning to end as she's forced to spin plates to accomplish her goals and prevent bad situations from getting worse. She is the most fully realized character in the run and everything rests on her shoulders. We spend a lot of time inside her head, her team, her associates, she is the center holding together an extremely chaotic book with no two characters on the same page. She is, and has to be, an extremely powerful person, someone who stands her ground no matter what, an unbeatable force of will because that is the only way she's going to survive the situations she's in, the only way she can be "The Wall", the kind of person who can repel Batman, command a platoon of monsters, talk her way out of Deadshot's contract, someone who can stare at Darkseid and credibly threaten the President into letting her live.

That's the part that everyone is more or less familiar. But there is, or at least used to be, much more to Amanda Waller than just being The Wall, not in the least because being The Wall is also hampering her effectiveness as well as straight up killing her.

"Amanda's toughness has taken her a long way" "It's taken her as far as it can. But it can't take her no further. It's actually starting to drag her down. I'm scared for my baby sister, rev - scared that the anger in her is congealing into hate." - Suicide Squad #31

We get to know her backstory, her plans, her points of contention with the system, her relationships with people around her, and how deeply she cares about things and people even as she sends them to the meatgrinder. From the start we learn that Waller staffs her team with people she's prone to getting into disagreements with, like Simon LaGrieve and Rick Flag, specifically so they can cover her moral blind spots and pick up the slack in emotional intelligence she's lacking, be the heroes that she can't afford to be. It is unspeakably crucial that the Squad is led by Rick Flag as well as Bronze Tiger, a fallen hero who owes Waller for his recovery who eventually takes Flag's baton. Waller stands up for her team, gets into fights with her superiors when they decide to terminate them, and takes the fall for them when necessary. Waller is a person who does Bad Things - but she is not a Bad Person.

The book in no uncertain terms frames the Suicide Squad's existence as monstrous in a scale Waller doesn't understand until the very end, and it digs deep into the unethical things Waller has to allow for and perpetrate in order to keep it running no matter how many lives it saves, and she spends the first half of the book on a downward spiral. But then there's the 2nd half of the book:

In the first 39 issues, Amanda’s flaws are her undoing. As she pushes away the people she hired to act as a balance, she grasped tighter and tighter to her uncompromised vision of the Suicide Squad despite the constant changes and derailment. Her choices had consequences: the death of Rick Flag, her demotion, employees quitting, and finally, the disbandment of the team.

The last 27 issues have Amanda rising up from the ashes after a year in jail. She’s less in her own way – she communicates, her anger isn’t driving her, she’s more receptive of alternative perspective and recognizes when she’s wrong in real time – but she’s still just as scary.

Waller rebuilds her relationships with the people she drove away, takes a different tack to how the team works, and starts going out into the frontlines with the Squad. She brings Oracle (who actually made her debut in this comic) into the fold, saves her life and plays a big role in Barbara making progress in overcoming her Joker trauma. She genuinely puts in the work to improve as a person and do things a better way than before, even if there is an inescapable immorality to the very existence of the Squad and what they do. That immorality never goes away, and it only further horrifies her when learning how badly her project has gone. In fact, it's that very inescapable immorality that ends her arc.

She learns that the CIA has started using a new Suicide Squad to support a brutal regime in South America, and when faced with the full extent of her complicity in Western imperialism? She decides right then and there to end the Suicide Squad for good after they liberate the population of said regime from said Squad. She is the only person who gives a shit about the country enough to start the assignment for free once she knows about it, force the Squad along, lead the mission in field, and personally (and even gently) usher the villain to his death at the end, to end what began with her.

She does bad things, and she does good things. She cares about people, and she uses people. Her decisions ruin as well as save the world. She spins a million plates to match wills and wits with the strongest, wickedest, most cunning humans and superhumans alike, and she still has superiors to answer to and people close to her she hires to judge her for what she does. She endured racism and misogyny and poverty for decades and rode whatever she could to attain as much power over her own life as someone like her could possibly attain, and to have it, she must be a willing tool of the state and bend the knee to Ronald Reagan, the man she derides for what he did to her community, hating every minute of it.

She lost her family to sexual and racial violence, and now she wrangles a penal battalion comprised of some of the worst people on the planet to inflict violence on her orders. She has saved and redeemed people, and she's haunted by the corpses she's left in her wake. She is oppressed and oppressor, someone who could only escape the ravages of American imperialism by becoming one of it's chief enforcers, and still she rebuilds herself into a better person from it upon confronting and challenging her role in it. She is not a bad person, she is not a good person either, she is just afforded a degree of agency and complexity unpowered characters in superhero books simply don't get.

Okay cool, now what is she up to these days?

That, I guess. That is what a strong but unpowered person who does not allow themselves to be bossed around by superheroes or supervillains looks like now. Everytime there's a call for a military bad guy, Waller gets tagged in to be DC's Henry Gyrich. There was a point where Waller was made to contrast the likes of Sarge Steel and Wade Eiling, someone who butted heads with them because she was a well-meaning person working for and committing evil as often as she attempted to stop it. These days, the most consistent beat with her is that she is the most dangerous person alive and worse than the villains she wrangles into working for her. She is a thing to be overcome, a hypocrite to be exposed, a challenge to the natural order of the universe, and she is too terrific at it to be shuffled off quietly. She is a Bad Person and so everything she says and does is Bad (and thus can be ignored).

Integral to Suicide Squad's structure was the fact that Waller was the center holding everything together, the ultimate third party: spinning plates working with, for and against all of the others so she can bend rules and be bent by them. Bent, but never broken, because The Wall doesn't break, others break first. Waller was a one-of-a-kind character, and that broke her, because beating Sarge Steel and Wade Eiling at their own game means replacing Sarge Steel and Wade Eiling. Waller doesn't look like them, she doesn't look like the superheroes either, and so she can't be one of them. She can't even look like herself a lot of the time, they try to slim her up everytime they think they can get away with it.

Suicide Squad was preoccupied with exploring a perspective from a world outside the superhero worldview, but we no longer have her perspective or that of people around her, we only know her through the superheroes she inherently defies and has had an adversarial relationship against from day one. She is someone with a viewpoint that is charitable to neither superheroes nor institutions, and thus, the universe is increasingly less sympathetic to her, the less utility she has to the grander narrative where everyone has to pick between one of two options. If she wasn't powerful and assertive, she'd be another Leslie Thompkins, another Jiminy Cricket the heroes passively ignore. But because she is powerful and doing morally compromised things without asking Batman's permission, she must have a personal grudge. She must be a government monster. She must attack the superheroes for no reason, no ideology, no motive.

So now she's just The Wall 24/7, the mean icy establishment boot who is strong and clever and cruel and hates superheroes and wants to destroy superheroes and rule the world from the shadows. Everything she does is a fuck-up she refuses to take responsability for, everyone is right to hate and distrust mean old Waller, and now everyone gets to look good by dunking on her. They couldn't make her a superhero, so they made her a generic supervillain instead. And now that she's a bad guy, she no longer has to believe anything, she doesn't really have to mean anything, they don't have to write stories about something other than superheroes and supervillains, and they don't have to let a fat woman of color take up space and screentime they could be giving to Harley Quinn and Slade Wilson instead.

Even by the time of Waller's debut on the tail end of the 80s, her career opportunities were on their way to extinction

Days Of Future Past marks the triumph of the superhero comic that's pretty much concerned with no-one but superheroes. Where Ditko and Lee's Spider-Man featured a single costumed crimefighter in the context of a commonplace existence, the X-Men of the 80s focused on a huge cast of mutants who had little if any lasting involvement in the everyday world.

By the 21st century, the corporate superhero comic would largely - if not exclusively - concern itself with little beyond a large class of superhumans and their fantastical existence. I suspect there's a significant correlation between that and the continuing cultural  peripherilisation of the superhero comic - Colin Smith

Amanda Waller is one of the strongest characters in all of comics, she was as powerful as an non-superpowered character given center stage could possibly be, a perfectly designed character from which an entire corner of a shared universe was developed out of with her as the center making it work, but as the room for civilian casts and unpowered protagonists got smaller and smaller, so did Waller's options. If she was a Spider-Man character and somehow didn't get killed or made into a villain, they would have slimmed her up and given her a symbiote, because you're nobody unless you're web-swinging. Characters didn't look or act like Amanda Waller, and unfortunately, they still don't. It's just instead of making more characters like her, they gutted Waller to be more like the rest. If she couldn't make it, who else even could.

Keep your eyes peeled for this summer when she'll team up with two meaningless robot baddies to burn down the Justice League and I guess the universe for the next reboot or something.

[marauroon]

More bestfriend!James w/ no boundaries i begggggg 😔🙏🙏🙏🙏

Like bro would so walk into the reader’s bathroom whilst you shower just bc he needs to pee and ends up just having a whole convo with her

‘B O N D I N G’ — JAMES POTTER!

james potter x fem!reader | fluff | 1.0k | masterlist!!

you’re convinced james has separation anxiety. the boy can’t even let you shower in peace.

an — it totally hasn’t been two months since i last posted… what??? nooo

“Can I come in?”

James’ voice, muffled both by the wooden door and his incessant knocking that joins his question, immediately destroys the tranquility of your shower.

“Heyyyyyy,” More heavy knocks. “I know you can hear me in there, let me in,”

“James,” Your voice is more a groan than spoken words. “Let me wallow in my self pity,”

“But I need to pee,” He drags out the end of his sentence like a petulant child, and you can hear a light thump against the door where he presumably lumps his weight against it. “Come onnn, I’m sorry you sucked and we beat you,”

“You rubbing it in is not helping your chances, James,”

A five a side friendlies game between two halves of the Gryffindor quidditch team? Nah. A chance for James and Sirius to prove how competitive they are by acting like it was a proper game and then absolutely battering your side? Sounds more like it.

“Pleaseee love, I’m gonna piss myself here,” He gives another loaded knock against the door. “And it’s my bathroom you’re invading, you can’t shut me out of it,”

He tries the doorknob, and it doesn’t open.

“Please say I can come in,”

“The door’s locked,”

“I know that,” You can practically hear him roll his eyes. “Can I unlock it?”

“Piss your heart away, cheater,”

There’s the sound of the door mechanism unlocking, then James discarding his wand on the bathroom countertop, his voice infinitely more clear.

“I didn’t cheat, you flew directly into me,”

You can’t see him behind the shower curtain, but if you had to guess you’d say he had that irritatingly self-gratifying smirk on his face.

“Because Sirius hit a bludger at my face,” You groan. “I could’ve died,”

James laughs harshly, joined by the sounds of his zipper being undone and a stream of pee hitting the toilet water. “Don’t be so dramatic, I caught you,”

“You pushed me,”

“Yeah, out of the way of danger,”

“Out of the pitch entirely you mean,”

“Oh please, you didn’t even get close to the stands,”

“Still, it was an unnecessary risk,” you retort, the frustration clear in your voice. “You guys take it way too seriously.”

James finishes up and flushes the toilet, laughing. “Alright, alright, maybe we went a bit overboard. But you have to admit, it was kind of fun.”

“Fun for you, maybe,” you grumble, rinsing the last of the shampoo from your hair. “I’m the one who almost got a concussion.”

James chuckles, the sound of him washing his hands mixing with the running water of your shower. “You’re exaggerating. Besides, you’re tougher than that.”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see you. “Doesn’t mean I enjoy getting knocked around like a ragdoll.”

“Fair point,” he concedes. “Next time, I’ll make sure Sirius aims for someone else.”

You snort, reaching for the conditioner. “How generous of you.”

“Hey, what are best friends for?” he replies cheekily.

“Best friends don’t usually barge in while you’re showering,” you point out with a sigh, running the conditioner through your hair.

“Yeah, well, I’m not just a best friend,” he says, his tone light and teasing. You can practically hear the grin in his voice. “I’m like the best friend,”

“And so humble too,” You roll your eyes with sarcasm dripping from your tone.

James chuckles, unfazed. “You love it.”

“Debatable,” you mutter, but there’s a small smile on your face now. Despite everything, you can’t stay mad at him for long.

“Admit it, you’d miss me if I wasn’t around to annoy you,” he says, leaning against the bathroom sink.

You rinse the conditioner from your hair, contemplating his words. “Maybe a little,” you concede, though it's clear from your tone that you’re not entirely serious.

“Only a little?” James feigns hurt, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “I’m wounded, truly.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” you laugh, turning off the shower. “Hand me a towel, will you?”

James obliges, passing you a towel over the shower curtain. “At your service, princess.”

“Thanks,” you say, wrapping the towel around yourself. “Have you put your dick away?”

“Yes, milady,” he says with a mock bow. “All tucked in and ready to go.”

You step out of the shower, rolling your eyes at his antics. “Good, I don’t need any more jumpscares today,”

James laughs, grabbing his wand from the countertop. "My dick happens to be quite the attraction I’ll have you know," he says with a wink.

"Yeah, well, I’m sure it has its fan club,” you shoot back, drying yourself off.

“Only the most exclusive members,” he says, flashing you a cheeky grin. “Now, how about we grab some lunch? My treat.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s the occasion? Feeling guilty for almost killing me?”

James laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, just thought we could use some bonding time. Plus, I know you’re always hungry after a good match.”

You can’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness, even if it’s wrapped in his usual playful banter. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. Let me just get dressed.”

“Take your time, love,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “I’ll be waiting in the common room.”

[zaczenemiji]

absolutely no rush if you're occupied with other asks :D!! I love your writing so so much your descriptions and dialogue are so good 😭💓 could I possibly request a scenario where the reader (working alongside kenji as ultraman/on the sidelines as a civilian, whatever you desire!!) unexpectedly throws herself in front of kenji and takes a hit for him (bonus points of they had unresolved tension before [argument, interrupted confession, one character was sick and rejecting help etc etc; no pressure at all and pls write whatever you'd like i'm just throwing out random suggestions!!]) + the hurt/comfort to follow after? thank you so much! ☺️ i wish you the best!

In the Heart of Danger

Kenji Sato x Reader

Synopsis: As tensions between Kenji and the KDF rise, you become entangled in the conflict, leading to a dangerous confrontation that puts your life at risk.

Word Count: 2,710

Genre/Warning: Action, Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Sacrifice, Violence

Author’s Note: Slight mention of themes from Too Good, Too True

MASTERLIST

For many years, Ultraman and the Kaiju Defense Force worked in harmony. But as KDF evolved under different leadership, so did its philosophy. Their arsenal grew more lethal, their strategies more aggressive. Dr. Onda's vision was clear: the complete eradication of all kaiju was the only path to true safety.

Ultraman held a different perspective. Those magnificent creatures had their own place in the natural order. He believed in protecting life; only fending them off to prevent destruction, not to annihilate them.

KDF’s methods became increasingly ruthless. Where Ultraman sought balance, KDF saw only the necessity of total elimination. The final straw came when KDF started viewing Ultraman's reluctance to kill as a liability, a hindrance to their ultimate goal of eradication.

Thus, the Kaiju Defense Force turned their attention to identifying Ultraman's human form, intent on neutralizing this perceived threat.

"Kenji, you can't keep dismissing this," you said, frustration lacing your voice. "The KDF is closing in on you. They know something's up, and they're not going to stop until they confirm you're Ultraman."

The evening air was thick with tension as you and Kenji sat across from each other in his house. It started with a simple disagreement but it had escalated so quickly.

Kenji ran a hand through his hair, his expression one of exasperation. "I know the risks, (y/n),” he replied. “But I can handle it. I've been doing this for a while now."

"Handling it?" you echoed, incredulous. "You've barely been able to stay one step ahead of them. They've got advanced technology, Kenji. They're not just going to give up."

You remember the incidents with Gigantron, how KDF was willing to get rid of Ultraman, so as to obtain Emi. And for what reasons? To use a frikking baby to lead them to Kaiju Island—to massacre, for the mass murder of those misunderstood creatures.

Kenji sighed heavily, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of determination and fatigue. "I can't stop,” he said. “If I don't transform, people will die."

"I'm not asking you to stop," you said, your voice softening. "I'm asking you to be more careful—to consider the danger you're putting yourself in."

Kenji's jaw tightened and he looked away, the weight of your words settling heavily on his shoulders, “I know you're worried about me. But I can't just sit back and do nothing."

"Then let me help," you pleaded, reaching out to touch his arm. "We're a team, remember? You don't have to do this alone."

"I can't put you in danger, too,” he pulled away slightly, his expression hardening. “It's bad enough that I have to deal with this. I don't want you getting hurt because of me."

"Kenji," you said, your voice firm. "I'm already involved. Whether you like it or not, I'm in this with you. And I'm not just going to stand by and watch you risk your life without doing anything."

He shook his head, his frustration evident. "You don't understand,” he said. “If something happened to you... I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

"And what about me?" You shot back, your eyes filling with tears. "Do you think I could live with myself if something happened to you, and I did nothing to stop it?"

There came a long silence.

He never asked for any of this—you know that firsthand. You didn’t want this either. Only a fool would want to throw away the peaceful life they had in LA, away from the chaos, the danger, and the constant fear of losing their beloved.

But when Emi came and when Kenji reconnected with his dad, you both understood. Ultraman is a vital element, the pinnacle of balance, the one that would keep the world in its equilibrium.

He who holds the scale holds the lives of many. He who carries the burden also carries fear. And with it, the sacrifices to ensure the collective safety of humanity.

Your tears spilled over, and you wiped them away angrily. "You're an idiot, Kenji,” you said. “A noble, self-sacrificing idiot. But I'm not going to let you do this alone. Whether you like it or not, I'm going to help you. And you're just going to have to deal with that."

"No. You don't get it,” Kenji's expression hardened again. “This isn't about what you want. It's about keeping you safe."

"And what if I don't want to be safe?” You demanded, your voice breaking. “What if I want to be there for you?"

"That's not your choice to make!" Kenji shouted, his frustration boiling over. "I can't lose you, (y/n)!”

"And I can't lose you either!" you screamed back. "Why can't you see that?"

Kenji's eyes flashed with anger. "You should have just stayed in LA!" he snapped, his voice cutting through the night. "You're becoming too nosy, and it's dangerous. I can't have you getting involved in this.”

You stared at him, stunned. Kenji never hurt you in any way, especially not physically. But the weight of his words hit you like a punch to the gut.

Without another word, you turned and stormed off, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn't look back, even as the tears blurred your vision.

Kenji stood to follow. But with the way you ran away, he knew you didn’t need him at the moment. Still, he worried for your safety. Quickly, he rode his motorcycle and followed you quietly from a distance to ensure you reached home safely.

Everything that unfolded hurt Kenji as much as it did you, if not more. This was the time he finally truly understood his father—why he let them move to LA, why he had to endure the pain of being separated—all because he wanted them safe.

Kenji loves you more than anything, more than you ever knew. He loved you enough to have the resolve to let you go if you finally wanted to be out of all this. You deserved the best, better than a complicated life with him.

When he had seen to it that you’re home safely, he stayed in front of your house a little longer, wanting to be there in case you needed him.

You knew what he was doing. You knew that he was following you. And you were grateful, truly grateful, that he didn’t let you be out here alone. He understood the space you needed and he respected it. This was just one of the infinite reasons you love him so much.

When you arrived home, you sat by the door, leaning on it as you let your tears flow freely down your cheeks. Kenji is a hero, and heroes need saving, too. You wanted to be the one to do that.

Little did you know, you were already doing so. You didn’t know how much you were saving him by being there for him. You have been doing so since day one—since meeting you in LA, losing his mom, coming back to Japan, raising Emi, and fully accepting his role as Ultraman.

Your eyelids became so heavy from all the tears that you didn’t notice that you’d drifted off to a nap. You were awakened by the sound of Kenji’s motorcycle engine as he started it.

You stood to take a peek through your window, careful not to let him see you. He looked your way one last time before driving off into the night.

When he was out of sight, you decided to head on over to your bed but before you could do so, you heard the mechanical sounds of drones.

Your eyes widened as you quickly looked back to see KDF’s drones heading in the direction Kenji went to. With a gasp, you hurriedly slammed the door open and ran out, forgetting about the identical watch you had with Kenji that was repeatedly beeping with an alert of a kaiju attack.

You ran as fast as you could, following the drones as you were sure that they were after Kenji. Suddenly, you heard familiar screams in the distance as the neighborhood awoke to a mundane scene of a kaiju attack.

You looked to your hand only to see an empty wrist. You groaned to yourself, of all the times you could forget it, why now?

Despite being unaware of what was happening or which kaiju was it this time, still you followed the drones. Upon turning the corner, you saw Kenji parking his motorcycle aside so he could transform.

However, this time, KDF came prepared. A squadron of heavily armed soldiers arrived, their weapons calibrated to disrupt his transformation sequence.

As the soldiers closed in on Kenji, one of them set up a cannon, aiming it directly at him. Realizing the gravity of the situation, you sprinted toward the scene, your heart pounding in your chest.

The targeting system locked onto Kenji's energy signature, and the barrel began to glow with a blue hue, signaling the impending shot. Just as the operator pulled the trigger, you threw yourself in front of Kenji.

The concentrated beam of energy hit you with full force, sending a searing pain through your body. You screamed as it disrupted your bio-energy field, causing immediate paralysis and intense agony. You collapsed to the ground, feeling your strength drain away.

The soldiers, momentarily stunned by your intervention, hesitated as Kenji caught you in his arms. "No, (y/n)!" Kenji's voice was filled with anguish as he held you close.

The effects of the cannon had taken their toll on you, but your selfless act had given Kenji the precious seconds he needed. He transformed into Ultraman with a flash of light, creating a barrier to protect you from further harm.

With the kaiju approaching the city, Ultraman's form loomed large, and the soldiers were forced to retreat, their weapons ineffective against his fully transformed state.

Although hesitant he had to make a heart-wrenching decision to choose between being your lover and being Ultraman.

He carried you as gently as he could. In the palm of his hand, your fragile body lay unconscious. He quickly ran back home where Mina awaited him.

Upon arriving, he carefully placed you in the bed Mina took out of the house. “Mina! Emergency analysis, please!” He begged. “Call my dad, do everything to save her! I’ll be back as soon as I can!”

With that, he dashed off to the scene of the kaiju attack. His mind was a mess as he fended it off as quickly as he could, even if it meant hurting it unintentionally, and even if it caused more infrastructural damage.

Ultraman’s heart pounded as he rushed home, the streets blurring past him in a haze of worry and exhaustion. As he reached the familiar door, he transformed back to his human form.

Kenji burst into the house. The scene before him made his heart ache even more. You lay unconscious on the couch, pale and still, with Mina and his father sitting beside you, their faces etched with concern.

Hayao looked up as his son entered. "Kenji," he said, his voice a mix of relief and sorrow. "You're back."

Kenji dropped to his knees beside you, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. "What happened? How is she?" he asked, his voice breaking.

Mina spoke up. “KDF used a new weapon, something we haven't seen before,” she started. “It emits a high-frequency pulse that disrupts the transformation process. When (y/n) threw herself in front of you, she took the full brunt of the attack."

Hayao nodded solemnly. "It's designed to incapacitate Ultraman before he can fully transform,” he said. “But on a human... it's much more dangerous. It's a miracle she's still alive."

Kenji's hands trembled as he held yours, his eyes never leaving your face. "Is there anything we can do?” He asked, tears racing their way out of his eyes. “Anything at all?"

"We've done what we can for now," Mina said softly. "She needs rest and time to recover. We'll monitor her closely. But Kenji... it's serious. The weapon has caused significant internal damage."

Hayao placed a reassuring hand on Kenji’s shoulder. "You did what you had to do, son. You saved countless lives tonight,” he said. “But we need to be prepared for what comes next. The KDF won't stop now that they know you're Ultraman."

Kenji nodded, his resolve hardening. "I'll protect her. I'll protect all of us,” he said through small sobs. “But right now... I need her to wake up. I need to know she's okay.”

As the night wore on, Kenji stayed by your side, holding your hand and whispering words of encouragement. He thought about all the times you had supported him, how you had insisted on helping despite the danger. The argument from earlier seemed trivial now, overshadowed by the reality of your sacrifice.

"Please wake up," Kenji murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry. I should've listened to you. I should've protected you better."

The room was filled with the soft hum of medical equipment and Kenji’s quiet sobs that refused to give up on the person he cared about the most.

As the first light of dawn began to filter through the windows, Kenji felt a slight movement in your hand. His heart leaped, and he leaned closer, his eyes searching your face for any sign of awakening.

"(Y/n)?" he whispered, his voice trembling with hope. "Can you hear me?"

Your eyelids fluttered, and a faint groan escaped your lips. Slowly, you opened your eyes, blinking against the light. When you saw Kenji's worried face, a weak smile crossed your lips.

"Kenji..." you murmured, your voice barely audible. "You're okay..."

Kenji's eyes once again filled with tears as he nodded, his grip on your hand tightening, "Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks to you. You saved me, (y/n)."

You tried to sit up, but pain shot through your body, and you winced. “What... what happened?” You asked.

Mina quickly intervened, gently pushing you back down with mechanical hands that protruded out of her spherical body. "Don't try to move too much,” she said. “You were hit by a weapon KDF used. It was meant for Ultraman, but you took the hit instead."

Hayao added, "You were incredibly brave, (y/n). You saved Kenji's life."

You looked at Kenji, your eyes filled with concern. "I couldn't let them hurt you,” you said softly. “I had to do something."

Kenji leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "And I promise, I'll never let anything happen to you again,” he said, his tears falling down on your face.

The days that followed were a blur of pain, recovery, and quiet moments shared between you and Kenji. True to his word, he never left your side, his worry and guilt evident in every action he took to ensure your comfort and healing.

Each morning, you woke to the smell of freshly brewed tea and the sight of Kenji bustling around the kitchen, preparing breakfast. Despite his own exhaustion, he insisted on doing everything himself.

"Good morning," he greeted softly one morning, bringing a tray of food to your bedside. "How are you feeling today?"

You offered a weak smile, propping yourself up on the pillows. "A little better, I think,” you answered. “Thanks, Kenji."

He set the tray down carefully. "You need to eat,” he said. “You've got to get your strength back."

In the afternoons, when you felt strong enough, Kenji would help you sit up and move around. He'd guide you outside to the lawn, where the sun's warmth and the gentle breeze seemed to hasten your healing. He'd support you with a gentle but firm grip.

"I don't want you to overdo it," he'd say, worry etched on his brow. "Just take it slow."

As the days turned into weeks, your strength gradually returned. The pain lessened, and the color began to return to your cheeks.

The days of your recovery were not just about healing physically but also about rebuilding and strengthening the trust and love between you and Kenji.

You had faced danger and come out stronger, more united. With each passing day, you became more sure than ever that together, your love could overcome anything.

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie @wattpadsuckssohard @sakura-onesan @reggies-eyeliner @buggs-1 @miffysoo @spencerrxids @stupidbutsmart @marimargirlies @mixvchelle @lannnu @lailuv21 @christiinee @abracarabbit @youngbananamilkshake @flutterfly365 @o-schist @brazilsho @arrozyfrijoles23 @finestflora @mmeerraa @mianbaobaoo @skyeliteratures @themourningfox @despacito-uwu16 @crimson-mage-02 @vinegarjello @btszn

[ruth-odyssey]

༺✩༻ D is for Delightful (part 2)

mattheo riddle x fem!reader

wc. 1.9k words

summary: after pairing up with a slytherin for a potion project, you somehow find yourself unable to tear away from him  

tw. fem!reader, reader is implied to be a gryffindor, party, mention of minors drinking. Set in sixth year but everyone is 17

a/n. This is part 2 of D is for Dangerous. Mattheo is actually so hot I had to physically stop myself from turning this into smut 😔

Quidditch season has its way of bringing students of the same house together. No matter your opinion on your fellow housemates, quidditch is quidditch. Heading down to the great Hall for breakfast, you can feel the excitement of the first match of the season; Ravenclaw against Slytherin. You sit down at the Gryffindor table, serving yourself some porridge, fruits and a cup of coffee. As you start eating, you feel a light tap on your shoulder. You turn around, meet with Mattheo, smirking at you. “We’re hosting a party tonight after the match, wanna come?” You knit your brows. “Already planning a party? You didn't even win yet!??” Mattheo flashes you a confident smile. “Winning is guaranteed, Ravenclaw’s team isn't winning anytime soon.” You snort, teasing him. “Nah yall gonna lose.”

Mattheo gasps dramatically at your response, clutching his heart, pretending to be under some sort of great physical pain. “How dare you. Do you have no faith in me???” you laugh at his dramatic antics. “Are they even gonna let you play? You skipped detention the whole week.” Mattheo grins slyly at you, as if you had asked an absurd question. “Of course they’ll let me play, I'm the best chaser we’ve got” He says cockily, earning himself a glare from Blaise. “Besides, I’ve already got out of those detentions with a little help from Theo, no need to worry.” You roll your eyes, serving yourself another cup of coffee. “Please don't bring Theo into your shit…” You look around, trying to catch a glimpse of the boy. “Theo isn't even here, is he still asleep???” Draco pipes up. “He's up, probably still under the shower.” You nod. “Well you better catch the snitch quickly, it's cold as shit outside.” Draco rolls his eyes at your comment and scoffs. “Don't tell me what to do, I'll catch it at my own pace.” You sigh, already regretting not bringing something hotter against the cold November weather. Before anyone can add anything, Theodore arrives, greeting everyone with a nod. “Well well well, look who decided to join us…” At Theo’s arrival, you decide to take your plate and cup, sitting down at the Slytherin table. Blaise smiles, knocking your shoulder with his. “Finally decided to join us huh?” You salute him. “Yes sir.” He lets out a soft chuckle, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. You glance to your right, Theo still standing up, still half asleep. You pat the spot next to you. “Sit down and eat. You have 10 minutes before you guys have to leave.” Theo’s eyes meet yours, he nods and takes the stop next to you, you serve him a cup of coffee and Lorenzo starts piling up food on his plate. Theo blinks a couple of times, trying to chase the fatigue. “How are you so… hyper this morning?” His voice is still laced with sleep, deeper than usual. You smile, hoping he can't tell how his voice alone is affecting you. “This is actually my fourth cup of coffee.” Theo shakes his head, mumbling Oh dio under his breath. He takes a bite of food. “If we win, will you come to the party?” Mattheo sends him a look “You mean WHEN we win.” You smile and glance at Mattheo who's already looking at you.

The next few minutes are spent by Draco, Mattheo and Blaise discussing the best way to beat ravenclaw – in the most humiliating way possible – Theo nodding along, playing with the food on his plate. They leave in a hurry to get changed in their quidditch robes. Lorenzo gets up and starts heading to the quidditch area, you and Pansy following. The three of you head out of the school, the freezing November breeze making you shiver. Tucking your face into your scarf you decide now is the perfect time to talk. “I am NOT lasting ‘til the end of the year, Riddle is gonna be the death of me.” Pansy laughs, as if she was expecting you to bring up Mattheo, Lorenzo on the other hand looks concerned considering how much you ramble about him. “May I ask why Riddle out of all people is gonna be the death of you?” He inquired, his voice tinged with playful judgment. You flash him an apologetic smile and start gushing about Mattheo. “Did you see how he looked at me earlier??? I thought I was gonna have a heart attack.” Pansy grabs your arm, a delighted laugh escaping her lips, as Lorenzo gives you a weirded out look – he's not quite sure what you mean by that. 

—————————————

The match finally came to an end, Slytherin completely obliterating Ravenclaw with a whooping 250 to 50. You meet up with the rest of the group in the Great Hall for lunch. “Mattheo that goal was something else, I mean throwing the quaffle all the way from the Slytherin goalpost and scoring? It was amazing.” Blaise nods in agreement, headlocking Mattheo, ruffling his hair. “You were insane out there mate, I didn't expect you to score like that.” Mattheo finally getting out of Blaise’s tight grip, he smirks at you. “Told ya we were gonna win. Now you better come to the party angel” You roll your eyes trying to ignore how your stomach seems to be doing cartwheels because of a simple pet name. Pansy smiles. “Bring your dress so you can get ready in my room.” “Okay!”

—————————————

“You look great.” You make eye contact with Pansy through the bathroom mirror, adding some mascara to your lower lashes. You’re wearing a black slip dress, with black high knee boots and your hair is down. You smile. “Thanks Pans, I love your dress by the way. It's so cute!” Pansy smiles, crouching down to put on her heels. You let out a yawn, feeling the lack of sleep of last night – as well as the caffeine crash – getting to you. You set the mascara tube down, giving yourself one last once over, before heading into the Slytherin common room with Pansy. As you both get down to the common room, pansy whispers “Go get your man.” in your ear. The party is in full swing, music blaring and people drinking and dancing everywhere. The room is dimly lit with Slytherin color, the atmosphere lively and electric. In the sea of partying students, you spot Mattheo, cigarette in one hand, drink in the other. He spots you too, greeting you with a hug. “Hey, nice dress” He speaks loudly, trying to make himself heard over the loud music. He hands you a drink. “Thanks! Pansy kinda left me. Do you know where she went?” Mattheo looks around, trying to find her. He taps your shoulder, giving you a shrug. “I can't see her sorry angel.” He pauses, taking a hit of his cigarette, blowing the smoke into rings. He smirks, eyes roaming around your body. “Seems like you’re stuck with me sweetheart.” You roll your eyes, unable to meet his – suddenly finding the content of the drink he had handed you interesting. You glance at him

You take a sip of your drink, face scrunching at the taste of alcohol burning your throat. You turn back to look at Mattheo, only to find him already looking at you. It's not the way he usually looks at you, with mischief because saying or doing something that would get him in trouble, there’s something different in those eyes and it seems whatever changed somehow makes you even more drawn to him. You can already feel your body loosening up, the alcohol making its way in your system. You grab the half burned cigarette from his grasp, taking a hit. There's a hint of surprise in Mattheo’s expression, that's quickly replaced by delight and something else you can't quite place your finger on. 

—————————————

You are not God's strongest soldier. Three drinks in and you somehow found yourself resting your head on Mattheo’s chest, arms around his waist, one of his hands on the small of your back, the other holding onto his – technically yours since he stole it – drink. The scent of his cologne – a citrus and musky scent– filling your nostrils. The party is still raging, people everywhere and it doesn't seem to stop anything soon. Mattheo gently whispers in your ear. “Hey sweetheart can't have you falling asleep on me, why don't you call it a night huh?” – you can practically see the small smirk that must be forming on his face – You distance yourself from him, just enough to see his face. His eyes find yours and he smiles. It's a smile you could get used to seeing – it's sweet and it makes you believe you might actually have a change with the boy – you nod, silently agreeing to call if for today. “Mkay… I'll go to sleep.” Maybe it was because of the smile he’d flashed or maybe it had only to do with the alcohol you had, but you get on your tiptoes, kissing him goodnight. “I think you missed darling, you must be very drunk if you don't know where my lips are” Its harmless teasing really, usually a simple eye roll to brush it off would have done the trick. But today, you decide that yes, maybe you should kiss him if it means he’ll finally realize you’d like to be the only one he flirts with, the only one he kisses. And so you roll your eyes, “You’re so demanding Riddle, you’re lucky I love you.” and kiss him. It’s sweet, you can taste the lingering taste of the alcohol on his lips. He pulls you closer, deepening the kiss, his lips moving against yours and you're suddenly aware of what you're doing. You break the kiss and mumble a quick “good night” before heading upstairs, crashing in Pansy’s room

—————————————

Drinking was not a good idea. At all. Whatever was in the drinks, it was strong, strong enough that you find yourself waking up the next morning having absolutely no recollection of why you were not in your bed. You can tell Pansy is in bed with you by the steady sound of breathing behind you. You try getting up an arm wrapping around your waist, someone snuggling into you. You freeze, turning your head slightly – to your surprise Mattheo is behind you, seemingly still asleep. “Hm Mattheo? Wake up.” You try shaking him awake. He makes a noise between a groan and moan but he opens his eyes, taking you in. “what?” You look at him bewildered, wondering how he could be so calm. “What??? What do you mean ‘what’??? The hell are you doing in Pansy’s room and why are you sleeping next to me???” Now it’s Mattheo’s turn to look confused. “Hey hey hey, calm down princess, I'll have you know last night you crashed in MY room, and i need my beauty sleep so I slept on my bed. I was sure you wouldn't mind… you know since you love me.” he adds teasingly. Oh the bastard. You can already feel your cheeks flustered and unfortunately for you, the memories of last night are finally becoming clearer. And you can clearly remember not only telling him you loved him but the feel of his lips against yours. You blink trying to chase the memory from your mind. “I- ok maybe I do. But so what?” He smiles as if he knew you would say something like that. “I was thinking about asking you out so that we could share our first kiss more… romantic setting but looks like you beat me to it angel.” “Oh shut up Riddle.” He smirks. “So, can I be your boyfriend?” “Yes”

[luna-lovegreat]

Time. Worried about Wars.

Time. Worried about Wars. Time is worried about Wars- Time has to be so freaking scared for Wars I-

Warriors is going into his first dungeon which has challenges for how he should deal with it, and Time is stressed. Ima rant about it

At this point (update Entrance) Time is obviously... well, terrified. His concern for mr. stubborn after his injury is obvious and he wants to make sure it does not happen again

And his concerns are valid- they are all now painfully aware of their lack of skills in working as a team. And they are heading into a dungeon- where that instantly results in stuff like this lol

And then Wars openly says that he has never done this before

The group is obviously uhh concerned that he hasn't done this or had any dungeon experience

'No dungeon experience?' / 'Has he even seen certain monsters before?'

Time wanted to stay in a group for safety- but they have to split up. Dungeons are cramped and messy and small, and Wars is used to fighting on a battlefield - not this sort of setting

And they still joke around about it- and Wars instantly starts analyzing.

'Tell me. Give me the intel' / 'This isn't practical'

Honestly Wars' response to this is pretty cool- it's totally in line with who he is as a captain and hero. He instantly starts thinking about it and treating it as a different type of battlefield to figure out strategy. Also I think it's pretty cute that he said 'intel' even if he's grumpy about asking the others for advice and what a wallmaster is

Wars can handle it and learn what a dungeon's like- I think it'll be fun to see him go through his first dungeon :D

But. He's still never done a dungeon before. It will be interesting to see how that develops in this arc... and let's not forget he's pissed the shadow and his emo sword off before. This isn't where he fights best and Wars is particularly vulnerable in a major way.

Time was already stressed about mr. stubborn Twilight, but hearing that the captain, that Warriors isn't prepared for this is. Extra scary. I just think he must be really concerned for him- for all of them. And now mr. reliable is in a learning position and not a leading one

Their faces fjdkfsjdksjsk

But these are his boys and he'll have to trust that they'll be ok. Therefore I think this was Time's thinking:

Time, thinking: "Dungeon. A dungeon oh this is dangerous- no one can get hurt-"

Wars: "can't say I've really been in one"

Time, absolutely sobbing internally: "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE THE RELIABLE ONE"

.

Art by @linkeduniverse au :))

:)

Hey, don't worry too much about it I'm sure it'll be fine :) (mostly)

[911lonestar911imagines]

..Save me- Possessive Evan Buckley x Reader Smut

Summary: After a close run in and getting robbed Possessive! Evan Buckley is here to help

Warnings: Robbery, Heavy Smut, Degradation, rough sex, sir/captain kink, slight mommy kink, daddy kink

A/n: not proofread or edited, it was made at 4am before work :D

You and Evan hadn't been together long, but Evan knew something was different with you, he was more possessive, protective, territorial, and you never complained. You were an only child, and grew up only knowing a story about a deadbeat father who left whenever he found out about your mother's pregnancy, so if someone wanted to protect you and treasure you, who were you to stop them?

The day went smoothly, you both woke up, had great morning sex, and then went to work, your station as a pediatric doctor at the hospital, and his station at the firehouse. You visited him and the team on your break, and now you both just waited until you were both back home. As you locked your car and made your way towards your apartment you got the overwhelming sense of danger, even as you kept glancing around, never seeing anybody or anything, you still couldn't shake the feeling. As you unlocked your phone, you called Evan, before being slammed face first into the wall, feeling something almost like a gun, press against your lower back "E-Evan! Help me!" You screamed loudly, hoping really anybody would hear, it was a little past two thirty in the morning, and your apartment was mainly filled with older couples, and families with young babies, so somebody had to hear right?

Evan was finishing up checking up on a young boy they had rescued from an apartment balcony, whenever he got the call from Y/n. He wasn't sure exactly what she was saying because of the muffled moving like she was moving her phone around against her clothing, before he felt his heart drop and felt like he was going to puke all at once as he heard your scream pierce through the phone speaker. Evan wasn't even thinking at that point, sprinting past Hen, Bobby, and Eddie before he ever knew he was moving.

You screamed out as you finally broke away from whoever was holding you captive, taking off in a sprint down the hallway, you wanted to go to the safety of your home, but you didn't wanna risk the creep getting into your apartment. As you debated your options you noticed your phone was gone, no longer in your hand, no longer having a line to Evan, to safety, to the person who protected you no matter what. You sobbed, trying to pick your pace up as you turned the corner to run down the service stairs, a quick escape, screaming whenever you collided with a body, being held tightly. Your chest hurt from screaming for help and sobbing, you wanted to wake up, next to your boyfriend, ready to start another day. You felt yourself be pulled towards your apartment before seeing someone dash around the corner "Motherfucker!" You heard Evan yell, his voice echoing off of the walls "See if I don't find you myself!" His voice boomed, you fell against the wall, sliding down the wall as you cried, holding your body tightly, only now taking in you didn't have anything in your pockets anymore. No wallet, phone, keys, or your purse, you were robbed.

Evan froze, deciding on chasing after the guy, or staying with you, he quickly made up his mind as he rushed to your side, his shaky hands cupping your face "H-Hey, hey I've got you, y/n I've got you" He whispered holding you close to his chest, basically pulling you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you as he held you in a hug "Nobody can get you, I've got you" he whispered slowly standing up, lifting you up like you were a pebble on the ground "Come on" He whispered, you were too shaken up to actually process where you were going, but Evan was confident as he sat you in the passenger seat. "I know..I know" He whispered as you held onto his shirt tighter, slowly he pulled your hands away "We're going to my place...I've gotta get in though" He whispered before handing you the keys motioning for you to lock it as he walked around the jeep. You both knew you lived in a somewhat safe neighborhood, but you felt safer with them locked. Evan got in, buckling in the both of you in, before heading towards his apartment.

The entire drive he was lost in thought, seeing you so shaken up in his passenger seat reminded him of Maddie, sitting there after Doug, his thoughts were cut short by a gentle, shaky hand resting on the bend of his elbow, as he stopped in the apartment parking lot. As he looked over he was met with your soft delicate gaze, fixed on his lost one "You saved me, Evan.." You whispered, he shook his head resting a hand over yours "I was doing what was right..because I love you" He whispered.

It took a bit, but Evan had a dinner made, you showered, and now both of you sat on his bed watching a random tv show you found playing, You sighed looking at him as he traced his fingertips up and down your stomach "I'm gonna talk to Athena tomorrow about filing a police report.." You whispered, Evan hummed in agreement, you ran your fingers through his hair, smiling softly as his hums continued. You moved your hand lower starting to massage the back of his neck, giggling as his hums turned into groans of relaxation and pleasure. As you dug your fingers deeper, his groans grew louder, before eventually he mistakenly let a moan slip through. You both looked at each other in shock, Your giggles growing louder before Evan rolled to hover over you, immeidetly shutting you up. "Why is it...That it's funny when I moan..but whenever I laugh about making you scream in the mornings before work..I'm in the doghouse?" He teased, playfully giving you a pouty face "Yea yea" You groaned, laying back on the bed, watching Evan slowly stalk down your body until he was mouth level with your panty hemline, you could feel his breaths he was so close.

"Evan.." You whispered lowly, you could see as he held back as groan, instead biting down on your hip bone "Easy baby boy" You whispered, you could see his eyes snap towards yours "Uh uh, you were top this morning, plus, you had a hard night" He said as he grabbed your chin tightly, you looked at him through your eyelashes as he kissed you deeply. "I'm gonna make you feel so good" He whispered grinding against you, you didn't care how many times he fucked you, his size always shocked you, how could someone be so perfectly hung? Just thick enough and long enough to hit every spot. "Please Sir" You begged arching your back, Evan had to hold back his own moan, between your little 'yes sirs' and the way your tits fell perfectly out of his work button up. "Don't worry, I'm gonna take care of you" He whispered "Gotta get me nice and ready though, baby girl" He whispered pulling his sleep pants down lower, his cock springing up halfway hard "f-fuck" You whispered, all of a sudden you were seeing his naked for the first time again, taking his cock in your mouth for the first time "You've got this, baby girl...You've taken it before so well. you're my good girl" He whispered kissing your forehead gently as you slowly crawled to the end of the bed, he could feel himself growing more possessive, how dare someone else touch you? You brought him out of it as your warm mouth wrapped around him, his hand flying to the back of your head, and his legs spreading wider "Fuck" He grunted leaning back taking in the sight.

You were laid in front of him, ass up, legs spread, tits hanging out of his shirt, as your mouth was stretched around his cock, spit slowly pooling from your lips, dripping down to the very point of your hardened nipples. As his mind wondered it went back to being possessive, How dare someone else touch what's his? Try to hurt what's his?

You noticed Evan was lost behind his eyes as you swallowed around him, about to stop before a loud growl errupted from his chest, his hips bucking into your mouth, his cock sliding down the back of your throat. You relaxed it as you focused on his words that were muttered angrily under his breath

"....Touching what's mine"

"She's mine"

"Fuck my good slut"

"Even knows she's mine"

You gulped as he lifted your mouth off of him, you made eye contact with his possessive almost crazy stare "Who are you?" He whispered, the growl vanishing, his tone not matching his eyes, making him seem even more crazy "I'm yours" You responded just as softly, panting softly as you cupped his cheek, he never moved an inch, just letting out a huff "Who. are. you." He growled, you repositioned yourself over his lap, grinding against his cock, desperate to feel anything "I'm yours! I'm Evan Buckley's!" You screamed out as he held your hips against his as he grinded against you, hitting your clit almost perfectly "What else." He snapped, halting his movements almost as fast as he started "Just as loud, slut" He growled loudly "nobody can care for me like you, Evan! Nobody can fuck me, love me, or please me like you do, Evan Buckley! I'm yours" You panted as he squeezed your nipple between his finger tips "And nobody does it like you, baby" he whispered in your ear before flipping you onto your back, holding your hands above your hand "You want fucked? Want me to fuck you so hard with my cock you forget where you are?" He panted in your ear, you whined loudly spreading your legs, Evan just moved his knees to hold them as far open as you possibly could. You never experianced Evan like this, yea he's been a heavy dominant in bed, but never possessive dominant.

You almost screamed as Evan ripped your underwear off, biting his lip as he stared at your pussy, watching it slowly pool more wetness out, already soaking wet from your panties. "What baby? Where do you want my cock?" He panted in your ear, reaching under your pillow to use the silk ties you bought for his house a couple weeks ago, with your hands tied he smirked leaning up to sit on his knees "Please Sir! I want your cock, Please Evan!" You whined before moving your tied hands down to run your fingers through your folds spreading your wetness around to tease him "I want..your big cock..right here..please Captain Buckley" You whispered biting your lip teasingly as you started to push a finger into yourself slowly, you knew Evan always wanted to have the authority of captain, but he'd never take Bobby's place, and he'd never leave the 118, so Captain Buckley was a strong one for him. You could almost see his cock twitch "Don't you dare touch what's fucking mine" he growled before shoving himself fully into your pussy, bottoming out and kissing you deeply as you cried out around his lips as his cock stretched it's way through you.

"Fuck yes!" You squealed, allowing Evan to take his chance to kiss you deeply, shoving his tongue through your lips, exploring every part of your mouth, his cock never slowing it's brutal pace. "Nobody can touch what's mine" Evan growled taking your nipple into his mouth sucking and biting as you arched your back "Yes! Yes!" You started to chant before Evan clasped a hand over your mouth "Change of plans. You're mine tonight, and I don't wanna hear a peep until you're making a mess screaming my name" He growled, his voice was almost enough to have you creaming around him, but you held strong. You could feel the bed moving and the headboard hitting the wall as Evan fucked your pussy mericiless "D-Daddy!" You cried out as you came around his cock for the first time, Evan freezing before looking at you with the most evil smile.

He carried you to the kitchen, laying you over his kitchen island before resuming his brutal pace "Say it again" He grunted as he watched his cock disappear inside of you "I said say it again!" He demanded louder, you cried out as you felt his finger slide inside of you next to his cock "Fuck Daddy! It's too much!" You cried out as he found a steady pace, removing his finger pushing it into your mouth, moaning as your tongue circled his finger, cleaning any of your juices off of it. "Yea. My good fuckin wife. Taking my cock in the kitchen like a whore desperate to please her husband" He growled, you never knew Evan was the roleplay in bed type, but you couldn't lie, imaging you both married, him bending you over the table after a long day at work and having his way with his wife was orgasm inducing. "J-Just wanna make daddy feel good after work!" You moaned grinding against him, he just growled moving you both to the couch, positioning you on the arm rest so his cock was buried deeper inside of you.

"Don't worry, I'll make mommy feel good too" He growled as he sped up his pace, you gasped and moaned loudly feeling his warm cum pool inside of you, he slowly pulled out, using his thumb to push back in any cum that tried to leak out of your swollen pussy. You had no time to rest before Evan's tongue swiped over your clit "E-Evan too much!" You whimpered, already overstimulated by both of your orgasms and from how deep his cock was buried inside of you. He just growled against your clit, causing a vibration across your pussy "Daddy!" You whined trying to close your legs, but Evan lifted his head "You can either Squirt around my cock or my mouth." He said lowly, almost in a cold tone, like you didn't have a choice You knew you did though, you knew your safeword would stop everything but you liked this side of Evan. "Mouth it is" He snapped before sucking your clit into his mouth, you cried out again, chanting nothing but a song of 'Evan's and 'daddy's. Evan's tongue and mouth abused your clit as you squirmed on the couch. Evan never let up on his abuse until you were squirting around his tongue and into his mouth.

You screamed out as you soaked his face, riding his tongue desperately to ride out your high, once you got to the point, you pushed his head away whimpering, your legs shaking in his hands. "Such a bad..bad girl for me..now look at my couch.." He whispered motioning to the wet splatters coating the arm rest "Guess you'll just have to make it up to daddy" He whispered looking back down to his raging hard on, already painfully turned on by how desperate you looked. "Yes sir.." You whispered smirking...

Part two?