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kiss-theggoat · 1 year ago

Note

Would you write for Thomas Hewitt ?

A/N: I just recently watched this version and hubba hubba I’m in love with Mr Thomas Hewitt. I’ve only seen this one twice, so if some characters are out of character, I apologize! I hope you like it as much as I do bc this boy deserves better!

Bluebonnets

Thomas Hewitt x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: You and your friends stopped for gas in a rinky dink little town in Texas, but the Hewitt family thinks that you’d be perfect for their little Tommy.

TW: Violence and Gore, Death, Hoyt is a pervert, Cannibalism, Sort of Stockholm Syndrome, Ends with fluff

The sun beat down on your face as you laid your head back against the rough leather seat, deeply regretting the fact that you agreed to drive in a convertible through Texas in the middle of August. Your sweat broke through the barrier of sunblock, leaving your skin sticky and shiny, the humid wind doing absolutely nothing to cool you off.

“We’re almost outta gas!” Johnny yelled, his hand on Sue’s thigh. She rolled her eyes and scoffed at him. “I thought we gassed up in Austin!”

He shrugged. “We did. Getting bad gas mileage I guess!”

She groaned, throwing her head back in frustration. You were relieved to finally get out of the car and into some sort of building, hopefully with air conditioning. You sat in the back, squished against the side of the car by Tyler and Ginny making out, taking up almost the entire seat. You felt a little bit fifth-wheel-y, but you knew your friends would’ve given you so much shit if you refused to come.

Johnny pointed to a sign up ahead, faded and cracked from the relentless Texas sun. In light pink, what used to be red, the sign said, ‘GAS AND BARBECUE NEXT EXIT’. Johnny laughed, squeezing Sue’s thigh with a sweaty palm. “Barbecue, babe! Let’s go!”

Sue sighed. “Fine.” She turned to everyone in the back, and you saw that she was just as sweaty as you, tanned skin shining in the sunlight. “Everyone okay with stopping here.”

For some reason, this got on your nerves. You didn’t know if it was the fact that you’d been in the car for six hours or the fact that you were baking like a casserole in 100 degree weather. Or maybe it was the fact that everyone in the car was giving eachother fuck-me eyes, like a sick joke you weren’t apart if. And, on top of that, the last thing you wanted after being in 86 percent humidity was fucking barbecue. “Where the hell else are we going to stop? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

Sue gave you a look before you were interrupted by Ginny. “Here’s fine, babe!” She smiled at Sue, her lips red and swollen from being absolutely ravished by her scrawny boyfriend. You crossed your arms and laid your head back down, trying your best to meditate your way out of this road trip.

You guess it worked because before you knew it, you were pulling into the run-down gas station, car switching off with an alarming squeal. You hopped out of the car, not bothering to talk to any of your friends, and went inside. Your stomach turned. Instead of the blissful air conditioning you were yearning for, you were smacked in the face by the putrid smell of rotting meat. Flies buzzed around your face, and you swore it was hotter in here than it was outside.

Looking around, there was a convenience store area, a case to your left with meat inside, and a little old lady sitting behind the counter. You took a deep, stabilizing breath. You were pissed and over this trip, but you knew better than to take it out on some poor unsuspecting stranger. You put on a smile and walked towards her, pulling your shorts further down your thighs. The old lady looked up at you and then back down at her book, before doing a double take. She took her glasses off, then gave you a small smile.

“Hi sweetie. What can I do for you?”

She’s nice, you thought. You liked when old ladies called you cute names. You smiled brighter at her, feeling relieved that one person was making you feel actual joy on this trip. “Hi, ma’am. Is there a bathroom here.”

“Yes, hun, it’s outside, around the side of the station.” She said, handing you a key ring. You tried not to let your face scrunch in disgust, but you were pretty sure there was a real rabbit's foot on this thing. You grabbed the key from her, avoiding the furry foot, and told her, “Thank you so much. My friends are also going to use the restroom so I’ll have this back in a few minutes.” She nodded at you, going back to her book.

You pushed the door open, actually relieved to be outside. You welcomed the smell of dust that Texas had gotten you used to instead of the rancid steaks. As you walked towards the bathroom, Sue grabbed your arm, making you jump. “What the hell is up with you?” She asked, staring at you accusingly.

You sighed, feeling better after your pleasant exchange with the old woman. “I’m sorry for being snippy. I’m just tired and hot and…done being in the car.” You said quietly, shaking her off to go towards the dilapidated bathroom.

“You can have the front seat from now on, you can actually feel the AC a little bit sometimes.” She said, following you.

You put the key in the door and twisted it. “It’s okay. The sun goes down in like…an hour and a half? It should cool down.” The moment the door swung open, you were hit with that same raunchy smell. You put a hand over your nose and grimaced, “It smells like this inside too…” you sighed, slowly walking into the single stall bathroom.

You couldn’t have pissed faster. You quickly washed up and nearly sprinted from the bathroom back towards the car, holding your face the entire time. The cheap soap from your hands also smelled bad, but compared to the smell of the bathroom, it was like the world's most expensive perfume. “Uhm…does anyone else need to use the bathroom? I have to return the key.”

Everyone shook their heads, but Johnny spoke up. “We’ll go with you. We’ll get food and pay for the gas.”

You nodded and opened the door to the station for everyone, watching in amusement as all of their faces twisted with disgust just as yours did when you first smelled it. The old lady looked up again, and instead of her smile she wore a sneer as she watched Johnny walk up to her. “We need twenty dollars on pump one.” He said, not looking at her and pulling out his wallet.

“We don’t have gas.” She said quickly and coldly, holding her book up in front of him. “Haven’t for a couple weeks.”

Johnny scoffed in disbelief, tossing his hands down on the counter. “So you’re the only gas station for 100 miles and you don’t have any gas?”

She shrugged, not answering.

“Well, when are you gonna have gas?” Ginny asked, also putting her hands on the counter.

“Could be a week. Maybe more.”

Johnny looked down in the case, noticing the green meat and flies swarming. “So no gas and I’m guessing…” he tapped aggressively on the glass. “No barbecue?”

The old lady took her glasses off again, irritated. “We got food.” She pointed behind your group to shelves of food that looked like it was from the 1940’s.

Johnny laughed, head rolling back. “You’ve got to be kidding me, lady! You have to take that sign down if everything is a fucking lie!”

You stepped forward, putting an arm in front of Johnny’s torso and pushing him away from the counter slightly. “I’m sorry ma’am. We’ll find somewhere else to go, thank you for your help and letting us use the restroom.” You said, sliding the key back over the counter. You felt bad for her. Obviously this town wasn’t a money pit, and maybe she did have a popular place before, but it looks like everything’s gone out of business. Maybe she’s barely surviving, the last thing she needs is five twenty-something year olds harassing her for things she can’t control.

She gave you her attention, unlike your friends. She smiled at you, grabbing the key back from you. “Thank you, young lady. You’re very polite. Maybe you could teach your friends there some manners.” She said, pointing to Johnny and Ginny with her glasses. Johnny scoffed and started to yell something, but you quickly yanked on his shoulder to usher them out of the building. You nodded at the woman with a smile before leaving. You bumped into Johnny’s back hard, wondering why the hell he stopped in front of you like that.

You moved out from behind him to see a cop. “Great, the old hag called the cops!” Johnny groaned, only shutting up when Sue rubbed his bicep. You never liked Johnny.

“We ain’t get no call folks. Came here for some refreshments.” The cop said, pointing to his badge. “And I ain’t just any cop. Sheriff. Sheriff Hoyt.”

Johnny sighed, nodding. “Okay, Sheriff. Where’s the nearest gas station? This dump doesn’t have gas.”

“It ain’t nice to disrespect someone’s business, boy.” The sheriff scowled, spitting black tobacco onto the concrete. You could feel your heart rate rising, you knew that Johnny was going to get you in trouble somehow. You looked around, finally seeing the sheriff’s cruiser parked behind the convertible. As you peered inside, you noticed a man sitting in the passenger seat. You couldn’t see him too well, but he was large, blocking up pretty much the entire window.

“It’s hardly a business. Pretty sure there’s botflies inside, could kill someone.” Johnny started to walk away, but the Sheriff stepped in front of him to block his path. “What’s your fucking problem?”

The sheriff stared into Johnny’s eyes, scowling. You could sense the tension, and decided you’d be the peace keeper of the day. “Sir…sir, we’re sorry. We’re just almost out of gas and we’ve been traveling for a long time.” You said, stepping towards the Sheriff.

His eyes raked over you, making you feel sort of icky. You wished you were wearing a winter coat, despite the heat. He spit again, a gross squelch breaking the silence. “Finally someone with some manners.”

Johnny laughed, “What the fuck is up with old people and manners?! Jesus Christ, we just need gas!” He yelled, shoving the Sheriff’s shoulder. You gasped, grabbing Johnny’s arm but in the blink of an eye, a revolver was being pointed at Johnny’s face. Everyone froze, staring at the firearm.

“Now are you gonna show some respect, boy? I’m the Sheriff of this town and I’m not gonna tolerate a group of hoodlums messin’ things up.” He said, voice hushed, almost a whisper.

You nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. We’re leaving. Let’s go.” You moved towards the car, but the Sheriff stopped you.

“Y’all think you can just stroll into a town, cause trouble, and go?” He laughed, cocking the gun with a haunting click. “Tommy!” He yelled, turning his head towards the car. The door slowly opened and you watched as a mammoth of a man stepped out, dress shirt and apron giving him an even larger silhouette. He wore a mask with messy brown hair, broad shoulders slouched. Your heart skipped a beat. Wrong situation to think this, but the man was quite handsome. You’d always liked bigger men.

“Please sir…we don’t want any trouble. We’d just like to be on our way, we’ll leave and never come back.” You pleaded, hands out in front of you. Gravel crunched beneath the huge man’s feet as he walked towards your group. The sheriff turned to him. “Whadya think Tommy?” He asked with a cruel cackle.

The ringing of a bell made you turn back towards the station, and you saw the old lady standing there. She held her reading glasses, and pointed at you with them. Your heart dropped. What did this mean? You turned back to the sheriff, and he looked just as confused as you did. She scoffed at his confusion. She wanted to tell him something, but didn’t want you and your friends to hear it. She waddled over slowly, but Johnny had other ideas. He spun quickly, hitting the sheriff’s arm, but unfortunately, it didn’t cause him to drop the gun. Tyler started to run, Ginny tried to help Johnny, and Sue grabbed your arm. “Let’s go! We need to run!” She yelled.

Your ears rang at the close range of the gunshot, you fell to your knees, scraping them, and covered your ears with your hands. You heard a scream, immediately recognizing it as Sue. You turned around to see Johnny, laying on the dirt with blood pooling around him, a perfect bullet wound in the center of his forehead. You felt nauseous, but you couldn’t move. Looking up, you saw the smoking revolver gripped tight in the sheriff's hand, now focused on Sue. She was hunched over Johnny’a body, sobbing and screaming, the tears making trails of clean skin as they wiped away the thin layer of dust.

Somewhere to your right, another scream. Ginny. You saw the large man, who the Sheriff called Tommy, holding her up in the air on his shoulder. She banged against his chest with knees and hit his back with her fists, thrashing and screaming. On his other arm, he held the limp body of Tyler, blood dripping from his head and beading in the dust, tucked beneath his armpit. This man carried two grown adults effortlessly, his strength scared the hell out of you. You didn’t even see if he had a weapon, but he managed to take them both down.

You sat in terror. You wanted to run, but with a revolver focused on your head, what were your options. The old lady appeared on your left, hand touching the Sheriff’s shoulder. She leaned in to whisper, but you heard her.

“Don’t touch her. Keep her for Tommy.”

Keep her for Tommy? What the fuck did that mean? You stared up at them in fear and watched as he groaned, pointing the gun at Sue instead. She didn’t even look phased, too focused on her boyfriend’s dead body. Tommy loaded the other two into the back of the car, and then made his way back towards you. Tears welled in your eyes as he approached, his shadow looming over you and finally blocking you from the sun. As he got closer, you saw the detail in his face and clothes. He had pretty eyes and his hair looked soft, but his bloody clothes and tight leather mask contrasted the softness of the rest of him.

He grabbed your arm in a surprisingly soft grip, the only thing disconcerting about his touch was the slickness from the blood that he left on your skin. He pulled you towards the car, and it was obvious he wanted you to follow. The old woman put a hand on his shoulder and affectionately patted his chest, he leaned down to her level. She gave him a soft kiss on the cheek and told him, “She’s perfect for you, Tommy.”

You finally realized what was going on. They were setting you up with him, like you and your friends were on some sort of sick dating game. You stumbled as you followed him to the cop car, his head was down and his shoulders were slumped as he opened the front passenger side and moved aside. You looked up at him. He wanted you to get in, but he didn’t put you in the back like you thought he would, and for that, you were grateful. The last thing you wanted to do was sit beside the bleeding, passed out bodies of two of your friends.

You took a seat in the scalding car, body swaying with the force that he shut the door. He stood in front of the door as if keeping watch, like a prison guard. You stared in horror as the sheriff finally had enough with Sue, giving her the same fate as Johnny. She laid on his chest, her blood mixing with his as the sheriff walked away from their bodies. You were grateful you were far away from them, both because you didn’t want to see your best friend die, and your ears were still ringing from the first gunshot.

The sheriff entered the car, flashing you a creepy smirk before you felt Tommy enter the backseat. You stared out the window, definitely in shock and confused. Just twenty minutes ago the worst of your problems was having to pee on a road trip and now you just watched all of your friends either die or be brutally attacked by someone who is supposed to protect the community. You had a feeling he wasn’t a real sheriff, given the nature of the recent events.

You laid your head against the door. You hadn’t noticed how tired you were, but you guessed experiencing something like that would be hard on your body. Feeling fairly confident that they wouldn’t kill you, you drifted off to sleep as he drove who knows where.

You only woke up to the sound of a door slamming and you realized that it was dark outside. You had no idea where you were or how long you’d been driving, but you felt disgusting. Cheeks stiff with tears, nose running, mouth dry and eyes burning. Your door opened and you were being yanked out by the sheriff, who was much rougher with you than Tommy was. You winced at how tight he was holding you as he dragged you towards a fairly large country style home.

The door was kicked open and you saw the same old woman from the station holding a pot of food. “Finally, Charlie. Tommy had to help cook.” She scoffed, setting the pot down at the large dining room table, where an old man already sat.

“Dammit, Luda Mae, I told you! It’s Sheriff Hoyt! You hear me!” He yelled, hitting the wall with his free hand, making you jump. You were putting the pieces together. There was Hoyt, or Charlie apparently, Tommy, Luda Mae, and then this old man. They lived together, probably related.

You looked around, saw the table full of food, dusty knickknacks, bones hanging from the ceiling. It all felt like a sick mix of home and hell. The rugs and the quilts on the plush couches looked knit, and the lamps give the room a comforting glow. If you weren’t here under these circumstances, you might find this house cozy.

Hoyt forced you to the table, plopping you down across from the old man already seated. He tied your wrists to the chair with leather straps that were bolted in. Obviously, this wasn’t their first time offense. Your fingertips began to cool with how tight the leather was cinched, and you whimpered at the pain. Luda Mae sat next to the old man, smiling at you.

“Oh dear. The moment I saw you, I knew that my Thomas would like you. We’re so happy to have you here.” She sounded genuinely happy, and you couldn’t help feeling sorry for this family. You heard Hoyt bang in something and yell Tommy’s name, then a loud sliding sound. Thomas walked into the dining room and took a seat next to you, across from Luda Mae. Hoyt took the head of the table, standing over the pot with a giant ladle.

“Well thanks to this pretty lady…” he said, winking at you, warning a scoff from Luda Mae, “and all of her friends… we’ll have dinner for the next couple a’ weeks!” He grabbed Thomas’ bowl and dropped in a ladle full, then the same with Luda Mae’s. As he served you, you noticed large chunks of game-y looking meat inside of your stew. Surely he didn’t mean….

You stared in horror at your food, lips sealed shut in fear that you may vomit. Your mouth watered with the insatiable urge to throw up everywhere, and you felt a cold sweat break out on your forehead. You watched as everyone dug in, eating with a fervor that said they’d been starving for a month. They moaned in joy at the flavor of the food, occasionally complimenting Thomas or Luda Mae for the cooking. Only you and Thomas weren’t eating. He because he didn’t want to remove his mask in front of you, and you because you weren’t really on board with cannibalism.

“Don’t be ungrateful, boy. Eat your damn dinner!” Hoyt yelled, a cooked carrot flying from his mouth onto the table as he slammed his hand down. Thomas jumped and put his hands near his face, like he was expecting to be hit. Your heart ached for him. It was obvious he didn’t want to do this. He wasn’t evil like the rest of them, he was forced to do this. You watched him slowly unbuckle the leather strap of his mask and slide it off, revealing a scarred face, exposed nose cartilage and teeth, mangled jaw bones. You felt terrible watching him keep his face down, hair covering it. He was ashamed.

He picked up a spoon, but still didn’t eat. He just stirred the stew. Obviously you wouldn’t know this, but he didn’t want to eat in front of you, because eating was a little difficult for him. He was more prone to spilling food on himself or getting messy and spilling down his chin. Not exactly the way to impress your new date.

You swore that Hoyt was turning red with rage. “Dammit boy! Your momma made this dinner and you’re just gonna stare at it?!” He growled, slapping Thomas upside the head. Anger filled your chest as you watched Thomas cover his head, eyes clenched shut. What made you even angrier is that Luda Mae and the old man just sat there, eating like nothing was wrong.

“Don’t hit him.” You said. Your throat was hoarse, you haven't talked in a while.

“Fuck you say to me, girl?”

You looked Hoyt in the eyes. “I said…don’t hit him.”

He sneered and leaned over the table, knocking the spoon from his empty bowl. “Oh I see…Tommy needs his little girlfriend to defend him, huh? Listen here, you little bitch-“

“Hoyt, be kind to our guest.” Luda Mae said, eating the last of her potato. She looked over at you, and then at Thomas. She was happy that you stood up for him.

Hoyt laughed at her, shaking his head. “Pathetic.” He grumbled, throwing his bowl to the center of the table. “Neither of ya wanna eat dinner? Fine!” He walked over to Thomas and grabbed his hair, yanking his head back, and with the other hand, he grabbed his mask. He slammed his mask hard against Thomas’s face, making him wince. “Ya can just go back to your little fuckin’ basement then.”

He walked over to you, roughly unstrapping your wrists. Blood flowed back into the white spots, and you knew it’d bruise. “And take your bitch with ya.” He growled, shoving you over towards Thomas. Thomas had just finished securing his mask, and he gently grabbed your sore wrist. You followed him while looking behind your back, staring spitefully at Hoyt, who shamelessly watched your ass as you walked away.

Thomas slid a huge wooden door out of the way and led you down a staircase. The basement smelled rancid, like stale metal and rotting meat. As you walked in, you knew why. Weapons hung from the ceiling, a workbench in the center of the room. Blood coated the entire floor, and some dropped steadily from the table, giving you the sound like a very messed up metronome. A bed in the corner called your name despite the stained mattress. It had no pillows, no sheets, no blankets. You looked at Thomas.

“You…sleep here?” You asked meekly and watched as he gave you a very tiny nod, looking at the bed. He led you over to it, and held your shoulders, sitting you down. He let you sit there for a second and then he walked away, going to sit in a chair on the other side of the room next to his work table. He wanted you to sleep in his bed, but he wasn’t going to?

Your chest swelled with the kindness of this poor man. A pure soul forced into the mud by his corrupt family. You stood up and took a step towards him. “I don’t want to take your bed. It’s yours.”

He shook his head and walked back to you, grabbing your shoulders again to sit you down. You gave in because the feeling of this stained, thin mattress was like heaven, despite the fact that you could feel the springs digging into your back as you laid down. You stared at him for a moment as he began to rummage through items on his shelf. Your eyes began to close, eyelids feeling like they had ten pound weights attached.

He turned around, holding something small and dainty in his large and veiny hands. He sat at your feet, a gentle hand placed on your ankle. You glanced down at him as he held out a dried Bluebonnet to you. You smiled softly and took it from him, feeling its soft stem and looking at its pretty periwinkle petals. “Thank you…” you mumbled sleepily.

You thought, just before you fell asleep, that there were two things in this basement that didn’t belong. Everything in this house was drenched in blood and fear and grime, this basement was disgusting and horrifying. But, in all of the terror, you had this beautiful Bluebell, a reminder of the open, sweet smelling fields of Texas, and even more pure, you had Thomas.

#slasher x reader #slashers #horror movies #horror fanfiction #slasher x y/n #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x you #leatherface #texas chainsaw massacre

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alteredphoenix · 27 days ago

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taste like a fine wine (WIP)(Veleanor Modern AU)

A/N: I'm currently wrapping up this fic I've had cooking off to the side for, give or take, at least two months, so I figured I'd drop a snippet in the meantime until I finish it and run it by with editing.

Sometimes, Velvet hates how right people are.

There’s this thing Rokurou mentioned once, back in high school and amped up on that wonderful cocktail of madness biology likes to call teenage hormones, that always pops up in the back of Velvet’s mind, like a needy, obnoxious specter that won’t take a hint and go the fuck away. He likes to mention it still, whenever she’s with him and he gets the chance, less because she’s known about this for years, like anyone with a lick of common sense would, and more because he’s a horny shit and doesn’t have a fucking filter whatsoever, and that is this: Women are to be worshiped. They deserve to be treated with respect,. The more respect they are given, the more that trust and respect is given back in return, and the body – and the spirit – will be found fulfilling.. Every inch of her should be cherished, every touch and stroke paid for with utmost care. The body is a temple, and like all good temples that live on in mortal memory, it deserves nothing less than absolution devotion.

“And why are you telling me this?” Velvet asked him the last time they hung out, in some rinky-dink sports bar she couldn’t remember the name of that had hard rock music blasting from all four corners, no less. If the baseball game on the overhead TV set had any noise coming out of it, she had no way of knowing if what she was hearing was coming from inside her own head.

“’Cause you’re a holy diver,” Rokurou said, and before Velvet could even begin to ask him what the fuck that was supposed to mean, he beat her to it with, “and if I know my lesbians right, that means you dive right in. Fuck the mountains, fuck the rivers, you’re jackknifing straight into the fucking delta and swimming to the promised land for a taste of that milk and honey.”

“Where the fuck do you come up with this stuff,” Velvet said, after a moment of flabbergasted silence. Then, with a shake of her head: “Actually, you know what. Don’t answer that. You did not come up with that on your own.” She turned away from Rokurou’s sharp grin and mischievous eyes, reaching to take a long pull from her beer.

“But you know I’m right. That’s all you do.”

“That’s what I’m supposed to do,” she added, setting her mug back down on the counter. “It’s my job. What other way is there?”

“See, that’s the thing: holy divers need to do more than just jumping right in. You gotta make a woman feel good, Velvet. You gotta make her feel like she’s about to ascend no matter where she’s at. If you can do that, you can get her out of hell.”

“What if we’re living in it.”

“Same rule applies. It’s not what you can do to make it happen - it’s how you do it.”

#fanfiction #mywriting

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hydrate-or-diedrate · 1 year ago

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Where the hell were we

But first a quick flat color Kanaya doodle because I asked my friend to pick a troll. It's been like 3 billion years since I drew anything but blobby cartoon anatomy, I'm super out of practice lmaoooo

Also thank you this person because either would have absolutely not idea how to pose someone holding a chainsaw without them <33

Some day these doodles will end up on my actual art blog as well but for now I am Lazy™️

ANYWAY

Okay look glasses boy I'm pretty certain you did not "solve" pi

Thank you LU server, I keep reading Dirk as Dink

SIGNLESS

This signless(?) is so sweet and chill, I can't wait to meet them, too

They're a historian? Oh I love them. A child(?) after my own heart

AND THEY WRITE FANFIC AWWW

WOAH those sure are horns

Okay this text is starting to seem to apply something adjacent to a vague British accent

By which I mean they're using words like "bloody" and calling people "love" and etc etc so that's inchresting but also kinda weird

AND THEY DRAW? I love them so much and I haven't even met them, I can't wait for everyone to vaguely suggest something terrible about their story in the comments later agskdhhdj

Oh are they finally gonna explain the fuckin typing quirks?

Nope no they are not

Oh my gosh Roxy stop interfering in people's love livesssss

Jane he could always be some variety of bi or pan

These girls have their priorities all out of wack :/

Wow Dirk are you really just gonna drop the head off like you're leaving it at daycare?

Lmaoooo he's got a little parade behind him

I SPY FEFERIS ANCESTOR OMG NO WONDER THEY GOT VIOLENT SO FUCKIN QUICK

AJHD HI DKDH JAKE USING PESTERCHUM OR WHATEVER ITS CALLED IN THIS SESSION TO CENSOR THE ALIENS NIPPLE I CANT

Uh oh nap time

Vriska??? I spy vriska horns???

OH THATS HER ANCESTOR

Oh she's so cute

<??????? is right, Jake

Jake is turning this into a harem manga

I spy a brobot ripping it's own uranium heart out

LMAO Jane just got hard-core friendzoned

I spy a brobot beating its uranium heart to smithereens in pettiness?

Jane, Jake is basically coming out to you and all you can think about is your own damn crush >:/ (but also I am totally biased gimme the gays, I've barely even seen them interact yet I just want gay rep. Queer them into oblivion Hussie I deserve it)

HELL YEAH PROSPIT QUEEN KICK HIS ASS

ID VALL HER QUEEN AS IN THE SLANG BUT THATD BE REDUNDANT

Hello again Jaspersprite!

HELLO DERSITES PLEASE GO AWAY

h-hewwooo?

OH FUCK OH SHIT OH PISS OH HELL OH FUCK

Another UU? Wtf? Also oo black text thats new

A session with only 2 players 👀 oho?

I AM NOT FEELING YOu, MOTHERFuCKER

I agree Cal is an uncanny grinning mockery and a bad omen and should be chopped up and burned fantastic talk

What the fuck is tumut

Here comes the meteorrrr woooo

BETTY CROCKER ARMAGEDDON?

Did they all get fuckin transported? Tf

I'll be honest this is one of the more confusing cutscenes so far simply because Dirk and Roxy seem to have been instantly transported years into the future which doesn't make sense at all but I'm sure will be explained later

Oh boy and of act 6 act 2

Day 13 of reading homestuck hoo boy

Before we read I just want you to know that I added some homestuck songs to my playlist and now pony chorale is haunting me. Every single time I've listened to music while walking between classes, without fail, pony chorale has come on before I reached my destination and I've had to hold back laughter.

WITHOUT

FAIL

Anyway Roxy is getting the TeaTM from Dirk's glasses

Is it am actual love triangle this time or a haha funniee one? Guess I'll find out but hoo boy teenage crush drama, I do not miss it

NOOOOOO FRIGGLISH

FUUUUUUUCK

"Rogue of Void" is certainly new

Hehe spoipage

Again, I am a simple women, put misspellings and funny words in front of me and I'm guaranteed to laugh its not that hard

I SEE TROLL KEYBOARD

Come on these trolls have gotta be our first trolls' paradox ancestors I wanna meet eeemmmmmm

Woag hi Roxy dreamself

I forgot that Cal is back :(

Well hello Squarewave!

bitch

Dave and Dirk truly got some of the worst modii in the story lmaoo

RAP OFF!!!!!!!

Woahhhh bye bye HB

#breadstuck #kanaya maryam

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hops-hunny · 3 years ago

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College Girls

Pairing: Rodrick Heffley x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.2k

Request: anon “How about Rodrick invites the reader to a party (he’s been crushing on her for the longest) but she plays hard to get and at the party her friends try to convince her to give him a chance and later it leads to them playing 7 minutes in heaven and they confess to each other and it goes from there ;) it could end in smut or fluff your way ly <3”

Summary: (college!au) College girls and their games, good thing Rodrick loves to play.

Warnings: Mentions of weed and alcohol, making out, teasing

A/N: Ok I forgot to make them confess but it’s implied sorry anon. I still hope you enjoy it!

If there was one thing Rodrick knew, college was a shit ton different than high school was. However, that wasn’t a bad thing. Unlimited booze and bud, hot chicks, and parties that never ended? He was practically in heaven! He had grown into himself, feeling more confident than ever since Heather had rejected him his senior year. In fact, he couldn’t recall the last time he thought about her but if he had to pinpoint it, it was a few months ago when she had hit him up, begging the boy to give her a chance. Oh the irony behind that. That was another good thing about college. In high school, all the girls thought he was just some loser who wasted too much time on a band that would always be shit.

But with years of experience under their belt and more free time to practice, Löaded Diaper was beginning to become a big deal in their rinky dink shithole off a small town. God was he glad too because with clout, also came hot girls in skirts that barely covered their ass. The opportunity for endless amounts of hookups was an absolute dream come true, but all dreams lose their shine eventually. When fucking became a mere thing to pass the time between class, gigs, and parties, he realized that it wasn’t as great as he thought it was. He was starting to crave something more, something like or, someone like- her.

God she was a babe. Rodrick still remembered the first time he saw her. Löaded Diaper was doing another house gig, everyone in the crowd dancing and moving to the intense music. And all of a sudden, a strobe light glossed over her perfectly, almost like a halo of blue light and his eyes were hooked. She was there with her friends, one of them whispering something in her ear which caused her to lock eyes with his. Pretty (e/c) eyes meeting his own brown ones. It was almost perfect, almost. As soon as they had finished the last note of their song, without missing a beat she swiftly made her exit and he made his way after her. Rodrick jumped off the stage, chasing after her and her friends all the way till they reached the curb. He grabbed her arm causing the girl to look back.

“Hey, uh, did you enjoy the gig?” He asked, running his fingers through his sweaty hair nervously. He felt his nerves rise even more at the sound of her friends’ giggles.

“I wouldn’t have stayed the whole gig if I didn’t, would I?” she retorted, rolling her eyes as she began to open the passenger door of the black mercedes.

“Yeah, I guess that was a dumb question..” he trailed off as she closed her door. His eyes widened at the fact he hadn’t gotten her name prompting him to take off after the car. He felt relieved as the girl rolled down her window, looking up at him through her thin framed sunglasses. “Wait! I didn’t get your name, I’m Rodrick.” he smirked, watching as she pulled her sunglasses up to rest on the top of her head.

“Didn’t give it.” she quipped, sending him a wink as her friend took off into the distance. Who was she? All he knew about her was that she had a mouth on her and lived on the other side of campus. A lot of girl’s fit that description so it wasn’t easy asking around about her. However, as he stood here in the corner of the party his fraternity was throwing, he’d recognize a pair of nice legs like that from anywhere. His eyes took in her appearance. She had on a denim mini skirt, black turtleneck and a pair of knee high boots that matched. The boy had to practically stop himself from gawking at how good she looked, curves clinging to every bit of the form fitting outfit. He cleared his throat as his friend nudged him, looking to see what he wanted.

“Uh don’t look now, but I think that girl you were eye fucking is definitely eye fucking you back dude. Is that the chick from the gig a few weeks ago that you won’t shut up about?" Rodrick glared at the man, shoving him into the wall before walking towards her. He watched as her friends “coincidentally” all began to head off in other directions, leaving her to offer him a flirty little smile behind the drink she’d been nursing.

“Well if it isn’t the little drummer boy! To what do I owe the pleasure, Rodrick?” she purred, sitting down her now empty cup. She stepped forward, leaving them to be pressed chest to chest. It could easily be blamed on the crowded room but the two knew otherwise. He smirked back at her, wrapping his arms around her waist securely.

“I’m a simple man. I see a pretty girl sending looks my way, I come.” his eyes widened as he began to overthink his word choice. “N-not like that! Like I come over not like cum in my pants. I-I’m not like some virgin...well I’m not some man whore either! I don’t fuck around a lot. Not like the option isn’t there bu-” he quit his nervous ramblings at the sound of her laughter. He relaxed, smiling as the girl wrapped his arms around her neck. He began to lean in thinking she would ask him for a kiss but instead she missed his lips, putting hers next to his ear before whispering,

“Wanna dance?” Before he could answer, the girl (who’s name he still didn’t catch) was dragging him to the dance floor, moving his hands to rest on her hips. He tried to keep his movements as fluid as possible. It took him a bit but eventually his movements matched hers, as they swayed to the beat of the song. She pressed her head against his shoulder, looking up at him as she continued the movements against his pelvic area. “I love this song, it’s one of my favorites.” she whispered. He didn’t know if it was because he was cross faded or his enjoyment of the movements but D’Evils by SiR was beginning to become one of his favorite songs too. How could it not when there was such a pretty girl pressed against his front?

“Yeah? It suits you.” he muttered, leaning his head down to hover his own chapped lips above the girl’s soft gloss covered ones. She hummed in agreement, both of them slowly inching towards each other before she stopped, letting out a cheeky giggle.

“Did you really think I was going to kiss you that easily? You’ve gotta earn it.” She said, dragging a manicured hand against the skin of his neck. He shivered a bit as goosebumps formed, watching as she disappeared back into the crowd. He swore some, groaning as he fiddled with the growing bulge in his jeans. Was he out of the game for too long or had girls always been this hard to get? Either way, he didn’t care. Rodrick was gonna get this girl and her name by the end of the night if it was the last thing he ever did. He broke out of his thoughts, keeping sight of her figure making its way through the beaded curtain which led to the basement of the large frat house. Quickly he chased after her, trying to keep up with her. And, as if on purpose, every time he’d get close she’d flash him that breathtaking smile and continue on her path. Finally, she reached her supposed destination, a small group of people on couches, discussing the plans to play something.

“So, what’s the game?” He asked, causing everyone to look up at him as he sat on the couch farthest from her. He looked at the bottle in the center of the table, proud of himself and his seating choice. The further he was away, the more likely the bottle was to land on the pretty thing across from him.

“7 minutes in heaven. You down?” A brunette girl asked, a flirty look in her buzzed eyes. He ignored her small attempt at an advance, nodding as he locked eyes with the girl of the hour. He shot her a wink, smirking as she rolled her eyes, biting her lip to hide the smile that was making its way onto her face. For someone so adamant about playing this game of cat and mouse, she seemed to be fighting off her feelings very harshly. None of that mattered now though. If there was a god, he hoped he’d be on his side. Never had he wanted to be stuffed inside a muggy dark closet with someone so badly.

“Of course I’m down. Do I look like a pussy to you?” he asked, watching as the (h/c) haired girl opened her mouth. He gave her a pointed look, tilting his head at her. “Don’t answer that, legs.” The girl looked surprised at the nickname but didn’t say anything, trailing her acrylic nails up the curve of her thigh. His brown eyes followed curiously, jumping slightly as she closed her legs quickly giving him a mocking pout. Tonight was going to be a long night.

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

Round after round was filled with surprises, none involving Rodrick or the mystery girl of his affections. Sometimes, the two people involved would cheer or jump up excitedly, ceasing the moment that they were desperately waiting for. Other times they would groan in disgust and hell, he couldn’t blame him with the hygiene of some of these people. Have they ever even heard of a shower, deodorant? Only their BO could tell. However, his odds grew more and more as it was finally his turn to spin the bottle. He picked it up, kissing the empty beer bottle as he made up some prayer. He let out a deep breath before spinning the bottle. As he watched it spin, the only thought he could seem to form was, ‘Please, please please. Cmon, cmon, cmon!’

Finally the bottle began to halt, making a rumbling noise as it stopped. His eyes followed the nose of it, letting out an internal cheer as his eyes met the (e/c) eyes from across from him. He pulled up his jeans before walking over to the girl, holding a hand out to her. She eyed it before smirking up at him, allowing her to pull him up. Rodrick looked down at her hand before tangling his fingers with her own, pulling her towards the closet. Once they both were in there, silence overcame them leaving the muffled music from upstairs to be the filler between silent space. He cleared his throat some, catching the shorter girl’s attention.

“Sooo, um. Would this count as earning it?” He quipped, giving her a flirty grin. The girl rolled her eyes before moving closer to him, pulling him down to her own height as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Rodrick wasted no time, pulling the girl by her hips and planting his on hers. The kiss was everything he’d hope it’d be. Passionate, hot, and filled with every bit of desire that had built up over the course of the party. He nibbled at her lip, causing a moan to slip from her lips. He smirked a bit, pulling away some to look into her eyes a bit.

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting you to be a good kisser. You looked like you would give me a lot of teeth and too much tongue.” she giggled some, tugging his bottom lip between her teeth before releasing it. He rolled his eyes, smirking as he leaned in, nibbling on her neck a bit. He felt victory overcome him at the soft whimper that came from her lips.

“My pride’s a bit wounded, princess.” he purred, lifting her up as he pinned her against the wall. He leaned back in for another kiss, this one more deep and intense than the last. He groaned softly as she tangled her fingers in his hair, gripping at it slightly. He slid his tongue over her bottom lip, quickly tangling it with hers when she opened her mouth. They’re tongues danced a bit, fighting for dominance before he won. He absorbed her moans, sucking on her tongue as he slid a hand under her skirt, stroking the skin of her upper thighs. Rodrick noted how soft her skin was before gripping at it harshly, stroking her hips with his thumbs.

Just as he slid his hands under her shirt, a knock broke them out of their kiss. He groaned in annoyance, pulling away and fixing her clothes for her as the door was ripped open. The (e/c) eyed girl was the first to walk out, looking back at him as if she had something to say.

“(Y/n).” she said, causing him to look at her in confusion. “My name? It’s (Y/n). I hope this isn’t a habit of yours, making out with girls whose names you don’t even know.” she said, looking up at him expectantly. His mouth opened and closed as he stuttered, searching for the words to say. He cleared his throat before grabbing her hand, beginning the path to his own room.

“Not anymore it isn’t.”

#rodrick x reader #rodrick heffley #rodrick #diary of a wimpy kid #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick heffley x y/n #rodrick x y/n #rodrick x you #rodrick heffley imagine

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yellowocaballero · 4 years ago

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He’s Just Not That Into You: Web!Jon and Martin ficlet

Another ficlet written in the same universe as The Convention on Chronographer Lane/The Monster at the End of This Book. As before, you don’t need to have read that to read this. These ficlets are being written as character studies so I get a good handle on the uniqueness of the characters in this AU before I actually write something longer. Which is why they’re...like this.

Very slight content warning for internalized fatphobia and Jon being interpreted as being a creep again. Reverse content warning for Martin’s tasty pasta.

EDIT 2/4/2021: With the release of Sucker’s Bet, which this story was a kind of pilot study for, this story is no longer canon. However, you can still consider it a 15 page summary of that entire story. I’m sad I couldn’t keep the ‘join my spider cult’ thing but we all make sacrifices.

Martin was in the middle of making a delicious pot of pasta when Jonathan Sims crawled in through his kitchen window.

Martin stared at Jonathan Sims, too out of it to even be surprised. Jon halted halfway through his entrance, sitting on the windowsill with one leg swung over it to rest on his floor, one leg on the fire escape above. Martin was on the sixth floor of his flat complex.

“Hullo,” Jon said, as if he was not in his window, “have you reconsidered my offer of -”

Martin threw his spoon at Jon, hitting him squarely on the forehead. Jon cursed, shocked into leaning backwards, and he accidentally topped off the window and onto the fire escape. He landed on the metal grid with a loud crash and a rattle, and the muffled sounds of his cursing echoed through the flat.

After a second to grab a new spoon and turn down the heat on the pot, Martin walked over to the window and wiggled it down again. He looked Jon dead in the eyes as he locked it, before going back to his pasta.

It was good. He should add some pesto and herbs next time.

Martin was in the middle of making a delicious pot of pasta when Jonathan Sims crawled in through his kitchen window.

“Hullo,” Jon said, as if he was not in his window, “have you reconsidered my offer of -”

It was good. He should add some pesto and herbs next time.

***

Martin had never really bothered to learn how to cook, but now that he was unemployed he had plenty of time.

Now that he was unemployed, he had plenty of time for lots of things. He was finally taking up knitting again. Lots of seasons of Jane the Virgin to catch up on. His severance package from the Institute had been pretty good, not to mention the check Rosie had slipped him with a wink that she had worryingly called ‘Hazard Pay’, but this was London and even Martin could only make the money stretch so far. He spent eight hours of his day looking for jobs, touting his five year experience as a librarian and six month experience as an Archival assistant. But there was only so far you could go without a degree, and the market was shit, and really wouldn’t it just be so much easier to list a master’s in library science from some huge, anonymous university…

But Martin had the feeling that line of thought was what had put him on Jon’s radar in the first place.

***

A week later Martin was halfway through a comforting Gilmore Girls rewatch when he heard a knock on his door. He had been fastidiously avoiding answering knocks on the door ever since Jon had pulled his first Jehovah’s Witness impression, but he had ordered a replacement washing machine part and it was arriving that day. He put his knitting down and got up, peering through the eyehole - hair not nearly long enough to be Jon, great - and opened the door.

“Hullo,” the man said in a thick Cockney accent, not looking up from his clipboard, “I got a package here for Mr. Blackwood?”

“Yes, that’s me.” Martin held out his hands to take the little screen and sign for the package. After a second of clumsy fumbling, the man passed the package and the screen over, and Martin boredly scribbled his name. “Thanks, mate -”

But the man was gone, and Martin had realized belatedly that the man had slipped past Martin to enter his flat. He easily slid the cap off, letting his tightly curled hair cascade down to his shoulders, and propped his hands on his hips as he spun in a circle, admiring Martin’s extraordinarily boring and cramped flat.

“Really love what you’ve done with the place!” Jonathan Sims said loudly. “Your sense of interior design is really impeccable, Martin, truly. A man’s home is his castle! Oh, is that vintage chintz? So cute.”

“Get out of my house.”

“Look at this ceramic kitten!” Jon was already in front of his mantle, carefully scrutinizing his little row of ceramic figures. They were fifty pence at the charity shops and Martin found them precious and charming, okay? “Your place has so much personality. My flat has personality too, but I’m afraid that personality just screams a propensity towards arson, so it’s much less impressive. How old is that couch, from the 70s? Very grandmother. Is it inherited?”

Yes. “No,” Martin said, resisting the urge to throttle the man as he dumped his washing machine part on the end table, “and please get out of my flat. I’ve said explicitly I don’t want you where I live -”

“Really, Martin, I’m hardly a vampire,” Jon said, having the gall to look offended as he cradled a little meowing ceramic kitten in his hand. “If I needed permission to enter dwellings I’d never go anywhere.” He paused a beat, something seeming to occur to him. “But I get a lot of permission from many different people of a variety of genders to enter their homes for sex, which I am very good at.” He paused again. “I really am very thirsty. I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a spot of tea…?”

Because Martin was British, he made the tea. But he resented every second of it.

Jon hadn’t started stalking him immediately after he and his weirdo friends had murdered Martin’s boss, but it was pretty close. He had probably thought a week was enough time to emotionally recover from the ordeal of finding out that your boss’ boss was an immortal apocalypse cultist or whatever and that your boss was actually just a plant from a different and somehow creepier apocalypse cult inserted into your workplace to assassinate his boss. He had probably thought that a week was enough time to emotionally recover from the fact that Jonathan Sims - prickly, rude, pretentious Head Archivist with a heart of gold - was an elaborate fabrication, and that the man whom Martin had been falling for had never truly existed at all.

A week had not been enough time.

He didn’t even know Jon’s real name.

“So what is your real name, anyway?” They were, unfortunately, sitting at Martin’s rinky-dink kitchen table, complete with little pock-marked burn scars in the wood and a wobbly leg. Martin had a magazine rolled up and jammed under the leg, which he was uncomfortably aware of as Jon lounged in his hard little wooden chair as if it was a thousand dollar gaming chair. The fake UPS uniform helped make him look like something other than a movie star, but it was hard to disguise the sharp and haughty features and the cold grey eyes. He had kept the ceramic cat, placing it in front of him with its little plainative face turned towards Martin.

“What makes you think it’s not Jonathan Sims?” Jon asked archly, sipping at his PG Tips out of a chipped black mug. He made a faint face. “Sorry, is there cream for this? I hate black tea.”

“You always take your tea black,” Martin said automatically. Jon stared at him until he got it. “Of course. Right.”

By the time he got back to the table with the sugar and cream Jon was going through his mail, with absolutely no shame whatsoever. “Bill, bill, overdue bill. You’re hurting for money, aren’t you? You know, I might know someone who’s hiring -”

“If you’re about to say a giant spider that’s going to lay eggs in my stomach and then burst out of my skin and transform me into a spider person, I have to pass.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Jon blatantly lied. “I just don’t think you’re hearing me out. Has anybody ever told you that you’re very unwilling to listen to new ideas?”

“When the new idea is joining a spider cult, then yes. Actually, no, because nobody’s ever asked me that before I met you.”

Jon didn’t seem to pick up on Martin’s extraordinarily pained expression, or maybe he just didn’t care. He leaned in instead, easily dropping a grotesque amount of sugar cubes into his tea. “Just consider it. Let the idea percolate in your mind. There’s a lot of benefits. No more worrying about money. No more putting in all that work to manipulate people. It’d be as easy as breathing for you. Anybody you want to like you likes you, and anybody you hate has their life ruined in days.” Something glinted with light in Jon’s grey eyes, like a spotlight shining off a raincloud. “Anybody you want to fall in love with you does so instantly. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“All for the low, low price of selling my soul to a giant spider god,” Martin said sarcastically. Jon nodded fastidiously, as if it really was a low price. “Seriously, Jon? I have no interest in any of this. I don’t even know why you’ve singled me out to stalk. I don’t - I don’t like manipulating people, it’s not some kind of hobby -”

“Liar. You love manipulating people.” Jon sipped his tea, as if bored. “Honestly, Martin, we’re all friends here. I won’t judge. You don’t need to virtue signal. We both love manipulating people, getting what we want, putting on personas. We like to control how people see us, no matter what that perception is. You believe that ends justify the means, I believe that good means result in good ends. We’ve very similar.” Something strange entered Jon’s expression, almost entirely hidden by the tea, and for the first time Martin wondered if this was an expression Jon hadn’t meant for him to see. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who is exactly like me. We should work together. You’re so well suited for the Mother. You’d be a treasured son. Valued, celebrated, loved. Everything you always wanted, you can have.”

Silence stretched between them. Martin let Jon think that he was thinking it over, staring into his own cup of Earl Grey and letting the slowly wafting steam fog up his glasses. Jon sipped his tea again, still posed casually yet attractively. In a brief yet stupid spurt of nostalgia Martin found himself missing the man he thought Jonathan Sims had been.

Stupid. Loving Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist, had been as real as crushing on a love interest in a dating sim. Instead, Martin leaned in, and Jon leaned in to match him. Martin locked eyes with him, as sincerely as he possibly could. No lies, no artifice. “Stop projecting your insecurity about your own bad decisions on me,” Martin enunciated clearly, and Jon’s eyes widened in shock. “and get out of my house.”

He did, eventually. Maybe that was one of a million surprising things about Jonathan Sims, or whatever his real name was: Martin could always get him to do what he wanted eventually.

***

Martin did not spend time thinking about Jonathan Sims, mostly because he had the feeling that this was what Jonathan Sims wanted.

Instead, he frantically piled more and more projects and work into his free time. Ever since he was seventeen, Martin had always held down at least three jobs. His life was a never-ending rotation of a six am to three pm shift at Papa John’s, then a three pm to ten pm shift at Panera, and then stumbling home to stuff a ready meal in the microwave before doing it all over again only to work his third weekend job on the weekends. It had gotten to the point where he had paid the unemployed downstairs neighbor living on disability cheques to feed and occasionally take care of Mum because he hadn’t had time to do it himself. Martin could have have just dropped a job and scraped by on two so he could take care of Mum himself, but - well, it wasn’t hurting anybody. His neighbor had needed the cheques, right?

In comparison, the Institute had been an absolute dream. Work from nine to five, every day, then come home and crash. There had been benefits, insurance. It probably said something that even after discovering that both of his bosses had been cultists to Lovecraftian horrors who wanted to end the world or whatever, it was still the best job he ever had. He even missed it, sometimes - missed listening to Sasha and Tim joke around, missed the repetitive work, missed harmlessly and shallowly crushing on his persnickety boss who sometimes flashed a smile at him that made his heart melt.

Fucker had known exactly what he was doing.

That was what got Martin, even now. What had been the point? Jon had been there to infiltrate Elias’ plans for a Head Archivist, or so Sasha had confusingly explained after the fact. The skeptic, pissy act was to show himself off as an ideal candidate: willfully ignorant, psychologically vulnerable, and utterly isolated from everyone. What was the point of...of...seducing Martin?

The thought made Martin want to die. Imagine living a life where you woke up in the morning and thought to yourself, ‘Today I’m going to seduce the ugly, fat, high school dropout in my extensive long con to save/destroy the world’. It was like he was a movie star in a heist film or something, only cruel and pointless.

Was it just to make fun of him? Martin had thought it was. But as he...interacted with Jon more and more, he got the sense that his fascination with Martin was genuine. He genuinely saw something of himself in Martin.

Unless that was a lie too, and he just needed something from Martin. Unless Jon knew that Martin knew that he was conning him, and that there was another reason -

Martin had the terrible sense that Jon lived his life like this, always guessing and second guessing and triple guessing. It sounded...very tiring.

He didn’t know how to explain any of this to Tim. They got together every so often for drinks - actually, Tim texted him asking to hang out, playing it all cool as if he went out and got drinks with tons of buddies all the time but was doing Martin a favor. Martin had the sense that he was hiding a deep and pervasive loneliness, but these days whenever Martin went down too deep a spiral of teasing out motivations he felt like Jon, so he quickly cut it out.

“What’s there to get?” Tim said, throwing back his pint. “He’s an asshole who pretended to be our friend for months, and he turned out to be a total creep who leads a spider cult. You know, as happens sometimes!”

Sometimes Martin got the sense that Tim was a little bitter about what happened at the Archives. He didn’t really have a good thread on why yet, but he had the sense it was because Tim had ‘adopted’ Jon as his friend very intensely and that made him react badly to the perceived betrayal - no! No psychoanalyzing! Not today!

“It do be like that sometimes,” Martin said wisely, peeling away the label at his shitty beer. The bar was crowded, noisy, and dim, and it was hard to hear Tim over the noise. “I don’t know, though. If that was all there was to it, he wouldn’t be showing up at my house all the time…”

“Wait, what?”

Martin explained in short order, trying not to feel embarrassed about it. Tim seemed to grow increasingly furious, and Martin found himself trailing off uncertainly near the end.

“He’s doing the same thing to Sasha,” Tim said lowly. “Fucking freak.”

“Wait, what? He’s been bothering Sasha?” Jesus, that really was creepy. Come to think of it, Martin hadn’t seen Sasha around lately - she used to come get drinks with them right after they all got fired, but the last three invites she had begged off and said that she was ‘dealing with a lot right now’ and that she was ‘really swamped’. Martin was pretty sure that she was also unemployed, so he didn’t really know what she was swamped with, but it wasn’t any of his business. Maybe she was depressed. “Like, is he also trying to recruit her into the spider cult, or…?”

Weirdly, Martin felt a weird pang of disappointment at that. He had thought that what he and Jon had was special.

Ha ha. As if.

“I don’t know!” Tim cried, frustrated. He was gripping his pint glass tightly, as if he wished he was wrapping his fingers around Jon’s very slim and attractive neck instead. “First he keeps bothering Sasha, and now he keeps breaking into your house and flirting with you -”

“What!” Martin squeaked. “He’s not -”

“He’s a predator,” Tim said finally, as if he was a judge delivering a verdict. “Fucking freak. Martin, next time he drops by, I want you to call me immediately. I’ll kick his ass for you.”

“I’m a grown man, I can kick his ass by myself,” Martin said lamely, fully aware that he had never kicked an ass in his life and never would.

“Don’t let that bully intimidate you,” Tim lectured, like the overbearing big brother Martin had always kind of secretly wanted. “He’s just a grifter, spider cult or not. Seriously, Martin, next time he bothers you call me. I have more than a few things I want to say to the bastard.”

It was heartwarming, almost. “You haven’t seen him since he killed Elias, right?”

Tim looked away, scowling. “Nope. Dunno why, if he’s hassling you two. I’m the only one with some serious questions I need to ask him, and he hasn’t even - whatever.” He looked back at Martin, forcing a great big smile. “Really, if he wants a hottie, why isn’t he knocking on my door, right? Like, come on, I’m single and ready to -”

“How’s the job hunt going, Tim!”

“I’m trying to get back into publishing, what do you think! Kill me!”

Martin liked Tim. If you had asked him four months ago if they were really friends, he would have smiled and deflected, because he was pretty sure that Tim was just that friendly to everybody. Martin always felt insecure with friendly and nice people, because he never knew if they were being friendly to him because they liked him and considered him a friend, or if they were just like that with everyone.

But they still got drinks when they didn’t have to, and the expression of tight and barely controlled rage that flashed through his face when he thought that Sasha and Martin were in danger from Jon was real. Maybe they really were friends.

Maybe there was something deeply buried and long since repressed in Tim that was destroying him slowly from the inside. Maybe Martin and Sasha had that too, that rot: the way Sasha would carelessly invade privacy to hack inside people’s private files without even thinking about it, the way that Martin would almost instinctively balance impression management with playing down to expectations with always dissecting people in a ruthless search for a weak point without even thinking about it.

Maybe they were all bad people, every one of them. It felt sometimes as if Martin had a corrupt and diseased heart, that infected parts of his body with a sick necrosis. He hurt people when he didn’t want to; he said things he didn’t mean. There was something rotten and evil in Martin, and sometimes it felt as if he couldn’t help but pass it along from person to person.

Man hands on misery to man, Phillip Larkin said, it deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, and don’t have any kids yourself.

Well, Martin had the second part down. He was still working on the first.

***

But Martin was right to worry, because when he woke up at seven the next morning to shamble into his living room, he flipped the light switch to see Jonathan Sims sitting on his grandma couch flipping through his meager collection of books.

“You don’t read very much, do you?” Jon said.

“How did you get into my house.”

“Told the landlord I was the exterminator and needed to get in to spray for bugs.” Jon tossed the book on the battered coffee table - 1984 - and reclined on the sofa. “You really do have quite a bit of spiders, though. Want me to take care of that? Do you want more spiders? I can get you as many spiders as you like.”

The way he sat was purposeful, the way one of his black boots with a low heel was propped on the coffee table, the way his dark and closely cut trousers were slightly splayed, his tight black turtleneck highlighting his figure was slightly hidden by a fine white silk jacket. The small part of Martin’s mind that used to work at a dry-cleaners inanely wondered how difficult that jacket was to keep clean. Most of Martin’s mind was occupied realizing that Tim was right, and that Jon was flirting with him.

“What do I have to say to get you to leave my house,” Martin said, instead of asking why, why, why, why. He knew why - spider cult purposes - but why -

“Lots of poetry collections, though,” Jon said, and Martin knew that he had caught him looking. He had a little half-smile: half encouraging, half shy. “You have great taste. I’m a Yeats fan too.”

Sure. “Name one Yeats poem.”

“The Stolen Child,” Jon said instantly.

Martin narrowed his eyes. “What do you like about it?”

Jon was silent.

“Thought so.” Martin pointed at his door. “Out.”

There it was, a brief explosion, so quick that Martin might have thought he imagined it: grinding teeth, sloping eyebrows, a scowl. A flash of irritation: here one second, gone the next. “I like your poetry, though,” Jon attacked, a different angle. “Your imagery is very vivid.”

What the fuck. “You went through my diary?” Martin screeched.

“Yes?” Jon looked slightly flummoxed. “I was doing research. People like it when you display interest in their hobbies.”

“I am making coffee,” Martin said, voice strangled, “and I am making breakfast. And if you refuse to leave, you are not saying a single word until I’ve had caffeine.”

And then Martin refused to acknowledge Jon any more. Martin quickly realized that Jon hated this very much, used to being the center of attention wherever he was, and it was an extremely effective method of making him throw himself into a kitchen chair and sulk as the coffee pot sputtered out a cup. Martin focused himself on heating up the pan and cracking a few eggs into a bowl, whisking it absentmindedly as he clenched his mobile.

He should call Tim. He had never known Jon to get violent, but that didn’t mean anything. The guy was...he was…

He glanced back at Jon, who had his arms crossed and was frowning down at the stained wood of the kitchen table. He didn’t seem to know Martin was looking, and it occurred to Martin for the first time that this might be the authentic Jon: tired and frustrated and uncertain what he was doing wrong.

The eggs sizzled on the frying pan, and Martin pushed them around with a spatula. “What do you like on your eggs?”

Jon looked up, surprised, before rearranging his expression into something cool and distant. “Surprise me.”

Martin served them cheesy with herbs, just for that. When Jon took a bite he looked surprised, as if he had been expecting something spiteful and received only something good in exchange.

When he put a cup of Early Grey in front of him, with sugar congealing on the bottom and rosy brown from the cream, he looked surprised again too.

“You’re excellent at reading people,” Jon said, carefully directly after Martin had a sip of his coffee. “Mother would -”

“Do you want to make a bargain?” Martin asked.

That caught Jon’s attention. He smiled winningly, leaning in, hair carefully arranged to fall over one shoulder in a painfully attractive way. “I could be convinced.”

“If you knock on my door at a reasonable hour, then I will let you in and we can talk or whatever. I’ll make us tea. I don’t care.”

Jon’s grin only widened, and when Martin felt a foot brush his leg he had to fight the urge to jump a foot in the air. “What’ll I do in exchange?”

“You let up on the sales pitch,” Martin said severely, and physically moved his chair further away from Jon. “And you stop lying to me. And for christ’s sake, stop pretending you’re into me.”

Jon blinked, expression falling in shock.

He scrambled to paste something back on, but it was as if he couldn’t decide. Martin saw him half-cycle through different expressions, different appearances: abashed, eager, flirtatious. It was as if he was frantically guessing which Jon would work best to convince Martin to do what he wanted, but he just couldn’t decide.

Finally, he weakly asked, “What makes you think I’m not into you?”

Martin couldn’t help it: he scoffed bitterly. “Guess someone like you was never asked out as a joke in secondary. Nobody would honestly find me attractive. Everything you do is calculated, Jon, and I’m not vain enough to think the flirting is an exception. It’s obvious.”

“I’m not obvious,” Jon said, physically fighting to keep his expression from twisting into anger. It was...obvious. He eventually forced his expression into something wide-eyed and sincere, reaching out a hand to place on Martin’s arm. It was warm, but it settled oddly on Martin’s skin. Something about it didn’t feel like a human arm. “That’s just your low-self esteem talking, love. When I look at you, I see -”

“A sucker?”

Jon opened his mouth, then closed his. His hand was still on Martin’s arm. Martin didn’t know why he hadn’t shaken it off. “I see someone very kind,” Jon said, almost lamely. “I like that in a man.”

“Yeah, sure.” Martin shook his hand off - disgusted with Jon, disgusted with himself. Someone like Jon - attractive, confident, smooth - could never understand how it felt. He didn’t know why he expected him to. “I don’t know why you aren’t leaving me or Sasha alone, or why you’re trying to recruit us both into your spider cult -”

“I’m trying to recruit Sasha into my vigilante superhero team, actually.”

“Whatever. Point is, if I can’t get rid of you, I don’t want our conversations to be exhausting. These...games you’re always playing,” Martin waved his hand demonstratively as he chugged coffee with the other, “are tiring. Maybe - maybe you and I are similar, Jon. But the difference between us is that I find these games tiring. I don’t like doing it. I - what I want is a relationship where there’s no games. Where I can just be me and the other person can just be them. Don’t you want that too?”

Jon stared at him, eyes wide, almost shocked, almost hesitant, almost hopeful.

Finally, he said, “I only trust three people.”

“I’m not asking you to trust me,” Martin, who trusted nobody, said exasperatedly. What did it say, that the leader of the spider cult trusted more people than Martin did? “I’m just asking you not to lie to me.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Jon said, before pausing a beat. “I’d trust you if you joined my spider cult.”

“You’re shit out of luck, then. And you’re not going to convince me.” Martin took another sip of his coffee, hiding his trembling hands. “Because you can’t lie to me, Jon. Face it: I’m almost as good as you are.” He smiled wryly. “As good as someone can get without supernatural powers, anyway.”

Jon stared at him, just stared, and Martin let the moment linger in silence as he cut into his eggs. Finally, he said, “You’ll tolerate my presence if I agree to drop the act.”

“Yep.”

“I’m not sure how to drop the act,” Jon admitted, somewhat embarrassed, as if he was admitting to not knowing how to tie his shoes.

Martin rolled his eyes. “Do your best. You must have been normal at one point.”

“When I was normal,” Jon said, “nobody tolerated me at all.”

The shocking honesty made Martin almost gag on his coffee. Jon’s eyes widened again, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just said, as if he had never meant to say it. As if nobody had ever heard it at all.

“Now that we’re actually getting somewhere,” Martin said, tactfully not touching that barrel of worms - er, spiders - with a two meter pole. “Can you please tell me your real name? Unless it was, like, wiped from your mind by your spider mom? Is this like one of those cult things were they rename you for indoctrination purposes?” Something terrible occurred to him. “Is every guy in your cult named John and every woman named Annabelle? It was just a fake name you gave to Elias, right? Right?”

Jon - whoever he was - stared at Martin, completely and utterly dumbfounded.

Then he laughed, long and hard, hoarse and wheezing and breathy, and Martin knew that this, at least, was real.

***

Martin: I think I’ve taken care of the Jon thing

Martin: Probably

Martin: The guy’s kinda hopeless

Tim: ya sash said that hes cool

Tim: apparently shes a vigilante now? or smth? Idk

Martin: Yeah that seems about right

Martin: At least she’s living her best life?

Tim: ya good for her honestly

Tim: ….so does Spider-Man KNOW how to use all eight of those arms ifyaknowwhatimean

Martin: WE! ARE! JUST! FRIENDS!

***

“ - so then after my father passed tragically of brain cancer, I was raised by my emotionally distant and disaffected Gran. I think she’s the one who taught me that if I ever want anything in life, I have to secure it for myself. I’ve been very independent ever since I was a child, and although my social skills have always been naturally lacking I’ve worked to compensate for that by studying the art of social interaction. I guess you could call it somewhat of a special interest of mine, I like to sit in coffeeshops with my sister Annabelle and study passerby -”

“Uh huh.”

“Did you know forty percent of Britons own pets? I think it reveals interesting things about the human psychology. The domestication of dogs has always been fascinating, of course. Did you know that all dogs are descended directly from the grey wolf? There were other wolf species at the time, but they’ve long since gone extinct.”

“Wow.”

“I know! The evolution of what we today determine as dog breeds were only created in the Victorian era. I’m sure Jonah would have had some thoughts on that, if I hadn’t fed him to my mother. Actually, few people know this, but our modern conceptualization of the wolf pack hierarchy has been thoroughly debunked. Alphas and omegas only exist in captive populations. Tell that to the werewolves, huh! Actually, I organize the weekly Avatar poker games - you can come if you’re interested, great way to make some money - and I actually did tell that to the werewolves, and they were not very happy with me -”

“Jon? I can’t hear the movie.”

“Right, right.” Jon passed Martin the popcorn. “So what’s this one about?”

Martin scooped up a handful of the popcorn without shame, feeding it in a steady stream into his mouth. “About a guy who gets turned into a fly.”

“That’s fun,” Jon said warmly. “I turned a guy into a fly once. He got stuck in a spider-web immediately and everything, it was quite entertaining.” At Martin’s horrified look, he quickly followed it up with, “Gerry had found out that he was illegally evicting tenants who were undergoing cancer treatment, asking for rent before it was due and physically intimidating the tenants and everything. He also stole one thousand dollars worth of goods from Whole Foods and everything, which is quite funny if you think about it -”

“How does someone steal a thousand dollars with of stuff from Whole Foods? It’s a grocery store.”

“I know, right!” Jon threw up his hands, accidentally sending some pieces of popcorn flying. “The rich are the true parasites, Martin! I’m speaking as an insect person!”

“Word.”

Martin ate more popcorn, and noticed Jon carefully brush his crossed legs against Martin’s knee.

Well, he was trying. He’d stop pretending to like Martin eventually.

They’d get there. ;

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfic #tma fanfic #web!jon #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #ME? WRITING JONMARTIN? ITS LESS LIKELY THAN YOUD THINK #tim stoker #feat. tim's protective streak martin's low self-esteem and jon's theater special interest #ftr jon is sex-repulsed and never had any intention of actually going there with martin he just knew martin was into him #offscreen jon was throwing chairs like 'WHY CANT I SEDUCE THIS MAN WHO I SIN LOVE WITH ME'#gerry playing video games: because you actually like him back and you can't handle feelings that are genuinely your own #jon: 'i think ill just flirt harder actually'

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ticklishfiend · 4 years ago

Text

Spoiled Afternoon

The Disastrous Life of Saiki K - Saiki, Kaidou, Kuboyasu

a/n: alrighty here’s my saiki k fic i promised LMAO it’s not great as i wrote it kinda quickly but maybe it’ll hold me off until i get bored and maybe make another hehe. anyways!! hope you enjoy! :)

. . .

School days like today felt like absolute bliss to Saiki. It was possibly the most boring day imaginable when it comes to PK High, and he was on top of the world. At this point, the only thing that made him feel even more excited was the prospect of being able to go home alone and have an even more boring afternoon. It was a heavenly thought, really.

“Nendo, you’re not even gonna ask to go get ramen?” Kaidou asked the taller boy next to him as they all strolled home together. “I mean, you ask that like every day, is something wrong?”

“Did I not tell you two? I finally got another job!” Nendo exclaimed, smiling brightly at the boys, Kaidou being beside him and Saiki right behind. “I’m actually headed there right now, guess it just slipped my mind to let my best buds know hehe.”

Yeah, that’s not gonna last very long, Saiki thought. I won’t be surprised if he gets fired before he even arrives.

“That’s great man! Where are you working?” Kaidou asked, before Nendo stopped walking and pointed down a road they don’t usually walk.

“Just some rinky-dink stop-n-go shop down that way. I could show you guys the place if you want!” Nendo smiled widely, his hand gesturing towards a shop down the road that looked...less than friendly. Thugs were gathered outside the door, a fog gathering around the entrance that upon further inspection seems to actually be cigarette smoke.

Kaidou’s face turned sour, his brows furrowing awkwardly as his eyes never left the scary store’s front. “Uhm...I’d love to Nendo, really, but I...I have to study! Yeah, so much homework tonight it’s kinda overwhelming!” Kaidou laughed nervously, a hand scratching the back of his head.

Kaidou, we all have the same classes, surely you don’t think Nendo won’t realize-

“Oh, I understand buddy! Well, you’re free to stop by anytime! My hours are from 3 to 8!” Nendo waved as he started making his way down the road opposite to the other boys. “Bye buddies!”

Oh right. How could I forget Nendo’s raging idiocy?

“Jeez, that was a close one,” Kaidou spoke as the two boys began making their way as far from that road as possible. “I hope Nendo will be okay over there, it seems really rough.”

Nendo’s a pretty big guy, he can fight his own battles if he needs to. Honestly, his surprising athleticism might be the only thing that could help him keep that job, Saiki thought. Thanks to Nendo, I don’t even have to worry about getting food with these morons, I can just go straight home with no distractions or obstacles in my w-

“Oh hey, Kuboyasu!” Kaidou shouted happily, waving his hands toward the purple-haired teen in front of them. What a pain, just another thing to slow me down from my goal. “What are you doing in this alley, I thought your house was down the other way?”

“I was actually looking for you guys. Speaking of which, where’s Nendo?” Kuboyasu asked, looking around the other two boys as if Nendo’s huge frame could be hiding behind them somewhere.

“He got himself a job down that creepy road over there, some scary-looking shop surrounded by a bunch of thugs,” Kaidou shivered just thinking about it. Kuboyasu’s eyes widened like he knew the exact place he was talking about. Saiki read his thoughts only to find out he witnessed some crazy shit there once during his bad-boy phase. Yikes. “Anyways, why were you looking for us?”

Kuboyasu was suddenly transported out of his thoughts and back into the real world. “O-Oh, right!” He reached into his backpack and pulled out a game cartridge. “I bought this game a while back and I heard it’s much more fun if you play multiplayer. It only goes up to three people, but now that Nendo’s at work all three of us could totally play together!”

Great. Why today of all days did Nendo have to start a new job?

Kuboyasu handed the game over to Kaidou for him to look at, the blue-haired boy’s eyes going wide with excitement. “Wait, I’ve heard of this game! Oh my god, we have to play this, it was one of the top rated games last year!”

I’ve heard of this one too. It’s some fighting style game much akin to Mortal Kombat. Why would Kuboyasu even buy this kind of game if he didn’t have anyone to play with? Everyone knows fighting computers is never as fun. Still, I’m not going. I’d much rather sleep the afternoon away.

“My mom doesn’t really let me play many games so I didn’t get to buy it when it came out, so this would be the perfect opportunity for me to play!” Kaidou continued.

Oh, so now you’re gonna pull the mean-mom card to try and get me to play with you guys? Well it’s not gonna work, I’ve been looking forward to this afternoon all day and I’m not gonna let some-

“I’ve got snacks at my house too so you guys won’t go hungry while playing. Oh, Saiki, isn’t your favorite coffee jelly? I’ve got plenty of that in my fridge, you’re free to as much of it as you like!” Kuboyasu smiled in Saiki’s direction.

…

Wow, this coffee jelly is really amazing, who knew Kuboyasu’s mom knew how to make it homemade?!

Saiki smiled contently to himself as he happily ate his first coffee jelly of the day. He was sat on the floor in front of Kuboyasu’s bedroom TV, Kaidou on his right with Kuboyasu on Kaidou’s right.

“That’s such a bummer that your mom doesn’t let you play video games,” Kuboyasu remarked, his hands behind him on the floor to prop himself up.

“Well she does let me play some games, she just likes to make sure it won’t interfere with my grades. Basically I’m only allowed to play anything if my grades are good which...they’re rarely anything great,” Kaidou’s face blushed softly, an embarrassed hand coming up to scratch at his shoulder.

“She won’t get mad at you for being at my house, right?”

“Nah, doubt it, as long as I study when I get home I’ll be good,” Kaidou responded sheepishly.

Kuboyasu smiled, reaching his body forward and grabbing the game from off the ground in front of him. “In that case, you guys ready?”

Kaidou nodded excitedly. Jesus, Kaidou, you look like a little kid on Christmas, calm down.

Kuboyasu pushed his glasses upward before placing the game into the console, grabbing the three controllers on his TV stand and handing two of them to the other boys.

What a pain. I’m only here for the coffee jelly, do I really have to play this game with these two? Saiki thought while sitting down his empty bowl beside him on the floor, reaching out to grab the gaming controller offered to him. I guess I might as well. I don't want to be rude and ask for another bowl.

The game loaded up, each of the boys picking their characters (Kaidou picking his with extreme excitement and enthusiasm as if he’d never played a video game in his life).

Saiki decided to go easy on the boys, especially Kaidou. I could win this game with extreme ease if I wanted to, I basically know all the insides and outs of it at this point. But, Kaidou seems really excited about it. I should let him have this.

Saiki died within the first few minutes of the first match at the hands of Kaidou, Kuboyasu dying mere moments later, leaving Kaidou the winner of that round. The blue-haired teen’s hands shot straight in the air at this, an excited “HA!” leaving his lips. Maybe that stroked his ego a bit too much. Kaidou’s arms remained in the air with pride as the next round began to load up. Kuboyasu just rolled his eyes and jabbed two fingers into the boy’s ribs, making him jolt back in surprise with a yelp. Kuboyasu grinned.

Once their new round finally loaded up completely, one of Kuboyasu’s thoughts caught Saiki’s attention. “I know exactly how I’m gonna win this one. Sure, it’s a dirty way to play, but at least I’m not hurting him.”

Again, Saiki decided to die close to the beginning of the match (again at the hands of Kaidou), but this time with different intent. I’m honestly a little intrigued to see how this plays out, but I don’t want to be caught in the middle of it. As long as I die first, they can hash it out between the two of them, leaving me out of it.

Kaidou’s face was contorted in concentration, his eyes never leaving the screen in front of him as determination to win took over. Saiki noticed Kuboyasu’s eyes slowly beginning to glance at Kuboyasu, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Finally, Kuboyasu shot out his left hand to Kaidou’s right side, squeezing with intent as his right hand continued to use the controller, now beating Kaidou. Kaidou nearly jumped out of his skin before letting out a loud laugh.

“Wahahait! Stohohop! That’s not fahahair! This is cheheheating!” Kaidou cackled, his right arm shooting down to protect his side while he continued trying to play the game. It was really no use, though, as his eyes were squeezed shut so he couldn’t even see the screen.

“You got a little too cocky last match, it was annoying. Plus, I’ve played this game dozens of times, so this is wayyy more fun for me,” Kuboyasu grinned, his character on screen finally beating Kaidou’s. He didn’t let up, though, now sitting down his controller to tickle both of Kaidou’s sides.

“Nohoho mohohore! I gihihive! I’m sohohorry!” Kaidou howled, flopping his body completely down on the floor and rolling over on his side. Kuboyasu began moving one hand upwards towards Kaidou’s armpit, and the laughing boy underneath him began kicking his legs out. “Nohoho! Not thehere! Plehehease!”

Can it really be this bad? I mean, I know I’ve never been tickled before but Jesus, Kaidou sounds like he’s being murdered, Saiki thought to himself, his eyes not being able to leave the heaping pile of giggles on the floor before him. It’s true, Saiki had never been tickled before. Sure, his parents definitely tried to when he was little, but he would always just teleport away before they got the chance. Plus, he had never really had friends growing up to tickle him, so he was just completely in confusion at how it could really be that bad that it had his classmate on the floor begging for it to stop like that.

Finally, Kuboyasu let up, backing away from the giggling boy to give him some air. The purple-haired teen had a smirk on his face that wouldn’t disappear, a look of almost endearment plastered on.

“That was so unfair, you totally could’ve killed me!” Kaidou whined, finally sitting up but not moving his arms from his abdomen like he was scared it would all happen again if he moved them.

“Relax, I just tickled you, you big baby,” Kuboyasu rolled his eyes with a grin. “Not my fault you’re so ticklish.”

Kaidou was blushing furiously, his arms crossed and face contorted in a childlike pout. Suddenly, Kuboyasu looked up at Saiki curiously, his head cocked to the side.

“Yknow, Saiki, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh before,” he said with a smirk, his gaze wandering down to meet with Kaidou’s.

Saiki’s eyes went wide, a feeling of dread he’d never felt before pooling in his stomach.

No. No no no, no way this is happening. I have to get out of here. I have to do SOMETHING-

Before Saiki had time to come up with an escape plan, Kaidou pounced on top of him, knocking him down to the floor on his back. Kuboyasu scrambled over to where Saiki’s head was lying, looking in his eyes upside-down.

“Kaidou, don’t,” Saiki telepathically warned the grinning boy propped up on his waist. Kaidou’s fingers were already scribbling in the air above Saiki’s torso, and for once the psychic really didn’t know what to do. Kuboyasu very suddenly grabbed onto Saiki’s wrists, pulling them above his head. I don’t want to use my super strength against them, there’s no way this is the way they find out about my abilities. I’ll just let them have their fun. Who knows? Maybe I’m not even ticklish-

Without warning, ten fingers uickly came down onto Saiki’s sides, pinching up and down the torso like it was nothing. Saiki could felt in instantly, and it was one of the most confusing sensations he had ever felt.

His body started to squirm without him even realizing, twisting from side to side like he was trying to get away. He clamped his mouth shut, not wanting to let real laughs out.

“Cmon, Saiki, you know you wanna laugh~” Kaidou teased, his right hand continuing to pinch his side while his left began lightly scritching at his lower stomach through his unfortunately thin school uniform in the most unbearable way.

Giggles were bouncing around in Saiki’s ribcage, but he still tried so hard not laugh. But, once he felt two new hands begin scratching at his underarms, it was all over. Apparently, while Saiki was too focused on Kaidou, Kuboyasu had pinned Saiki’s hands under his knees, now having full access to Saiki’s recently discovered ticklish body.

“NAHAHAHA! STOHOHOHOP!” Saiki pleaded, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, an unfamiliar large smile contorting his face. His head swung from side to side as his legs kicked out from underneath Kaidou, the blue-haired teen absolutely relishing in his friend’s torment.

“Who knew all this time all we had to do to get you to smile was tickle you?” Kuboyasu teased, his fingers trailing down to Saiki’s ribs. Saiki thrashed at the new spot, his pleas getting more desperate.

“Right? I didn’t expect him to be this ticklish either, it’s honestly a real shock,” Kaidou smiled, pinching Saiki’s hips and making the psychic buck underneath him.

After another moment, the two boys relented, climbing off of Saiki’s heaving body and allowing him a breather.

That was insane. I feel bad for judging Kaidou earlier, that was seriously intense. How is that not used as common torture?!

“You good, Saiki? We didn’t go to far, right?” Kuboyasu asked, looking at Saiki who was now sat slightly up, his head down between his knees so his classmates wouldn’t see his unfortunate blush.

Saiki just gave a thumbs up, making the other two boys chuckle.

“Just so you know, I’m totally gonna use this against you when you’re being grumpy,” Kaidou smiled, his hands coming up to form wiggly claws as a threat. Then the boy let out a sudden yelp, twisting away from Kuboyasu who was sat right behind him. “Hey! You already got to tickle me, no more!”

“What?! Kaidou, I didn’t tickle you,” Kuboyasu said seriously.

“Dude, I literally felt it! You can’t say I didn’t feel something I felt!” Kaidou yelled, yet again pouting like a child.

That’s what you get, Kaidou Saiki thought to himself. Tickle me again and it’ll be much worse.

. . .

a/n: ahh! ok that was definitely not my best but i hope you enjoyed anyways! pls like/rb if you enjoyed it lmao, i know im not gonna get many notes from this cause this isn’t a fandom in demand but any feedback would be lovely :))

#tickling #my fic #tickle fic #tickle community #saiki k #ticklish!saiki #ticklish!kaidou #fanfic #the disastrous life of saiki k.

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yakuzadumpingground · 3 years ago

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Well since I'm feeling contrarian I'm gonna rank all of the yakuza games I've played (which is everything except the original 1 and 2, Dead Souls, and the Japan only games) which is guaranteed to piss someone off. Starting with the best-

1. Yakuza 0

Ok, not a controversial choice. I'm sorry. But the general consensus is correct. On top of having one of the best stories in the series, a really fun combat system (albeit not very challenging, but it's not like i play yakuza for challenge), and some of the most memorable sidestories, the setting really gives this game a certain style that nothing else in the series has. Also, one of the few yakuza games that's decently paced. Honestly, most of my complaints about this game are nitpicks (such as how grindy maxing out your character is) it's just a kind of boringly perfect game, really.

2. Yakuza: Like a Dragon

"BuT iT's TuRn-BaSeD" ok cool guess you're just gonna miss out on a fantastic fucking game. I gotta say, it was a real hard choice between "I wanna see the side stories" and "I GOTTA know what happens next in the story" sometimes. I don't know else I can say about this game: great story, great characters, just a great time. Admittedly, as an RPG it.... needs work. The encounter rate is WAAAY too high and the job class system is pretty busted. Even still, the genre change is a breath of fresh air and honestly pretty charming at times. Play this, goddamn

3. Yakuza Kiwami 2

It was a real toss up between Kiwami 2 and the game in the 4th slot, but in the end, Kiwami 2 wins by being more consistently enjoyable. Unlike the first two games on this list I can't say Kiwami 2 had a good story exactly, but I can say it's an entertaining one. I was rarely bored playing this, and in terms of sheer fun, Kiwami 2 wins that crown. I was *howling* at the ending, my God.

4. Yakuza 5

I'm of two minds when it comes to this game. On the one hand, some of my favorite stuff is in this game. The intro is very unusual but hit me in a weird way that really stuck with me. It finally made Saejima likable. Playable Haruka. Shinada, my beloved. On the other hand, while Yakuza games having pacing problems is pretty much the norm, whoo boy does yakuza 5 test your patience. Sloths move at the speed of fleas on meth compared to this game. Also, the actual overarching story is pretty weak and uninteresting. It's really best viewed as a collection of loosely connected stories. This game definitely has it's flaws, but the high points more than make up for them

5. Yakuza 6

Someone's gonna get mad that this game isn't lower, I'm sure. Yeah, it's flawed. It's not best send off for Kiryu. It's lacking in content. The ending is fucking terrible. But there's still plenty here to love. I love Onomichi, it's honestly one of my favorite locations in this series, even if there's nothing to do in it. It's just wonderful to look at and walk around in. I like the Onomichi cast. Beat Takeshi is there. Having Kiryu's saga cap off with a game about family is a great idea, and until this game's awful fucking ending it's a touching exploration of that theme. But fuck this game's ending. Seriously.

6. Yakuza 3

This is... a weird one. I can both see why the fanbase rejected it at the time and why fan appraisal has gotten so much kinder to this game. Like y6 (honestly y6 is really an unofficial remake of this game) it's a game about family. That being said, I rank it lower than 6 because of the relatively lower stakes and weak plot. It takes a long time for the main plot to actually start, and honestly it can take it's dear sweet time. Whenever I was going main story quests all I can think was about how much I'd rather be dinking around doing mundane shit for the kids. But I can't say this game isn't charming as hell. It's really one of the few times you really see Kiryu as just a... guy. Raising his kids, just living his life. For a series all about high octane melodrama, slice of life is a welcome change of pace

7. Judgment

Ooh, HERE'S the controversial take! Yeah, I didn't really care for Judgment. Judgment is the opposite of y3, where instead the main plot is actually very interesting but we spend. So. Much. Time. On. Bullshit. It's not a short game either. I spent so much of this game wondering when we're getting to the goddamn fireworks factory. Putting the pacing problems aside, the characters are fun but apart from Yagami and arguably Sugiura they don't get much in the way of meaningful development (it feels like Higashi's character arc is almost entirely off screen). The "detective" gameplay is meaningless fluff and adds nothing (note to game developers: tailing missions always suck. They sucked in Assassin's Creed and they suck here) and the attempt to bring back style changing is half-baked. I didn't hate my time with this game, but it left me underwhelmed

8. Yakuza Kiwami

This was actually my first yakuza game. And thank goodness Kiryu is hot because this game is... rough. First off, the story is just not very good. It spends a lot of time with tedious red herrings and extraneous shit with characters we don't care about. I honest to God had a hard time following the plot on my first playthrough because the cast is like 90% unmemorable middle aged Japanese men that show up like once in the first hour and then once in the last (but you're expected to remember them). It doesn't fare any better gameplay wise. It does make one good decision, bringing back style changing, but then for some reason they decided to make every boss fight an awful chore by having them regenerate their hp several times a fight (unless you happen to have the heat to do a heat action, and even then they regen hp so fast it may not help that much). What. The fuck. This snowballs into the Majima Everywhere which... look. I know. Goromi. But this system is still one where you have to fight a boss over and over and over again (in a game where fighting bosses is a chore). I've seen people slide off the series after going from 0 to kiwami, and that sucks. Maybe it was best i started here; if I liked this game, I'll probably like the rest

But there's one game I'd say that'd worse

9. Yakuza 4

When I played Yakuza 4 the first time, it was the ps3 version and I hadn't played 3 yet (it was more expensive.) So when I replayed 4 it was after playing 3, and honestly I was appreciating the game a lot more. After the slog of 3 it was nice to have a game with a snappier pace. And Akiyama was a fun change of pace. Him and Hana have a fun dynamic. I remembered not liking this game; was I too harsh? Could I have appreciated 4 more if I could see the improvements from 3? Then I got to Saejima's section then I remembered why I don't like this game. Honestly, I could go ON about how much Saejima's part sucks, it is easily the worst time I've had playing a yakuza game. I'll spare you that novel for now tho. And from here, the game never really recovers. We move on to Tanimura, the worst yakuza protagonist by the sheer virtue of how boring he is. By the time Kiryu shows up again I was so damned thrilled to see him. But he doesn't really save this game. Yakuza plots are usually convoluted and sometimes hard to follow, but 4's just gets exhausting to keep up with. By the time you get to your 28th betrayal you just can't care anymore. And it all caps off with a lazy fucking ending and the absolute worst final boss fight in the series. Oh Curryman. You deserve a better game.

#sorry i ended up being wordier than i expect #i need to be sleeeeepiiiiing #yakuza

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cbspams · 4 years ago

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Feed me well and maybe I won’t eat you

He’s pretty, you think, trying your best not to stare and failing miserably. Sharp cheekbones, pouty lips and mischevious eyes. You sip at your drink, not even tasting the rich chocolate because all your senses are focused on him somehow, with his delightful smile. It’s weird. You’re not usually so focused on other people like this but it’s... there’s something about him that makes you completely unable to draw your eyes away.

You duck your head when he stands, your ears burning bright red. Did he catch you staring? Wait, wait, calm down there’s no way he did. He wasn’t even looking at you! Right?

You stifle a shriek when you hear the other chair dragging across the floor with a metallic scrape. You slowly look up, color draining from your face. Holy shit it’s him. Wow. Wow okay uh. He’s. Sitting in front of you, lips wrapped around a straw and wow wow wow okay. Okay uh.

“Hi.” Even his voice sounds perfect! Cheerful, playful, a tad confused. Wait, confused?

“H-hi,” you stammer back, hands shaking as you reach for your own drink. Take a sip to calm yourself down and end up almost choking on it. Goddammit what is wrong with you! “Can I uh, can I help you?”

“Yeah, actually.” He grins, setting his drink down. You shrink in your seat. Is he going to say something about the staring? Should you apologize right now in advance? “I’m new and I was wondering if you could show me around? I’m looking for a shrine.”

You blink. A shrine? Why? Well, actually. That’s not a terribly uncommon question. Shrines are a big hit for tourists usually, especially the bigger ones so it’s not that surprising. Why he chose you out of all people beats you but you’re quick to nod, slamming your book shut. “Yes of course! Now?”

“If you could that’s be great!” He smiles at you, and you just melt.

“Yeah, I totally can. I’ve got time right now!” You shove your book into your little backpack and stand, nearly knocking over both the drinks in your haste, you scramble to catch yours while he gets his with ease, standing himself. “S-sorry!”

“It’s okay, no harm done.” He laughs and it takes all your will power not to go slackjawed. How can someone be so pretty?! You shake your head, willing those thoughts away. “Shall we?” He offers his hand to you.

“I feel like I should be saying that to you!” You giggle, taking his hand. He laughs again, along with you. You’re quick to take the lead once you’re outside of the cafe, starting down the trail to the most famous shrine in this little rinky dink town. But he seems to be curious about everything, stopping you often to ask what things were. Honestly it was a little weird, especially when he got confused over what a souvenir was. Was he just some really sheltered kid?

Whatever the case, you make it to the base of the shrine without too much hassling. There, you point up the stairs. “It’ll be at the top here. I uh, I guess I should let you go...?”

He looks up at the stairs for a moment before looking down at you and you shrink. His eyes suddenly look a lot... hungrier. Not in the way you might like either. “U-um?”

In a flash, he has you caged between his arms. Your back is against one of the bright orange poles of the gates leading up to the shrine and you squeak as he leans in close. “You could go... or you could stay. Be mine.” Your head is spinning. His? But you barely even...

“Yes.” You breathe out the word before you can even process what’s happening. He smirks at you.

“That’s what I like to hear.” He dips his head down and you shudder, tilting your neck up...

“Ow!” You flinch at the sudden feeling of sharp teeth biting into your shoulder. It jerks you out of your haze and you shove him back, enough to make him stumble a few steps. Your eyes widen. He’s got fluffy triangular ears on top of his head and weird markings on his face, framing golden eyes with slit pupils. Behind him flicks not one, not two, but nine fox tails, all with their distinctive markings. “Wh-what are you?” You know but you still ask. You have to ask.

He licks his lips, savoring the taste of your blood. “I have many names, but you, lovely, don’t need to know them.” He steps forward and you raise your arms to defend yourself. “Awww,” he coos, sickeningly sweet. “You think you have a choice in this!”

Isn’t anyone watching this? It’s a shrine for gods’ sake! But no one around you seems to notice. He tsks softly. “No one is going to hear you. Not until I’m through with you.”

You’d heard about a string of killings recently. All of the victims had either their heart or liver missing, sometimes both. Sometimes with extra organs too like eyes and lungs. Except one woman had made it out alive. People had called her crazy, absolutely insane since she claimed a kumiho had tried to kill her. Kumiho... nine tails... this must be him.

Think! What is it that kumihos like again? You almost can’t think with how he’s baring down on you again, fangs sharp in his mouth. But your memory hits you just before his teeth do. “Wait!” You gasp, putting your hands out to press against his chest. He sighs, leaning back. Impatiently staring at you as you fumble your words. “I-I can take you to a place with, with the best fried tofu!”

The way his ears perk up would be cute if it wasn’t so terrifying to begin with. You swallow, did you remember correctly? You must have, considering his growl is melting into a less menacing yet no less terrifying feral grin. “Okay,” he says, taking a few steps back. “But if you’re lying, you’ll be my next meal.”

You let out a breath. Okay you can do this. You know just the place. “O-okay um. Kumiho-ssi?”

“Jeongin.” He smiles, ears and tail and markings fading away. “Just call me Jeongin.”

#halloween event #story: kumiho #cannibalism tw #murder tw

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one-for-all-bnha · 4 years ago

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Bakusquad Headcanons (mainly focused around Sero and Kaminari) I might do a Part 2 later

Okay so all of them (minus Bakugou) seem to be chill but certain things (or all the time) make them suuuper competitive

1. Mall shenanigans, going around and buying things for each other to see who had the best gift feat. An awkward Bakugou Katsuki who has to find something for Mina and he asks subtly

2. Sneaking out of the dorms to get food. It was Sero and Kaminari’s idea, Mina was in it because it was a wonderful night for a walk, Kirishima wanted a Bang energy drink and Bakugou only went along because “Knowing you dumbasses you would get lost before you even get there”

3. Kaminari realizing Bakugou has a soft spot for him feat. The BakuSquad all tell him that he won’t get mad if Kaminari breaks the news. They’ve awakened a demon. Kaminari claims that he has “Special Best Rights” and nobody corrects him but Sero does add “And the fact that you fear no god.” Mina and Kirishima both nod in agreement.

4. Playing Smash at 1am in the lounge room feat. Bakugou sucking miserably because he button mashes and has to whisper yell when he dies. Kirishima ends up teaching him some tricks. Sero ends up being the one who cackles and they are all quiet until they hear footsteps coming down the stairs, Mina stares at them all horrified. “Scatter.” They all run separate ways like roaches. Bakugou ends up hiding in a cabinet. Kaminari hides behind a fake plant, while Kirishima rushes to the bathroom and hides in the shower. Sero is the one who gets caught, Mina ends up hiding out in the kitchen. They have these competitions almost every Saturday because Bakugou refuses to stay up late on school nights.

6. Kitchen mayhem, Bakugou is visiting his mom since his dad is away so the group must fend for themselves. Kaminari ends up setting the kitchen on fire and meanwhile Kirishima is FaceTiming Bakugou when all of it is going down. While Bakugou’s home he feels like his group doesn’t need him so when he sees the chaos feat various screeches of “DEAR GOD PUT IT OUT”

“wHOS GETTING TODOROKI?!”

“God this smells like charred ass” Bakugou smiles and grabs his coat.

“Later old hag.” He heads to the door clearly he’s needed elsewhere. Suddenly feeling bad Kirishima waves his hands.

“It’s okay really we’ve got it. You don’t have to leave I didn’t mean to cut your visit short.”

“Oh please”, Bakugou says. “I’m clearly needed.”

He’s about to open the door when his mom shouts at him. “And where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“I’m heading back. My dumbass friends have set the kitchen on fire.” He can’t help but allow the smile to fall onto his face.

The anger could wait first he had a Kitchen to save. Because of this incident the Bakusquad aren’t allowed anywhere near the kitchen without Bakugou or somebody else being with them.

7. Kaminari initiates stress relieving cuddles 99% of the time. After a typically stressful day he’ll break into Bakugou’s room and just lay smack down on his bed. Bakugou pretends to be angry but at this point he just texts the group chat named Cracktivities by Sero and tells the squad to “get their asses over” they all end up watching a movie and fall asleep half way through. They’re covered in blankets and Mina ends up bringing snacks that at first Bakugou was against because “I SWEAR TO FUCK IF I FIND ANY CRUMBS IN MY BED ALL OF YOU ARE DEAD” but it holds no heat to it

8. The group all steal Bakugou’s hoodies cause he’s warm at first and it soon turns into all of them sharing clothes whether they mean to or not. One day Mina and Kaminari pass each other in the hallway and both nod before they back up and stare at each other. “Is that my choker?” She asks. Kaminari tried to look down but can’t. “Maybe? Is that my belt?” She stares down at the belt with a lightning bolt on it. “I think so?” Kaminari smiles. “Oh cool, if that’s the case it looks epic on you.” Mina beams. “Same to you! The choker really brings a new level to your outfit!”

10.Group therapy session. Mina paints their nails and Jirou puts on some calming music as they all vent about things that are going on in their lives. Kirishima puts on a face mask and gets Kaminari to do it to. He tries getting Bakugou to do it too by saying “Come on rejuvenating skin is manly bro.” Bakugou just smirks. “Remember my quirk works as a skin care routine in itself.” The rest of the squad wears face masks Sero sighs dramatically. “Oh to have flawless skin without breakouts.” Kaminari takes a cucumber off his face, “Oh to be cursed with natural beauty.” Bakugou doesn’t know how to handle that compliment so he just rolls his eyes and smiles. “Idiots,” he says staring down at Sero who’s dramatically sprawled out on the floor. They all smile at him while Mina corrects him. “Your idiots.” He cant even deny it as a fond look passes over his face. “My idiots.”

11. He has a sixth sense and knows when they are up to something. At one point he walks past Kirishima’s room and hears “Dont tell Bakugou” so naturally he kicks the door open and says “Tell me what.” He ends up looking between Sero and Kaminari only to find that there are kittens everywhere. “No.”

“Oh come on Bakugou, can’t we keep them?”

“Aizawa will kill you for this no.”

“No he won’t he loves cats.”

“Fine, I’ll kill you for this.”

They end up sneaking the kittens into 1-B’s class early before class starts. Kaminari and Sero give a tearful goodbye to each kitten while Bakugou is smirking ruthlessly while trying to keep the cats at bay and make sure they will have everything they need. When Shinsou goes into the classroom to find the kittens first thing in the morning it’s a good day. No kitten was harmed and they all got anonymously adopted by Aizawa. They almost get caught because the trio has to hide them in their school uniforms and on the way to 1-B All Might sees them. Bakugou pushes Sero and Kaminari to keep walking as All Might approaches.

“Good morning Young Bakugou, what’s in your coat?” Before he can answer one of the kittens meow, without missing a beat he turns to face All Might.

“Drugs.” He says and walks off before the hero can ask anything else.

12. I guarantee you at some point when him and Kaminari were sparring and Bakugou held Kaminari’s head down with his hand, Kaminari’s first reaction would be to lick his hand. It takes 0.2 seconds for the instant regret to kick in. Kaminari immediately throws Bakugou off and starts viciously wiping his tongue down. “Ew ew ew ew ew I got it in my mouth yuck.”

It takes a couple of seconds for Bakugou to just realize what the fuck happened and he loses his shit laughing. He follows Kaminari as he makes a mad dash to the kitchen and downs whatever is in the fridge. “Oh my god it burns!!!” He whines and quickly turns on the sink violently rubbing his tongue down in an attempt to get the taste off of his tongue. The Bakusquad ask them what’s wrong but between Bakugou laughing and Kaminari gargling dink water babbling “regrets regrets I have so many regrets” every chance he gets mingled in with a “yucky” or “disgusting, grosss” they have no idea what happened.

Kaminari just decides fuck it He grabs the dish soap and places it on his tongue scrubbing at it so his head is cocked so that he has the best angle to wash his tongue and then makes awkward eye contact with Aizawa who is watching in horror. Kaminari tries to be suave and waves to him “Sup Sensei” and Aizawa looks from Kaminari to where Bakugou is practically wheezing in a spinny chair for him to walk out while muttering “Fuck this class, should’ve retired when I had the chance”

Meanwhile the Bakusquad finally connects the dots as to what happened and join Bakugou in a laughing fit while Kaminari whines with his face pressed to the sink still. “Oh come on you guys it’s not funny.” But they can’t hear him over the sound of all of them laughing. “You’re an idiot what made you think that would work?” Sero asks. Kaminari starts gesturing wildly which only makes them laugh harder “it was a reflex okay?!” Finally when the burning calms down he looks over at Mina who’s googling what happens when you lick nitroglycerin “am I gonna die?”

Jirou suddenly stands beside him and places a consoling hand on his shoulder. “Yes.” And then she leaves causing the group to start snickering again. Kaminari brushes his hands down his tongue saying “Absolutely disgusting” before wiping it onto Bakugou’s arm. He shrieks and jumps out of the chair “What the fuck do you think you’re doing dunce face?!”

“Returning the nitroglycerin I licked ya nasty”

He reaches his hands towards his face. “There seems to be a bit more.”

“KAMINARI NO!”

He licks his hands. The moment Kaminari’s hands touched his tongue he knew he fucked up.

“GODDAMIT!”

He runs back to the sink.

That’s all I can think of so far, if you guys have anything else to add feel free.

#bakusquad #these kids are absolute disasters #but i love them #bakugou katsuki #mina ashido #sero hanta #my hero academia headcanons #kirishima eijirou #jirou kyouka #kaminari denki #bnha #bnha headcanons

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mst3kproject · 5 years ago

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Atomic Rulers

So 2020 fucking blows. We’ve got Death and Pestilence all over the place, War is waiting in the wings licking her chops, and I’m sure Famine is only a matter of time. You know what we need? A hero. Operator, put me through to the Emerald Planet! After fifty-five years, the Earth must once again call upon Star Man.

(I apologize for the poor quality screencaps in this review. The WiFi at sea is not great, so I’m watching movies on YouTube in decidedly low definition. I’ll replace them with better ones if I ever get out of here.)

Atomic Rulers, also sometimes known as Atomic Rulers of the World, is actually the first Star Man movie. Does that mean we get an origin story for our brave hero? Of course not. Instead, we learn that the evil nation of… uh… a sign in the movie says Merapolia but the dubbing sounds like Magolia... whatever. Their nuclear testing is starting to contaminate Outer Space and the Emerald Men don’t like that – they send Star Man to Earth to do something about it.

This movie gives us two things none of the other Star Man movies do. First of all, there’s an actual purpose to that ‘globemeter’ watch thingy he wears. The opening of every movie explains that the globemeter allows Star Man to do three things: travel through outer space, speak and understand any language, and detect sources of radioactivity. The first two functions have proven to be very useful, but neither the Salamander Men nor Ballazar’s Brain were radioactive, so the third just sat there like the stocks app on an iPhone. Now, with the threat of concealed Magolian nuclear weapons, he finally uses it!

The second is, holy shit, a plot. The Magolians want to rule the world, and aliens from a dozen different Godzilla movies have assured them that when conquering the Earth, you have to start with Japan. To that end, their agents are sneaking atomic weapons into the country. Star-Man tries to confiscate these, and in the midst of the lame-ass fight scene that follows, the Magolian Bag-O-Nukes is carried off by a bunch of annoying little kids! The Magolians kidnap one of the kids and try to force him to tell them where their bomb is. Star-Man rescues the boy, but it’s too late – they’ve already retrieved the bomb. There’s just a few hours left before Japan must surrender, or be blown to bits as an example to the rest of the world!

There’s actually even more to the plot than that. It’s full of wild twists and turns, with Star Man and the Magolians taking turns looking like they’re about to win the day. Yet at the same time, unlike the other Star Man films, the story is not obviously bifurcated! You can tell where Movie One ends and Movie Two begins (with the rescue of the kidnapped kid), but the same characters are involved throughout rather than changing from reel to reel. Even the gaggle of nameless kids in short-shorts kind of play a role in the plot, helping Star Man and giving information to the police whenever they can. The plot unspools in a single main storyline from beginning to end, and events usually make enough sense that you can figure out where they fit.

Even more shockingly, Star Man himself actually has some personality in this film, even a bit of a character arc. In the other movies he just ran around punching aliens and smiling at children, but here we see him as a bit of an arrogant dick, confident in his ability to beat the mere humans who represent the threat to the universe. When he is nearly beaten instead, he is forced to learn a little humility, and nearly sacrifices his life to save a hostage.

By leaps and bounds, then, this is the best Star Man movie I’ve seen. There’s a couple more out there, but they’d have to work hard to be better than Atomic Rulers. At the same time, as praise goes ‘the best Star Man movie’ is almost as faint as ‘the best Coleman Francis movie’. It still sucks big-time, and Mike and the bots would have had riff material to spare.

I mean, this is a movie where the bad guys have a giant cartoon demon face on the wall of their lair for some reason, and when they’re not disguised in blazers and ties they wear coronavirus suits with the same face on the chest. There’s a bit where Star Man swordfights with a bunch of them, using fencing foils that were just lying around in the room for some reason. Other fight scenes are mostly things like Magolians frantically shooting at Star Man while he just stands there looking smug. The ‘atomic core’ MacGuffin is just a plastic tube full of glitter. The back-projected ‘flying’ effects are dire. There’s a bomb that has a literal clock on the side ticking down the minutes like in an old cartoon. There’s a pretty girl strapped into a death trap that I can only describe as the world’s slowest guillotine.

There’s a fairly extended sequence in which we see the Magolians’ car driving down a road, then cut to Star-Man flying, then back to the car, then back to Star Man, then back to the car, and on and on until I could almost hear Crow shouting “he’s following them! We get it!”

The Magolians themselves confuse me a bit. People refer to their embassy and their ambassadors, and there’s a flag on their car and so forth, so I’m pretty sure they’re supposed to be from a country on Earth… and yet they behave exactly like the villains of a Japanese alien invasion movie. They have dumb costumes, they call the guy in charge ‘supreme leader’, and most distracting of all, they refer to conquering ‘the Earth’. Maybe this is just an artifact of the translation, but I would expect humans to talk about ruling ‘the world’ rather than ‘the Earth’. It left me expecting a big reveal at the end, and when there wasn’t one, I had to go back to the beginning to see if they’d been established as aliens and I’d missed it.

Speaking of possible artifacts of translation, there’s another thing here I’m not sure about. A lot of Japanese ‘no nukes’ movies have American antagonists, or at least, white guys who are clearly a stand-in for Americans. My favourite example is the belligerent country of Rolisica in Mothra, which is an absolutely hilarious summary of what 60’s Japan thought the West was like. Magolia, on the other hand, appears to be a stand-in for the USSR. The actors playing the Magolians are mostly white, and we only ever hear two of their names: the supreme leader has a nonsense name, but the ambassador is called Boris Zedenko. I wonder if this is original to the script, or whether it was changed when the movie was dubbed for American release.

The thing I find most interesting about Atomic Rulers is that while Star Man does save the Earth, that’s not really his goal. The Emerald Men sent him here to prevent a war because Earth’s radioactivity was leaking into outer space, threatening other planets. Star Man isn’t here to save humanity, he’s here to save the rest of the universe from us; saving us from ourselves is merely a side-effect.

This makes Star-Man a little different from his imitators, Space Chief and Prince of Space. Despite their space-themed code-names, they are humans from Earth, with a specific interest in protecting this planet. Star-Man seems to have the broader responsibility of protecting the civilized galaxy in general, and this is reflected in the premises of his movies. In Evil Brain from Outer Space, Ballazar’s Brain is using Earth as a place to launch a general takeover of the universe. Invasion from Space was a little less clear about it, but I’m pretty sure there was something about the Earth being ‘the richest planet in the galaxy’ and the Salamander Men would presumably use that loot for nefarious purposes.

A side implication here is that Star-Man probably has other adventures, too – we’re only seeing the ones that happen to bring him to our particular planet. Considering how strange Star-Man movies can be anyway, and how trippy the brief shot of the Emerald Planet, with its crystal-headed creatures and robots and even a couple of what appear to be the Pairans from Warning from Space, one has to wonder about these potential non-Earth storylines. How fucking weird would those be? I’m imagining something like an entire movie about Krankor’s pet giant.

Another thing that distinguishes Star Man from the other space dinks is that he has actual superpowers. Space Chief and Prince of Space are basically just normal guys in stupid outfits. Prince of Space claims that Krankor’s ray guns have no effect on him, but really we see he’s using his wand-thing to deflect them. Star Man, who is from another planet, can fly and has super-strength. This kind of makes me wonder if he was intended as a Superman imitator… but that would make Space Chief and Prince of Space the equivalent of Batman, and I just can’t insult Batman like that.

I am developing an honest affection for Star Man movies. Their desperate cheapness is more than made up for by their over-the-top absurdity, and the result is not at all ‘good’ by any reasonable measure and yet is always entertaining. Camp like that is all too rare to find, and even rarer to find a franchise like Gamera or Star Man that can do it dependably. I don’t know why the Japanese are apparently so good at this, but I’m glad somebody is.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #atomic rulers #60s #starman and friends

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noona-clock · 6 years ago

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You Would Do the Same for Me

Omgg 💕💕 okay so can i please have spy!au, friends to lovers, "why are you awake so late?" With jae! 💕💕 thanks hun

Here you are, @baekinmylife ! I hope you enjoy!

Genre: Spy!AU

Pairing: Jae x You

Trope: Friends to Lovers

Prompt: “Why are you awake so late?”

You were never more grateful that you knew Jae’s number by heart.

In the age of cell phones, you hardly knew anybody’s number. You simply clicked on their name in your contacts. But... your phone was currently dead, and you were in a bit of a pickle.

Your only option was to use this sketchy pay phone. So it’s pretty obvious why you were never more grateful that you knew Jae’s number by heart.

It was ridiculously late at night - or maybe early, depending on how you looked at it - so you were fully expecting to hear a very muffled, sleepy Jae on the other line.

You weren’t skeptical that he would pick up, though. He would definitely pick up because he was your best friend, and you knew you could count on him.

But he wouldn’t be happy with you for interrupting his sleep.

You let out a shaky sigh as you slipped the coin into the deposit slot and pressed the cold buttons to dial Jae’s number.

Like I mentioned, you were prepared to wait a few rings before he picked up, so color you surprised when you heard a soft click after only one.

“Hello?” Jae asked, sounding completely normal and not sleepy and angry.

“Why are you awake so late?” you asked as your brow furrowed deeply in confusion.

“Y/N? Oh, thank god. Where are you? What are you calling me on?”

“I... am not exactly sure where I am,” you began, trying to keep your voice as calm as possible so Jae wouldn’t freak out. “I’m calling you on a pay phone because...”

You really weren’t looking forward to telling him this, but you had no choice. So you took a deep breath and winced a little.

“So, my cover was blown.”

“Wh --”

“And there were four of them, so they overpowered me and took me somewhere and... kind of... beat me up --”

“Describe your surroundings to me,” he interrupted in a very firm voice.

“I’m at some rinky-dink, old-timey gas station? It’s called...” You strained your neck to see, barely able to read through the warped, filthy glass of the phone booth. “Gilmore Gas & Tire, I think.”

“Is there a place for you to stay while I come and get you? A safe place.”

“I can try and sneak in the bathroom,” you nodded.

“Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Jae promised.

You hummed in response, and before he had a chance to hang up, you whispered a “Thank you.”

There was silence for a second. You could just imagine Jae’s facial expression softening, and you suddenly wished he was already here.

“I know you would do the same for me,” he replied quietly. “Now go into the bathroom and don’t move until I get there.”

“Okay,” you croaked.

When you heard the telltale click of a hang-up, you slipped out of the phone booth and limped inside as sneakily as you could.

Blessedly, you were able to find your way into the bathroom without being detected by the employee working at the register. And once you closed the lid on the toilet and gingerly lowered yourself to sit down, you buried your head in your hands as best as you could and began to cry.

You wanted to get it all out before Jae arrived because you weren’t sure he’d ever seen you cry. You hardly ever did, to be honest. You were an undercover agent, for goodness sake! A spy! You were rough and tough and strong and not supposed to cry.

But these thugs had gotten you pretty badly. You were fairly sure one or more of your ribs was broken, and you definitely felt blood dripping from your lip and eye.

It hurt, and you felt like a failure, and you weren’t looking forward to explaining everything to Jae.

So... you cried.

You cried and cried and cried, and when there was a soft knock on the door, you sniffed. You wiped your tears as best as you could without touching your injuries. You stood up. And you got a hold of yourself.

Jae burst in through the door as soon as you turned the knob, his hands darting out and grabbing your shoulders.

“Are you --”

One look at your face told him you were not okay.

“Holy... shit.”

“Can we just go home?” you asked, your voice weak and thick with emotion.

Jae pressed his lips together, obviously holding himself back from saying anything else, and he nodded.

“Come on,” he murmured, putting an arm around you and helping you out to the car.

Once you were safely inside, Jae filled up his tank to appease the nosy employee, also going in to buy some snacks in case you got hungry.

You were probably the least hungry you’d ever been in your life.

You sat through the whole car ride absolutely silent. Jae mumbled along to a couple of the songs on the radio, but he didn’t address you.

He waited until the two of you arrived at his apartment to do that.

“Sit,” he ordered, nodding toward his kitchen counter.

While you slid onto one of the bar stools, Jae headed over to a cabinet. He rummaged around for a minute before making his way over to you, a first aid kit in hand.

“How did they find out?” he asked after sitting down and opening the plastic box.

“I have no idea,” you admitted with a shrug. You inhaled sharply, feeling a new pain in your shoulder.

“Maybe we have a mole or something...”

You simply nodded and then Jae reached out to press an alcohol wipe to your eye.

For the next few minutes or so, the only sound in Jae’s whole apartment was your intermittent hissing from the pain. Jae tended to your wounds as best as he could, cleaning the cuts and gashes attentively.

“We’ll probably have to take you to the hospital for your ribs,” he murmured, glancing up at you. He was currently cleaning the cuts on your knuckles from when you’d tried to fight back - tried and failed.

You avoided his gaze, tears pooling in your eyes, though you really had no idea why.

“Hey,” he said gently. “It’s okay.”

He let your hand drop and moved to hold your face, forcing you to look at him.

“It’s okay,” he repeated. “You’re not a failure. This happens all the time, it’s just part of the business.”

You almost let out a chuckle because he knew why you were upset without you even saying a word. That’s just how well he knew you.

“It’s never happened to you,” you pointed out with a sniffle.

“Yeah, because I’m just that good,” he smirked.

You did let out a chuckle then, even rolling your eyes at his comment.

“All right, that’s about all I can do for now,” he said, moving to close the first aid kit and stand up. “You can stay here for the night, and we’ll go to the hospital in the morning.”

After carefully and slowly changing into one of Jae’s t-shirts, you slipped into his bed next to him, groaning softly as you laid down.

“Night,” he murmured as he turned off the lamp on his bedside table.

“Night,” you replied. “And... thank you.”

“Like I said, I know you would do the same for me.”

And it was true. You would have.

As to be expected, you weren’t able to fall asleep easily. And the darkness of Jae’s room only helped stir the troubled thoughts in your mind. You were getting more and more upset with yourself for letting this happen, for getting caught.

You were fairly sure Jae was already asleep, but his voice suddenly cut through the silence, almost making you jump.

“You okay?” he asked.

“...No.”

You felt him turn over to face you, and then you felt his fingers brushing over your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Do you need to cry?”

“No, I just --” You stopped short because... you really had no idea what you needed.

Jae let out a soft huff before moving to --

He placed his lips on your forehead.

Your heart stopped.

Your eyes hadn’t quite adjusted to the darkness yet, but you could still make out the outline of Jae’s face. You could see where his nose was... where his lips were...

And when he pulled back enough...

You kissed him.

#jae scenarios #jae imagines #jae au #jae fluff #jae fanfic #day6 scenarios #day6 imagines #day6 au #day6 fluff #day6 fanfic #day6 #jae #park jaehyung #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop fluff #kpop fanfic

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gatsbyjwilson · 5 years ago

Text

The Highlight Reel (A Cautionary Tale)

“Uh huh. And you say you went to Parnidge University and studied film?”

“P-Partridge, Sir.”

“Huh.”

Two gleaming black eyes stared back across the cluttered, coffee-stained desk to examine the short, spindly, and overdressed specimen opposite them.

“T- Technically I studied accounting with a minor in film- my Mom told me to do that in case ‘The whole Hollywood Thing doesn’t work out.’”

It was remarkable how the beady little man sitting nervously in front of the heavy-set producer was able to keep his armpits dry. It was the hottest day in June, and the sun had only just begun to creep towards the West over the hills. Donny had already removed his jacket and loosened his tie, and even with the rickety old fan spinning precariously over the desk, Don was sweating up a storm. The pencil-neck opposite him, on the other hand, seemed acclimated to the hotter-than normal weather. “Kid’s so thin, maybe they can’t wring no sweat outta him no more.”

The fat man allowed himself the shadow of a chuckle at the thought.

“So uh, why aren’t you applying to be an accountant?”

“That’s not what I want to be, Sir.”

“So why the hell’ve you majored in accounting?”

“I’ve been wondering that myself.”

Those beady, tight-knit eyes wandered across the room. Maybe they were searching for a way out, maybe they were just admiring the torn and faded posters on the wall of an ancient age forgotten long ago- the early eighties.

“So-”, The past-his-prime producer started, wiping his brow with a stained Roy Rogers napkin, “You wanna be a comedian.”

“Well, I’m already a comedian, I want to host my own late night show.” Cracking his first non-forced smile, the eager young man continued- “It’s been my dream since I was a little boy watching Letterman on my little rinky-dink TV.”

At this, Donny was now thoroughly amused.

“Heh. You wanna know what my dream was as a kid?” He said, as his fat lips curved into a long, unnerving grin, “A Janitor. Always had my eyes set on a spiffy blue uniform- cleaning up, lending a helping hand- then I realized how much of a shit job that is.” His coffee-stained teeth once again receded past his swollen jowls, resuming his exhausted, resting face. Dropping the paper clearly in the already resume-stuffed wastebasket, he once again drew his discouraging grin and spat- “I’ll think about it.”

***

Leaning back into the well-worn seats of his Camaro, the previously well-postured man dropped any hint of optimism and sank into the seat, loosening a cheap coffee labelled ‘BENJAMEN’ from its holder. The sun was well-set by now, and pounding rain had settled nicely into the area, draining remorselessly over the Hollywood Hills. A hole in the roof above the passenger seat had begun to drip into the car, but at this point Ben didn’t care. Wrenching himself into an upright posture, he drew a small notebook from his pinstriped breast-pocket. He crossed out Happy Times Studios from the list, marking the end of the page. Two straight months of interviews and cheerful schmoozing had left him with nothing. No money, no job, and no prospects. The drive from Ohio was a long one, but the beat-up, sickly orange 90’ Camero had made it, with some minor repairs. Ben was preparing to make the drive back in the morning. After 30 minutes of traffic and unconsciously turning to the empty slot where a radio should be, he pulled up to a tan apartment complex and turned the car off. He turned melancholically to the window. Still rain.

***

He unlocked the door to his apartment, soaking wet. At least he was home, he thought, stepping into a strategically placed land mine of cat dung. A long, drawn-out sigh emanated from his gaunt visage. Not bothering to wipe them, he kicked his shoes off and went instinctively towards the TV remote. He slumped into the leather couch, resting his feet on the broken ottoman he had propped up on a stack of books. He flipped the TV on just in time to see Tom Hanks laugh uproariously at a witticism Conan O'Brien had uttered. Ben leaned over to a half-empty Coors gathering dust on the floor by the couch. He picked it up, sniffed it, and began to sip. His eyes began to glaze over, resting unfocused on the technicolor tube TV. His cat walked steadily over to sip from the pool forming on the floor from the Coors that had leaned out of his hand as he fell asleep, drifting off into peaceful, dark, unconsciousness.

“ARE YOU A SKILLED WRITER, DIRECTOR, OR COMEDIAN???? DO YOU WANT TO BE RICH, SUCCESSFUL, AND FAMOUS???? THEN COME VISIT HIM AT 304-”

Ben shot up, knocking the ottoman off of its improvised leg. He breathed heavily, drenched in sweat. He looked around for the source of the blaring job offer. The TV played only static. He looked over at his clock radio. 3:00 AM. Silent as a mouse. Was it possible he dreamed it? More than likely, he supposed. His fatigue, momentarily lost, returned to him. “3 AM,” he thought. “I haven’t had dinner.” Ben moseyed on over to the refrigerator, drenched in the harsh fluorescent glow of his nearby lamp. He opened the door and leaned down into it, taking a pause and closing his eyes to enjoy the stream of cold air that trickled from the machine. Ben looked down into the crisper drawer, pulling out the bottom ra-

“AVENUE!!! HE’S WAITING TO SEE YOU!!! AND HE KNOWS HOW SKILLED YOU ARE, BEN!!!”

He shot back, slamming his head against the roof of the refrigerator. He fell backwards, landing hard on the linoleum floor of his kitchen. He heard it- that time he really heard it. And it said his name. His eyes darted back to the TV, which continued its inhuman lullaby of crackling sound. Nothing. Absolutely Nothing. Ben would have thought it was a friend playing a trick on him, if Ben had any friends to play tricks on him. He had left that all back in Ohio. No, this was something different. He looked to his cat, who, obviously startled by his fall, stared intently at him. He got up, ambled over to the couch once again, and lay down. He reached over and turned on the remote. The TV shut off with a fizzle of static electricity.

After 10 minutes of trying, the same warmth of sleep eluded him. He lazily opened his eyes again, peering across the room to the short hallway that led to his real bedroom and the bathroom. The cat, seemingly curious, meandered into the darkened hall. He came back a few moments later and came close to Ben’s face, and licked his nose. At this point, he was too tired to care, and continued to sluggishly watch his companion walk back to the hall and stop at the mouth. The cat remained at the entrance of the hall and meowed. A beckoning, perhaps, to another cat that had gotten into the building somehow. Ben remained on the couch, until the cat turned back to him, meowed again, and turned back to the hall. It was a quick movement, like a deer turned to a hunter in the forest, piercing black eyes shooting back at the predator.

The cat stared for what seemed like hours, unblinking. Then, in a moment of eerie stillness, the cat walked forward, being swallowed up by the darkness. With his only entertainment having left him, Ben turned to face the ceiling. “I think I’ve finally lost it,” Ben thought to himself. There was no real explanation for what he heard, besides maybe his mind thinking it heard certain words in a mix of wordless sound, the same way his eyes tricked him by making him see moving shapes in the darkness. He sat upright, gazing out at the city below. “Three in the morning and still buzzing,” he thought. The rain had ended, so Ben had put his shoes back on and donned an inconspicuous, faded, bomber jacket. Being an insomniac, he had gotten used to taking nighttime walks to clear his head and spur him into sleeping. He took his keys off the counter and walked out, prepared to take his last looks at the city he had dreamed about.

He resolved not to take the Camaro, lest he fall asleep at the wheel and never see the light of day. Instead, he began to walk into the heart of the city. The opioid epidemic had stuck this part of town hard, and it was hard to find a street corner without some junkie muttering to himself or dancing off to wonderland thanks to the needle in his arm. Tonight was different, though. Perhaps some good samaritan had opened up a new homeless shelter, for tonight, the streets were clean of addicts and alcoholics. He walked through streetlight after streetlight, closed storefront after closed storefront, the scenery so decrepit and frequent it seemed the walls were simply repeating themselves every block. Coming to a four-way intersection, Ben looked up at the street signs to get his bearings and begin to head home. The chill of the night breeze had finally set into his bones.

When he looked up, the street names were unknown to him, so he had the option to either double back on Ciacco Street or turn onto Sordello. He attempted to look for the shining lights of the Sunset Strip to give him some sense of direction, but the boarded up shops and apartments stooped far too high for Ben to get a sense of his location. He turned onto Sordello, and passed by a fenced-off psychiatric hospital. What was left of the sign read ‘ST. BERN RD A YLUM’. A small pink sheet on the front of the wrought-iron gates read ‘CONDEMNED’. Mildly unnerved by the rotting exterior of the place, Ben pulled his jacket tighter to him and continued on. The chill still clung to him, no matter how close he pulled it.

Rounding another corner past the asylum, he walked onto a long, dark, and eerily quiet street. He stepped out onto the road and looked down. Cobblestone paving. He was in a far older part of town. He looked back to the corner he had just rounded and saw only darkness at the cutoff. The last streetlight he had passed had gone out. The new street was oddly clean. The chill had left his bones, he remarked. He still had no idea where he was. He decided to find some 24 hour bodega and borrow their phone. None of the lights in the shop were on, except for a small decorated lantern that hung over a wooden sign.

Ben walked closer to the sign, peering up at the faded paint. ‘FOUST’S APOTHECARY’, it read, and he pushed open the wooden door with the same name written on it in gold lettering. There was the brief chime of the door’s petite silver bell. It was a small shop with a counter and hardwood flooring, all neatly polished. He looked beyond the counter and saw a shelf with columns and rows of bottles marked with tiny labels that were impossible to read without a magnifying glass. He sat down in a leather bar seat and ran his hands over the wooden counter. Was it open? Would he have to-

“I wasn’t under the impression that we would receive customers tonight,” Remarked a thin old man dressed in scarlet from the corner of the shop. “Not many people show up here at all, so I’d hardly expect someone, especially at this hour.”

“Yeah, I’m really sorry about that- you see my car is at my apartment and I got lost while walking, and-”

“Oh, slow down a bit, young man, I know exactly why you’re here.”

Ben’s brow furrowed slightly, and the man in the corner put down his dense manuscript and stood up to shake his hand.

“Well you need medicine! Why else would you have wandered into an apothecary at this time of night. You’re in your hour of need, and no one else will help you. Well, as it so happens I am just the man you seek. Doctor Johann Faust- at your service.”

He walked around the counter with long strides, removing some bottles from the shelf and placing them on the counter with a swiftness Ben hadn’t expected from such an old man.

“That’s very kind of you Sir, but really I just need to borrow your pho-”

The scarlet man cut him off- “Yes, yes, just a minute, I’ll get to that. You happen to have some more pressing matters, I believe.”

At this point Ben was too tired to interject, and elected to simply lean on the counter and let the scarlet-clad doctor rattle off his sales pitch.

“Benjamin, I am a man who solves problems. And many times they aren’t simply illnesses of the mind or of the body. They’re illnesses of the soul. Have you ever felt like you were simply meant to do something, but you are impaired somehow? This is an illness of the soul, you see. You were always meant for the silver screen, but the cruel and ignorant men above you simply wish to stop you from rising to the top.”

At this, Ben sat up. He had never told this man his name, much less his plight of reaching his dream as a host. He wanted to get up and leave, but everything around him told him to not move and stay exactly where he was. He could leave, but the back of his mind kept him in his chair. The impending, screaming sensation that if he left now, he would lose out on a once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity.

“H-How do you know that?” Ben sputtered out. “I never told you any of that.”

The old man stopped what he was doing and stood up straight. He turned around and peered into Ben’s eyes. It was only now that he realized that the Doctor was quite a bit taller than him. The velvety voice began again:

“You didn’t need to. It was all written there on your face. You see, all throughout my life I have seen poor, innocent people suffer because of the actions of those above them. How is it that the people who should never lead become the mightiest of the mighty? It’s just so... unfair. So I make it my business to help those less fortunate people achieve their goals. All pro bono, of course.”

Ben looked back at the eyes of the frail man in front of him. He seemed so kind, so purely helpful, like an innocent child who simply wants to help another reclaim the swing set he was pushed from. But his eyes… They spoke of something deeper, something darker and more purely maleficent than anything Ben had seen before. The Doctor turned and returned to his task. The pillowy baritone of the pharmacist resumed:

“I can help you, Ben. You and I both simply want the same thing. To bring joy to everyone. To dethrone the ignorant simpletons who have made themselves the kings of kings.”

The man turned to face him once again, and placed a small vial of a dark, glittering liquid before him. “Fallacem Argentum- a very rare and specialty concoction. It has the rather helpful effect of making anyone seem hilarious and confident- the two most important qualities of a show host, don’t you agree?” Ben instinctively reached for it, but his hands were guided away from the vial by the Doctor. “I’m afraid, Benjamin, that you need a prescription for this, and that’s something you simply don't have. However,” The Doctor started, holding the bottle up to the light, “I can write you one- in exchange for a small favor.” Ben was fixed on the vial. Everything was leading up to this. This is what he needed. This is who he was. Ben had already disturbed the pharmacist by intruding at this late hour, so if he could repay him with whatever favor he needed, it would be only fair.

“Anything.”

A thin smile crept up the sides of Foust’s face, contorting his features to reveal a deep eagerness at Ben’s agreement.

“There will come a time when I require your service. At a time least expected, I will be there to claim what is rightfully mine. That’s all there is- I’ve already collected the down payment before you left.”

With this, the Doctor placed the bottle in front of him once more, and Ben grabbed it unimpeded.

“How does it work?” He asked, eyes still locked intently on the bottle.

“Simply take one drop for confidence and humor, two drops for fame and fortune, and three drops…” The Doctor’s face fell a bit. He looked from the bottle to Ben’s eyes, which had momentarily broken their gaze from the bottle.

“Three drops for what?”

“Three drops, my boy, will lead you down a path you may never want to walk. Three drops and your fame and fortune will be… eternal. But all who have tried have regretted it. They were simply too weak-willed for it, I suppose. They just didn’t have the Passion. Best to just stick with two, then.”

The pharmacist produced a small red-leather ledger and placed it in front of Ben.

“Simply sign here, a good hearty handshake, and then you’re off.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

The eager smile returned to the Doctor’s gaunt face. Ben suddenly found himself holding an ornate fountain pen. The handle was made of what seemed to be polished obsidian, and the deeper Ben peered into the side of it, the more he wondered if he would lose his mind in the endless, spiraling darkness. Ben was so tired. If he just signed, he could go back to sleep and be left alone. All he needed to do was-

A short, clear tap on the ledger indicating where he was to write his name brought him back to reality. He paused, reading over the names. So many people… Who was this guy? Wait a second- what was he doing here? He needed to get home, to feed his cat, to-

Before he knew it, Ben had signed the paper quickly, and the pen, suddenly wielding an immense weight, dropped from his hand. The scarlet man closed the book and placed both it and the pen in his breast pocket. He offered a bony hand.

Ben shook it.

The face of the pharmacist was whipped into utter delight. He let loose a deep, hearty chuckle. All previous refinement lost, he said-

“You can go.”

***

Ben started up in his bed. It was dawn, and the rays of the California sun had finally broken through the blinds to wake him. Everything that had happened the night before seemed fuzzy. Ethereal. Unreal. He walked over to the large bag of cat food and filled a bowl marked ‘EMBERS’. He looked around for the cat, who usually came running at the slightest hint of food. The soft pitter-patter of his feet never came.

Ben didn’t think much of it. After all, cats were lazier than most humans. He rose from the food bowl and suddenly stopped. His eyes were locked with an inky black vial on the counter.

He paused for a while, the memories of the previous night flooding back to him. The Asylum, the empty streets, the unnatural chill of the nocturnal air settling into his bones- it all came back. The eyes of the Doctor. Even now, he felt the endless abyss behind them boring holes into the most secluded parts of his being.

He put one hand on the bottle, and sloshed the liquid inside around. It was dense, like mercury. He debated simply tossing it out and considering the events of the past night a ‘stress-induced psychotic break’. “I would, but I paid for this-” He paused for a moment to briefly recall the events of the previous night once more. How much did he pay for this? Faust had said he wrote the prescription as a favor, but he had no memory of what he had given him in return.

He momentarily shook himself back to reality and looked around for Embers. He walked toward the hall where he had watched the cat slowly enter the previous night, but stopped at the entrance.

“I’ve already collected the down payment.”

The Doctor’s words echoed back to him now. He stared into the hall, which even now in pure daylight was held in a subtle darkness, with the door to the bathroom being closed and the windows in the bedroom covered by the curtains, which had been drawn shut. He lingered for a moment, and turned to face the bottle once again.

It felt like days, staring into the inky liquid in the bottle. Considering what he would do with it now that he had it. “How bad could it be? Two drops of anything can’t kill me,” He thought to himself. He went to the cupboard above the counter and removed a small coffee cup, placing it down next to the bottle. He put it under the faucet and filled it. Then, carefully unscrewing the lid of the bottle, he drew some of the liquid into the dropper and held it for a moment, careful not to release any of the pressure from his fingertips.

He kept the dropper suspended above the water.

“One drop for confidence and humor, two drops for fame and fortune, and three drops-”

Two drops of the onyx liquid fell into the cup. Ben’s hand held still over the cup for a moment, as if to tempt fate for another drop to fall from it. None did. He downed the cup. The liquid was bitter at first, but his tongue quickly acclimated to the taste. He recognised it from somewhere, but couldn’t put his finger on it. It was like a childhood dish with a main element removed- enough to offer the memory, but merely a shadow of what it truly was.

He stepped out into the air, which had changed rapidly from a blazing heat yesterday to a room-temperature atmosphere. Perhaps it was a few degrees too cold. The sudden focus on the sensation of the air on his skin reminded him of how fervently his sneakers chafed. It seemed completely normal, and yet, a creeping uneasiness stayed with Ben no matter where he went.

He began to walk toward his favorite cafe, a small, unambitious little shop owned by an immigrant family from Japan. Nice folk, yet the mother had the unappealing tendency to stare with intense scrutiny at anyone who entered. As a consequence, it was always empty. This was a bonus to Ben.

He walked in, and offered a slight wave to the mother’s 10-year-old boy, who sat in the back corner of the sun-bleached shop playing something on his GameBoy. The wave, to Ben’s dismay, went unnoticed. The mother, Pauline, emerged from the backroom and gave a warm smile, which was quickly snuffed at the sight of Ben’s wrinkled flannel.

“The usual?”

Actually, I was thinking a rum and coke this morning.

“Actually, I was thinking a rum and coke this morning.”

A brief, yet hearty chuckle emanated from Pauline. Where had that come from? He didn’t know, but he was proud of it. “A nice way to start my last day here.” Ben thought to himself.

“If you find one, get one for me too.”

Pauline began making a double-shot espresso, Ben’s favorite, and he left the cash on the counter and sat down. He looked out the large glass windows to gaze lazily across the street. The sun was in the first third of the sky, and the smell of the coffee had brightened his mood. Today was going to be a good day.

He went up to the counter and took the espresso. He resumed sitting, and took a long sigh. In that moment, Ben seemed to be held in a peculiar stillness, as if his entire life had been slightly blurred, and only now came into focus. He noticed every little thing. The pallid creak of the plastic chair he was sitting in that accompanied every slight movement. The furious, yet practiced clicking of the GameBoy. The dull hiss of steam from the coffee makers. It all seemed so real, so present, and yet- so disconnected. Despite the lucidity in which he viewed his surroundings, Ben couldn’t find himself immersed in it. He felt held within his own interior stillness, quiet and unnoticed by the outside world.

He stepped out of the shop and began to walk back to his apartment. Just then, a neon-swept teenager on a skateboard shoved a flyer into his hands. The teen sped past and absentmindedly shouted “Come to open mike night at The Hooligan House!” Ben looked down at the dry pink paper in his hands. “Why not?” He postulated, “What the Hell?”

***

The atmosphere of the comedy club was tipsy and jovial, with silver-tongued crooners smooth-talking to well-dressed ladies scattered throughout the club. People of all sorts were here, and the only one who felt out of place was Ben. He slipped into one of the front-row booths and sat down. A waitress came up to him and he asked for a beer. He sipped the foamy liquid courage and turned towards the stage.

“Uh, welcome to open mike night here at California’s own HH.”

The dull announcement was met with thunderous applause and cheers from across the club. The obviously stoned, flannel-clad man continued.

“Basically the rules are you have a max of five minutes, no racist or sexist shit, y’all know the drill.”

A man dressed in a loose polo went up. He flashed a cheesy smile, grabbed the mike with familiar confidence, and began:

“You know, I recently had to put my mom in a nursing home.”

The audience met this with sympathetic sighs.

“Yeah, her house parties were loud as hell- I couldn’t get any sleep. This bitch had to go.”

Uproarious laughter showered the comedian. His routine consisted of the same type of jokes. He presented his eighty-year old mother as a virile teen going through the angst that puberty brings on. A couple other people went up, and something deep inside Ben said:

Get up there. Show em’ what you’ve got.

Ben scooted out of his seat and briskly walked up to the microphone. There were scattered claps throughout the establishment. In an effort to hide his shaky hands he gripped it with both hands and began. He peered into the black faceless mass that was the crowd. He paused for a moment, trying to remember his jokes. He cursed under his breath. He’d left his book at home. I suppose he’d have to improvise. His mind was blank- he frantically racked his brain for anything resembling a joke when he heard a voice, perhaps his own, begin to speak.

“So the other day I was walking home, and I saw this homeless guy sweeping the streets with a branch.”

Small chuckles came from the crowd. The voice continued, and Ben was in a trance- was the voice his own? He’d never know. All he knew was that he was talking and it was working.

“First of all- good for him for keeping his community clean.”

A hearty laugh came from the crowd. Ben relaxed his grip.

“It’s not every day you see someone like that. I was honestly so surprised I just kinda watched him do it. At least he’s trying, right? Just look at him go- sweeping in two directions so the dirt stays in the same place. By far the most responsible crackhead I’ve seen in a while. He compares only to good ol’ Stabby Power-washes-the-street. Both upstanding men in the community.”

Ben continued on, caught in a stupor of the limelight- The words flowed effortlessly out of him- he didn’t need to think and they were already there, sent out to the crowd for them to devour. He finished his set and sat down. The audience cheered. The stoned manager from before came out and wished everyone a good night. People got up to leave, and as Ben was putting on his coat, a hand gripped his shoulder. Ben spun around and was face to face with a well-dressed little man in his forties, who stood a good foot shorter than him.

“Rick Barnaby- Talent Agent.”

He flicked a sleek black business card out to him and thrust it into his hands.

“And you got talent, kid. Real talent. The way you had that crowd busting their guts? Beautiful. Listen, gimme a call if you’re interested in working as a writer or something. There are tons of small studios in the hills that would love a guy like you!”

The balding man clapped him on the shoulder and walked away. Ben couldn’t help a smile from flooding over his face. He turned to the bar and asked to settle his tab.

The cheeky comedian from earlier sat at the bar, staring at him.

“You know, you’ve got chops, I’ll give you that. Guys like Barnaby are small fry- He goes after every wide-eyed comedian who can get a chuckle out of these idiots.”

Any previous levity was gone from the comedian’s face. He emptied his glass and got up.

“You want my advice? Wait until the big names go for you- but for that you need a club a lot bigger than this one.” He turned to the barkeep and gestured to his empty glass. “That one’s on him.” The now-sullen comedian quickly departed.

Ben begrudgingly paid his tab, along the extra charge for the other comedian’s drink. He stepped out into the sweet Hollywood air. The city glistened across the darkness. It was like the whole place was stuck in a haze of limelight. Before, He was nothing. Now, the city was his. He stepped off into the darkness.

***

Ben awoke yet again into a day he thought wouldn’t happen. He once again stared into the inky black liquid. He strode past the untouched food bowl, eyes locked in place with the vial. He outstretched his hand to it, but quickly withdrew it. He got another mug and placed it near the coffee maker.

All who have tried it have regretted it. They just didn’t have the Passion.

He picked the mug up again and filled it with water. He placed the mug on the counter next to the vial. What was he doing? The Doctor had said that all who have done it have regretted it.

Because they didn’t have the Passion.

Ben looked at the vial again.

“I have passion.”

Yes, Benjamin, you do. The people who regretted it didn’t have the same fire you possess.

“W-what if I don’t? What if it’s really not in me?”

There are always a million reasons not to do something. All this worry is so… negative. Let go of your inhibitions.

Ben unscrewed the cap and dropped the third drop in. He downed the cup. The taste was the same alluding flavor- but he was more passive to the subtle bitterness now. He knew that this was truly him.

He stepped out into the daylight- ready to make his way in the world. He was gripped by the strong sensation that the world was his. He had the fire. He had fought for this. Now it was time. Time to become the man he always wanted to be.

He stepped onto the crosswalk, not noticing the flatbed truck hurtling out of his peripheral vision. Ben took his last step with profound purpose. And all the world was gone.

***

“AHAHA, HOLY SHIT!”

Ben was in a leather armchair, face to face with a slender, neatly dressed man sitting across a dark mahogany desk. He was cackling and slamming the desk with laughter. Every beat against the hard wood was deafening. The true sadistic nature of the laugh made Ben fall sick to his stomach.

The fireplace burned brightly behind the still-laughing man. The eager flares mimicked the chaotic swelling of the laughter. All around the office was dark wood. He wanted to turn around, but fear kept him in his place.

“Ohh, ohh, oh my goodness-”

The man’s face rose from his desk and he wiped a tear from his eye. His skin color was an aggressive crimson. A horrible realization dawned on Ben. The truck- wait- How did he survive? Unless… The realization shot into him brutally.

“That is, without a doubt- one of the best ones I’ve seen. I mean, you took the third drop and, like, immediately get hit by a truck. I mean, hot damn. Wow. Really, really, great stuff. Okay- let’s take a little look-see at your file here.”

A bright red folder produced itself in a quick burst of flame. The man opened it and began to read, mouthing most of the words. Wild expressions darted across his face with every new sentence, most of them being jovial surprise.

“Excuse me but what am I-”

The man made a ‘Shut-your-mouth’ gesture with his hands and Ben fell silent. Ben put a hand to his mouth and felt around it. He gagged- It was sewn shut. He traced his fingers over the stitches and let loose a muffled scream. The scream was met with not even an apathetic glance from the man. He kicked his feet up onto the desk and sank back into his leather chair. He tossed the folder into the fireplace behind him.

“So, uh, normally Paul, the demon in charge of your case, would be the one doing this, but he’s uhh, kind of busy right now, so here I am. You know, I almost turned down this overtime shift. But this… oh this is definitely worth it. Now, unless you’re a full-blown brickhead, you’ve probably figured out where you are by now.”

The demon let loose an excessive, toothy grin.

“You can talk, genius.”

Ben took in a sharp breath and felt around his lips. No stitches, no scars.

“W-wasn’t I h-h-hit by the t-t-”

“Ehh, wuh-wuh-wuh, buh-buh-buh, Speak up, moron. Yeah, you’re in the ol’ H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks all right. In here for a doozy of a sin, too. Deal with the Big Guy, huh? How’d you manage a score with the head honcho ‘round here? Ya sleep with him?”

The demon once again launched into cackling laughter.

“Naw, naw, I’m just giving you a hard time. Don’t take it personally. I do this to everybody, it’s sort of my job. You get it.”

Ben looked around for cameras. Perhaps this was some sort of practical joke? He thought if perhaps he just waited a bit, a man with a clipboard would come out and tell him he made tonight’s news, and that California 48 would be televising his reaction to the prank.

No such relief came.

The... Demon? Man? Hapless actor? It didn’t matter. The beet-red, snappily dressed thing that sat across from him was nothing short of delighted to be looking over his file. Ben gathered the courage to look around. A ludicrous amount of mahogany. Behind him, at the back of the room, was a large aquarium with a beefy coconut crab.

“You know, that’s the crab that ate Amelia Earhart..”

“What?”

Ben turned back around to face the demon, who was leaning far across the desk, studying every aspect of Ben’s terrified expression. The demon sank back and looked at his watch.

“Oh, shit. We gotta get you out to hair and makeup right now.”

“W-what?”

The demon immediately grew a short beard that didn’t cover his chin, and a puffy afro.

“SAY ‘WHAT’ AGAIN! I DARE YOU, I DOUBLE-DARE YOU!”

Ben fell backwards, out of his chair. His head hit the hardwood with a bang. An intense, sharp sting immediately pulsed from the back of his head. The demon once again launched into violent laughter, and then pulled him upright in his chair again.

“Oh, my bad, guy. I can’t have you all fuzzy for what’s about to happen. I was just kidding about hair and makeup, by the way. You go out just as ugly as you are now.”

Hair and makeup? What the hell was he on about? There wasn’t any-

A neatly dressed, presumably female, demon with her hair in a tight bun quickly opened the door and leaned in.

“You’re on in five, Cal.”

“Thanks, Toots.”

She looked at Ben and squealed excitedly.

“Is that the guy?”

Cal responded cheerily, “Yep. In the… well, I guess you wouldn’t say flesh.”

The assistant once again squealed excitedly, and then quickly left and shut the door.

Ben, collecting his bearings, sputtered out,

“Look, I think you have the wrong guy. I-I’m not a bad person, I j-just-”

Cal looked at his watch and smiled.

“Showtime!”

He snapped his fingers, and it felt for a brief moment that a fireball had covered Ben. Not enough to burn him, but enough to flash-heat him and startle him again. This time, he was behind a dark red curtain. The neatly-dressed demon from earlier was right next to him.

“I’m Prinne. I’m an Assistant Executive. I just wanted to say, on behalf of all of us, how much your sheer stupidity means to us. Really it's… inspiring. Oop- this is you. Bad luck!”

She scurried off somewhere, and the heavy curtains swept open before Ben, momentarily blinding him from the industrial lighting. He briefly heard,

“... Ben Harding!”

A jazz orchestra flooded out an upbeat piece, as Cal walked over and moved him to a plush suede couch. He could barely hear anything of the swarm of cheers that washed over Ben. Cal sat down at a desk next to him.

“Isn’t he great, folks?! Look at that- two arms, two legs- the works!”

This was met with guffawing laughter. The crowd quieted down, and Ben’s focus turned towards Cal. Cal was beaming, and he took a sip from a cup that Ben was positive wasn’t coffee.

“So, Ben. I always start my guests with the same question-”

The crowd finished his sentence loudly.

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!”

Ben stuttered, his mind blank.

“A-a TV show?” was all he managed to get out.

Cal turned to the crowd inquisitively. “What do you think, people, did he get it?”

There was a loud mix of ‘Boos’ and cheers. It was impossible to hear what the majority thought. Cal started again- “I’ll give you a hint, pal. I told you earlier.”

Ben somehow turned paler than he was before.

“Oh, God…”

“NOPE! NOT FOR YOU!”

Deafening laughter resumed. Ben knew what it was. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t bring himself to admit the reality he was facing.

Cal answered for him:

“You know what, guy? I’m a kind fella, so I’ll take that pale, mortal face o’ yours as the correct answer! You’re in…”

Once again the crowd responded.

“HELL!”

A red, flashing marquis sign lowered, illuminating the word. The crowd burst out with laughter once more. As Ben stared directly up at it, he began to weep uncontrollably. This was simply too much to handle. He wanted to go home! He wanted to hug his mother! He wanted to see his cat again!

“What’s that? Your cat? Why would you want to see him again? HE’S THE ONE THAT BROUGHT YOU TO OUR ATTENTION!”, Cal shouted with sheer glee.

Ben was confused beyond words, beyond thought. Cal continued.

“That’s right! He did! If you still want to say ‘Hi’ to your little buddy, then good news! He’s here in the audience tonight!”

A spotlight wheeled around to shine on Embers in the front row, sitting upright, like a human, waving a paw at the cameras and smiling to the extent that a cat could smile.

Cal began again-

“You see, I don’t know if you realized this, but cats just tend to walk between Hell and the mortal plane all the time! It’s just kinda a thing they do. I think the real tug-at-your-heartstrings of it all was the fact that even though you loved him, even though you fed him, even though you cleaned up his stanley steamers all his life, he still couldn’t give a rat’s ass about YOU!”

The crowd busted a gut at this statement. Ben was speechless, staring at the dark, shapeless crowd. The spotlight returned to Cal.

“Alright, folks, It’s time for one of my favorite segments. You know the one-”

The crowd returned-

“GIVE! HIM! MORE! EYES!”

Ben, still weeping, let loose a scream of complete and utter fear for his existence. He tried to get up, but his legs simply wouldn’t allow him to do so. He beat on his legs with his fists, seemingly endlessly, hoping to get them to work, so they could speed him out of this waking nightmare.

“Aww, I think he wants to go.” Cal made a harlequinesque frown at this comment.

The crowd boomed back more laughter. Cal continued,

“Don’t worry, stupid. This next segment isn’t about you. We just want you to watch.”

Cal gestured to a platform where a man strapped to a board rose out of the ground. His mouth was sewn shut, as Ben’s had been earlier. Cal walked over to the pot-bellied, balding man and began, placard in hand.

“Our next contestant on G.H.M.E. comes to us from Snerling, Indiana. Gabriel Mortson, welcome to Give Him More Eyes!”

He screamed a suppressed wail of terror.

“Now Gabey-boy, you sexually assaulted over fifteen minors in your time on the mortal plane! How do you plead, asswipe?!”

Gabe once again wailed a muffled cry. Cal resumed,

“Sounds like ‘guilty’ to me, folks.” The crowd cheered in agreement with the verdict.

Cal bellowed another sadistic laugh and snapped his fingers. Immediately, a thousand cuts ripped across the man’s entire body. He tried his hardest to scream, but nothing came from his tightly-shut mouth. Blood oozed out of every cut, and one by one, human eyes that looked exactly like Gabriel’s own quickly festered from each cut. The muffled scream went on endlessly. Ben’s eyes were fixed, even through the tears. No desire had ever been as strong as Ben’s was for death then. What he believed was true death, an endless, peaceful sleep. Cal’s joyous expression reminded him that his belief was not the case. Gabriel, drenched in his own blood, receded down into the floor of the stage once more.

“Benny Hill! Back to you, buddy. You are an ‘especial’ case. For you, dear friend, we have a game we rarely get to play. This one is reserved specifically for people who make deals with the Big Fella!”

The crowd erupted in applause and cheered again. A small stream of urine trickled steadily down Ben’s pant leg. Cal continued.

“The rules are simple- walk down this hallway, don’t open any of the doors, and just leave!”

Ben was confused. There must be a catch. Ben was sure of it. Nothing Cal said would ever be trustworthy. Not after what he had seen.

“Alrighty then, Ben-to box! Best of luck!”

Ben saw Cal’s hand move to snap his fingers, but he was gone before he could have heard Cal’s snap. It was odd. He looked down an average hotel hallway. It looked exceedingly calm. The carpet was a stripe of red with beige on both sides. The walls were a neutral cream. Each of the doors had a small, excellently polished door knob on them. He took a step forward. There was no sound, no creak. Ben took another, and was startled by a loud crunching behind him.

He swiftly turned around, and was put somewhat at ease at the realization that it was simply an ice machine. He resumed his path forward. That was when he heard the first voice.

“Benji?”

A soft, frail voice came from the first door on the left.

“M-mom?”

Ben’s hand instinctively went towards the handle. He caught himself and whipped it back, holding both of his hands tightly in his armpits.

“Benji, please… please come in. I want to see you. Where did you go, Benji? Why did you leave me?”

Ben tried his hardest to shut out the voice by clamping his hands to his ears. It did nothing. The voice continued, as Benjamin picked up the pace moving forward. The voice grew louder and louder, coming from every door that he passed.

“Benji… Benji, please!... BENJI!... BENJI!”

The farther he got from the first door, the louder and more demonic the voice became, until it was an unholy shriek, cutting deeply into his ears, punishing him, until at once it stopped. Ben fell to his knees and assumed the fetal position, crying loudly and uncontrollably. He laid there, weeping, until he heard that voice in his head once more.

“Keep moving.”

He got up and wiped the tears out of his eyes. He turned around, and he had passed about a dozen doors by then. Only six remained before the slightly open door at the end of the hall. There was a soft golden light coming from the edge, but he couldn't see what was out there. He heard an old TV turn on inside one of the rooms.

“Now, It’s The Late Show- with Ben Harding!”

Ben continued on, passing through the doors, each one playing a variation of a late-night talk show hosted by Ben. That was, until he came to the sixth door. It was the only door with a small brass door plate in the shape of a star with ‘Benjamin Harding’ inscribed on it. Behind it, he heard:

“Where is he? He needs to be on in two minutes! We can’t have this stupid show without this stupid host!” He then heard light, but stern footsteps pace around the room. Under the door, a shadow danced accordingly. The voice behind the sixth door was the softest. Still, Ben found it the most alluring. His hand slipped out of his armpit and gently onto the knob. The handle was nice and warm. Ben was cold. Perhaps someone has opened a window. There was the same chill in his bones as there was that night. That chill that inched him forward, towards the warm, convenient shop. He felt as he did when he held the drop of the liquid above his cup.

No turning back now.

But there was. He turned to his left, and saw the final door. It’s light was warm, but not enough to warm him the way he felt the sixth door would. Ben took one final look at the sixth door, and slipped his hand off the knob. Somehow, he could feel the crowd’s disappointment, even without hearing them. That was his victory. For the first time all night, he cracked a smile. He had won. He would fix his mistake. He left the sixth door behind and exited through the final door at the hall. It was warm, just as he thought. He was standing in a field of wild wheat. He turned around and the door was gone. “Ohio.” He thought. He saw abandoned train tracks to the East, and started walking that way. It was a serene afternoon. Not humid, but breezy. A single cloud hung in the sky, moving across the horizon. He walked toward the tracks, and with a single, intense ‘thwack’, he was greeted with the loudest laughter that the crowd had let loose.

Searing, unbelievable pain shot through his leg. Ben dropped to his knee, and tried to pry off the bear trap he had stepped in. It wouldn’t budge. He looked up, and the kind, serene sun was gone. All there was was the harsh light and the crowd. Cal knelt down with him and put a hand on his shoulder. He was tearing up with laughter.

“YOU DON’T GET TO LEAVE, YOU IDIOT! I’M AFRAID THAT SHIP HAS SAILED!”

The crowd continued its tsunami of deafening laughter. Ben’s section of the stage was being lowered into the darkness, just as Gabriel had been. All Ben heard before the darkness was the crowd’s inhuman cackling, and Cal’s voice say:

“That one’s going on the Highlight Reel for sure!”

#horror #fiction #my writing #short story #dark academia #creative writing #quarentine #story

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thatonecurlygirl · 6 years ago

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Almost Lost You

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Wheeler!Reader Word Count: 2k Warnings: angst... fluff Request: I was wondering if I could request a Steve Harrington x Wheeler reader where the party have called them in to help with some upside down stuff and then something bad happens to one of them and they end up telling each other how they feel? - @mysticrebelwerewolf

The sun just set and the sky is painted shades of reds and pinks and you take in the awe-worthy sight as you walk down the street. You often find yourself in need of fresh air and walking alone through the streets of Hawkins, Indiana. It’s not something people here normally do, especially if those people have personally fought off the monsters that once hid in the dark shadows of the ever-eerie town. But you, you are different. No, you aren’t out searching for the troubled beasts that terrorized your friends and a group of middle schoolers and you aren’t a fearless warrior. To be honest you’re scared shitless of those things but isn’t that courage —fighting the things that scare you. So, sometimes when the sun is setting and the sky gets dark, you walk the streets of Hawkins to remind yourself that you are strong and helped protect this rinky-dink town, that and Steve lives a few blocks away.

It’s like some unspoken thing between you and Steve, you walk past his house at the same time every Monday and he takes the trash bins up to the street at the same time, both of you meeting at the same spot at exactly the same moment. Even though you see each other practically every other day, you look forward to your Monday rendezvous. Going up the street to his house, you can tell that something is different.

Eyebrows furrowed, you continue walking toward Steve who is already waiting out by the street. As you get closer you notice that Steve is not standing there alone, beside him stands Dustin Henderson — Steve’s side-kick. The closer you get, the better you can make out the look of worry on their faces, a look that makes you stop dead in your tracks.

“Wh-What’s wrong?” You stutter out, gulping down a big lump in your throat.

“We’ve got a problem.” Steve nods over to Dustin who is standing there with a walkie-talkie in his hand.

Dustin looks up at you, “Mike saw a demodog running toward the woods.” He says hesitantly.

“What?” You gasp looking up at Steve. “I thought we took care of them.”

“We thought so too.” Steve nods. “We told them that we’d get you and head that way.”

Your chest constricts and it feels as if you can’t breathe at all. You run your fingers through your hair in an attempt to hide the fact that your hands are shaking. Nodding you look down the street and back to the two boys standing there, looking at you.

“O-okay, let’s go.” You walk toward Steve car that is sitting at the edge of the driveway, engine running.

Dustin and Steve follow closely behind, buckling themselves into their respective seats before Steve drives off down the road toward where he had promised to meet the others. When Steve pulls up the only thing there are empty cars. When you climb out of the car, the atmosphere is thick and eerie.

Behind you Dustin is speaking on the walkie-talkie, trying to figure out where everyone went while you follow Steve to the trunk. Out comes the infamous nail ridden bat. You’ve always found Steve attractive, but he is absolutely drool worthy when wielding this weapon. You pull the small hatchet and the makeshift flamethrower you made from a lighter and a can of hairspray from where you safely stored it in Steve’s trunk and look up at him with a shrug of your shoulders.

“Never thought I’d be doing this with you again.” You sigh out as he closes the trunk.

“I hoped we wouldn’t have to.” He says looking down at you then over at Dustin who is approaching.

“They’re heading out to the junkyard if we hurry we may be able to catch up to them.” He says, nodding toward the dark woods.

“Let’s go.” You nod, heading straight into the woods, trying your damnedest to pushback the fear and unease bubbling to the surface. “What could go wrong.” You sarcastically groan to yourself.

Anything could go wrong, in fact, it felt as it everything had gone wrong. Lucas had told Dustin over the walkie-talkie that they made it to the junkyard and the demodog was there and that it was huge. In your rush to hurry to the junkyard and help out the rest of them, the three of you didn’t pay much attention to your surroundings until Steve jolts forward as he is being knocked to the ground.

“Steve!” You shout and turn to see a Demodog, the size of a large German Shepard, standing over Steve readying itself to attack.

Pulling Steve’s bat off the ground, you quickly swing right at the monster’s head. The demodog is thrown off Steve long enough for you to hand his bat back and him to pull himself off the ground before it comes vaulting towards you guys again with a screech when Steve hits it once again with the bat.

“We need to go, safety in numbers!” You back up toward Dustin who is staring at you with wide eyes.

“Looks like they’re heading our way, so is the other demodog.” He looks back down at the walkie in his hands.

Your palms start to sweat and hands start to shake. Nervously you begin to look around, trying to find something — anything — that will be of an advantage to you. Seeing as Jane and Hopper are out of town, you can’t really count on the super eleven powers at this moment to get you all out of this situation… and that’s when it happens.

Your leg is taken out from under you, sharp knife like teeth puncture your legs as the petals of the second demodog’s face wrap around your exposed leg. Next thing you know you are being dragged away, Steve fighting back the other demodog, best he can as he yells out your name and watches you being dragged away kicking and screaming.

“Y/n!” You hear them yelling out your name, but all you can focus on is the sharp pain of the nail ripping at your skin at you try to fight off the beast with mere rocks and sticks. “Y/n!” Their voices get louder and your arms get weaker as you continue your attempts to fight off the monster that seems to be toying with you.

The sound of a nearby twig snapping in half must’ve startled the demodog out of the game he was playing with you because the petals of his face peeled back and it attached itself to your side. Your blood-curdling, pained scream was followed by the sound of gunshots, one after another and then the large demodog falls limp on your body.

“Y/n!” Steve calls out to you, skidding to a stop next to you as he pushes the demodog off. “God, I thought I lost you.” He gently cups your face before looking at your ripped skin and clothes.

“Is anyone-“

“They’re all okay.” He nods quickly, face full of worry when he looks down at the blood seeping from the bite on your side. “I’ll get Y/n and meet you at the cars.” Steve looks up at the others before looking back down at you.

“Stop looking at me like that, I’m fine.” You say with a pained laugh, eyes watering as you try to push Steve’s worry away but you can tell it’s not working.

“You’re not fine, I almost lost you before I was able to tell you-” He stops, shaking his head and carefully helping you up to your wobbly feet.

You hold onto his shoulder for support before your leg gives out and you almost fall back down. In a swift movement, Steve scoops you up and holds you bridal style, not at all worried about the blood your transferring to his clothes.

“Before you were able to what? Tell me you have feelings for me.” You scoff quietly at your joke, but look back up at Steve when he doesn’t answer you. His face is red and he is staring in your eyes with a look of longing in his. “Oh my God, you do don’t you?” You gasp.

Steve looks away and starts carrying you through the dark woods and back toward the cars where he had said he would meet the others with you. He looks back down at you, seeing you staring at his sweet face.

“Yeah,” He nods and looks away. “I do.”

You stare up at him in utter shock. Steve turns his face forward, stepping over fallen limbs of trees as he carefully carries you. You can hear him swallow down his feelings, he gives a small shake of his head as if he is attempting to shake away particular thoughts.

“Shit.” You gasp quietly as your head spins.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said-“

“No, no it’s not that. I- I’m not feeling too good.” Your words come out quiet as your eyelids become heavy and your breathing short.

“Hang in there, we are almost to the car,” Steve says, trying to put on a brave face but you can hear in the shake of his voice and feel in the quick beat of his heart that he is nervous, scared even.

The more time that passes, the more tired you get and eventually you give in. You let your eyes close, just for a second to get just a little bit of relief. Steve urges you to stay awake, begs you even but you try to assure him with all the energy you can muster that you are okay. Letting one of your arms fall from around his neck, you place it on his chest and give a small yawn.

“Hey, there you are.” You hear a soft voice say from above you. “How are you feeling, dear?”

Opening your eyes you see what you can only guess is a hospital room by the sanitary smell, the monitors and wires, and the lady standing next to your bed in scrubs. With a pained smile, you look down at your arm to see it bandaged and back up at the nurse.

“You’re quite a lucky girl. There were a lot of cuts and bites that needed cleaned and stitched up and you lot a lot of blood, but you’ll be alright thanks to your friends.” She smiles, looking toward the cracked door. “They’re waiting out there for you, would you like me to get them for you?”

“Please.” You croak out, nodding your head gently as she turns and walks out.

“Y/n?” Steve asks softly as he, Dustin, Lucas, and Max walk in. “You need to stop doing that. You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry.” You say softly with a small smile. “Steve?”

“Yeah,” He asks, walking up to the side of your bed and leaning in to better hear you.

His eyes are full of worry and relief and that same thing you saw in his eyes out in the woods, longing. You reach out with both hands, exposing your bandaged arms, and your gently cup both sides of his face and pull him down to meet you. Your lips press softly against his that curl up into a smile before kissing you back.

“I think we’ll just…” Lucas points toward the door as the three of them slowly back out.

“We didn’t get to finish that talk in the woods.” You say when Steve pulls away to look down at you. “I wanted you to know that I have feelings for you too.”

“Are you done making out? Is it safe to come in now?” Dustin says through the crack of the door and you giggle.

“Yeah, come in.”

You lay in the bed and smile, watching the three kids sit at the end of your bed and tell you in vivid detail what you being attacked, Nancy, your sister, shooting the demo dog, and Steve carrying you out of the woods looked like from their point of view. Periodically you glance over at Steve to see him staring at you, eyes soft and a smile even softer. You reach for his hand that is resting on the bed and clasp your fingers with his.

Tag List: @admiralsixx @xicarcalii @lokesmcgotes

#steve harrington #sweet Steve #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #stranger things #stranger things x reader

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rennisaturate · 4 years ago

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lcvesdeath:

“IS THERE A PROBLEM HERE?” simon knew he was big as fuck and wasn’t hesitant at all in flexing the fact when some asshole was pressing up on his girl, mikaela. …alright, so she wasn’t officially his girl or anything like that. but he swept in without second-guessing matters, the instinct to protect absolutely natural, because mikaela was … mikaela. she was special. and, no, they didn’t have to be dating for simon to actually give a damn. he already seethed at her instagram stories of her going out with the other guys in her friend group, so when he finally got the opportunity to tell some asshole to fuck off from her? it’s like he’s been waiting for it, honestly.

and his imposing frame works to a tee, the creep in front of him obviously steaming with frustration and humiliation. however, the guy wasn’t fucking dumb enough to try someone well over six feet who looked like he spent every hour of the day inside the goddamn gym. “shit, i didn’t even want the number, anyway.” dumbass spits out an excuse before shrinking away to bother some other chick at the club, probably. not that simon believed that they’d seen the last of him — when the liquor’s in his system, he’s a bit too vigilant and ready for all problems. eventually turns around into mikaela, heated face breaking out into a big goofy grin. “damn. your fine ass always causing trouble, ‘kaela,” teases with a low tone softened over with intoxicated bliss. considering how much that scene just pissed him off, he’s still plenty happy to just be out with her. whilst he can appreciate a damn good party, mikaela was practically his other half, his partner-in-crime; he fucking loved going out just about anywhere with her. “that son of a bitch didn’t hurt you, did he?” concern abruptly floods handsomely chiseled features.

she looped her fingers into simon’s back belt loops comfortably, sipping her beer and watching from the safe space his body created for her. the rando’s line about not wanting her number made her laugh loudly. “ lying about it won’t change the fact you’re not getting it regardless,” she couldn’t help but giggle. some men could just be so fucking pathetic... he caused a scene and now that the balance of power had shifted out of his favor he was trying to act like he wasn’t up her ass a second ago. the jokes wrote themselves. mikaela grinned back at simon when he turned back to her with an equal playfulness. “ can’t help it, i attract dumb-assery i guess, ” she rolled her eyes, finishing off the last little bit in her bottle. his following concern made her heart skip a tiny little beat and she tried to shrug it all off. “ nah. pretty sure he was contemplating it and probably still is, but nah, ” she shook her head. usually she could leave it there as well, but in the back of her mind she wondered if she’d have to keep watch for that piece of shit for the rest of the night. she doubted a rinky dink looser like him could take a “L” that big and leave it. it put a slight damper on her mood suddenly, but she smiled at simon anyway. she reached and tugged lightly on his shirt, gesturing towards the bar. “ i need another drink, come with me?? ”

#convo:mikaela #c:shield #[ oh my god him punching out some dude for her ?? -slams credit card on the table- ]#(( we can watch it in slow mo when the sweet n low drips || mikaelaxsimon ))#lcvesdeath

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hops-hunny · 3 years ago

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What Do I Know?

Pairing: Rich!Dilf!Sam Wilson x Black!College Student!Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 3.2k

Request: N/A

Summary: Your best friend ain’t tell ya her dad was a daddy.

Warnings: 18+ dni interact if you’re a minor or ageless account. age gap, fingering, pussy eating, overstim, fucking

A/N: I had Sam brainrot like alll week so far so enjoy ♥

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to come home with you? This isn’t some small break like spring or that lil rinky dink one they give us in February.” (Y/n) asked, zipping the sides of her suitcase together. The long awaited summer break had come and after tiring, long hours of college classes all (Y/N) and Miyaki wanted to do was head home.

Well that was the original plot however it had clearly been lost. One phone call home and all of a sudden her mom and dad had magically ‘forgot’ to inform her that they had planned a trip for the two of them and the addition of her other three siblings (who somehow had been informed and never got left out..) to Europe. Although the girl was originally mad - rightfully so- she got over it really fast. So much so that she didn’t even bother letting her mom finish her little half assed excuse of how she thought she had texted her with the info and what not. This was her summer too and she was not going to start it off being upset over family drama.

However she still did feel bad about joining Miyaki on her trip home. The two girls had become fast friends during their few years at college and as the tall woman had said “We’ve been friends for years and ain't been to each other's houses once. You don’t think that’s a lil weird?” and she had to agree but it was one thing to spend the night at a friend’s house but to spend an entire summer? That was practically unheard of from where she came from! Nobody had that kind of money and food to be feeding an extra mouth for an entire three months.

“Yes girl, relax! I asked my dad today if it was chill for you to come and he agreed! Quit worrying and grab yo shit, the car is waiting out front.” The green eyed girl said, tossing her faux locs over her shoulders. Before (Y/n) could get in another worry or complaint she walked out of the dorm, slamming the door behind her.

“That girl has some serious attitude problems, I’ll tell ya that...” the girl muttered to herself, rolling her suitcase in tow. She eyed the dorm one last time, smiling at the nice memories they had made this year before exiting, leaving the key under the mat for the next students that’d come to stay.

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The first sign that Miyaki came from a different living situation from her was the shiny black Rolls-Royce parked in front of the housing part of campus. There was an older gentleman in a chauffeur outfit who put their bags in the car. She’d given her friend a look who gave her a confused one back before hopping in the car with her. Was this really not out of the ordinary for her? If this was just her car what would her house look like?

(Y/n) let out an audible gasp as the big black gates opened.

“You live in a gated community?!” she exclaimed, turning to her roommate. Miyaki’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“Gated community? Sis....this is my house!” she let out a laugh as the (h/c) haired girl remained silent, looking at the large house in awe. How many people lived with Miyaki? To say she was stunned was an understatement. Miyaki was the most down to earth person she had met since going to college at Stonebrook. As the name suggested, it was a really prestigious and fancy school, tons of stuck up brats on daddy and mommy’s pay going to the school. (Y/n) had always been isolated by her peers since she was attending on a scholarship. They found it pathetic and pitied her which she despised. Why should she be looked down on for actually working to get into school?

Miyaki had never felt that way though. She treated (Y/n) as she treated everyone else...if not a little better (the girl had quite a mean streak) and was very quiet about her home life. But now as they walked up the quartz stairs and through the big marble columns, she could understand why.

“Dad, we're home! Come meet my friend!” the girl's voice echoed across the entire house causing her to snicker. ‘Does she ever use an inside voice?’

“I’ll be down in a sec, sweetheart!” a deep baritone voice called out. (Y/n) felt her heart race at the sound. The man’s voice went through her ears like silk. It was smooth but had a bit of a dark tinge to it, like a hint of cream in black coffee. She pulled out her phone, scrolling through her socials as she awaited the man’s presence. After what felt like forever a pair of footsteps came in their direction before parking in front of them. The woman almost dropped her phone at the sight in front of her.

In front of her was the finest man she had ever seen. Brown skin that had that healthy glow, prominent cheekbones, and a bit of facial hair around the mouth region. He was only in jeans and a t- shirt but the way it fit him? The shirt clung to his torso perfectly, the muscles of his upper arms constricted by the cuffs, toned chest. This was her father? She could’ve never guessed by how fit he was! Thighs so thick that she had to stop herself from letting her thoughts drift (more so than they already were..). But when he smiled? Her legs turned to jello. His smile was bright and blinding and he had the most charming gap. It seemed as time had slown down when she was looking at him and from the looks of it he wasn’t disappointed at what he was seeing either. She didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on her midriff for just a little too long or the slight whistle he let out before covering it up with a cough.

“I’m Sam Wilson, Miyaki’s father. You must be (Y/n).” he said, holding a hand out for her to take. She gladly accepted it, shaking it with one hand as she placed the other one on top of both of them in a gentle way. The girl smiled back at him offering him a nod.

“Indeed I am! It’s so Nice to meet you Mr.Wilson and can I just say how thankful I am for you and Mrs.Wilson allowing me to stay with you guys for the summer. Especially with Miyaki’s short notice and all.” out of the corner of her eye she could see Miyaki roll her eyes at her sudden over-politeness towards her father and the way she had completely thrown her under the bus. Her attention was brought fully back to the man in question as he tightened his grip around her hand some.

“Mrs.Wilson? I’m not surprised Miyaki didn’t give you the details. It’ll only be the three of us here for the summer so in other words, there is no Mrs.Wilson.” he looked to the side a bit before turning back to face her, a smirk present on his face. “Also you don’t gotta be so formal, just Sam will do.” Miyaki cleared her throat impatiently causing the two to look to the side before laughing together. “Well it looks like Yaki is getting impatient so if you girls need anything, I'll be around. Dinner is at 6.” the older man gave her a once over before walking off to what she could only assume was the kitchen.

“Girlll and you been hiding him from me because??” (Y/n) asked, rubbing her hands together. Miyaki smacked her lips together, dragging the girl towards her room.

“You betta stop playing with me.” when her friend stayed quiet, the girl gasped, turning her head. “Wait you’re joking...you tryna get my dad to hit?! Oof.” she grunted as one of her pillows hit the back of her head. Turning she saw her friend on her bed, glaring at her.

“Don’t say it like that! All I said was he’s fine nothing more nothing less. That can’t be your first time hearing that, one of your other friends has had to say something.” She felt the girl thud down beside her on the bed. She hummed for a bit before flipping over to face her friend.

“I mean I can’t say I’m surprised really. You love you an older man. Remember when you switched to that one baking course just so you could flirt and make googly eyes with Mr.Garcia?”

“That’s not why I switched! I was simply interested in getting to know his favorite dessert!” (Y/n) exclaimed, turning her head the opposite way. “In hopes that maybe I could become his favorite dessert.”

“Whateva. Anyways, you wanna watch a movie till dinner?”

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Dinner had been amazing. Sam went all out, pulled out the grill, made dessert, it was all so lavish and delicious! He even had lobster which (Y/n) made sure to take full advantage of. He had said help yourself and who was she to go against his wishes in his home?

It was now around three in the morning as she stumbled around the house curiously. She and Miyaki had gone to bed early, absolutely exhausted from the long car ride over and while it was easy for her friend to stay asleep when turning in early, she found it hard to. No matter what if she went to bed before twelve she’d always end up waking up during some odd hour of the night.

A sound came from down the hallway catching her attention. It was a repeated thudding and while usually she wouldn’t go chasing after mysterious noises, she knew it couldn't be anything too bad. Sam had the security on this house underlock and she had seen how beefy his security guards were.

Once she reached the end she turned the knob from the room in which the sound was coming from. Gasping quietly, she opened the door a little wider trying to be as quiet as she could. The sight in front of her was absolutely heavenly. There was Sam, shirtless, in nothing but a pair of grey joggers beating the hell out of a punching bag. His jabs were sharp and powerful causing the chains to rattle with each blow to the sack. Goosebumps formed all over her skin at the sight of his power. If he could do that to a punching bag, what could he do with her?

All the what ifs invaded her mind causing her to rub her thighs together hungrily in thought. She hadn’t even noticed that Sam had moved until the door she was standing in closed, leaving the two of them in the room together. He offered her a smile, a yawn interrupting his incoming words. His arms flexed above his head giving her an even better view of his muscles. It was an even grander sight than she had imagined when she saw him clothed earlier.

“Can’t sleep?” she shook her head at his question, sitting on the bench in front of him. “ ‘S alright. Why don’t you help me train then? Try to get me to the ground. Come on, don't be shy, didn’t seem like you were earlier.”

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As expected, (Y/n) couldn’t get him to the ground at all! Time and time again he had managed to get her down but she couldn’t complain too much. Being this close to a hot and sweaty man? Having him touch and feel all over her body? She could get used to this.

“You know, for an old man you’re pretty strong!” (Y/n) was out of breath, sweat dripping down her chest. Letting out a deep breath she held a hand out for Sam to shake. He eyed it before taking it causing her to give him a devilish grin. Within a few seconds she had dragged him close, sweeping a foot under his leg. He fell like she intended but what she hadn’t done was calculating him keeping a hold on her wrist. The two both fell with a thud, Sam hitting the mat while the not so sneaky woman fell on top of him. She pushed herself up, hands flush against his chest as she straddled him, looking down at him. Her eyes widened at the feeling of two large hands gripping her ass, eyes trailing up to his.

“Didn’t you say you were having trouble sleeping? I think I got something that can put you right to sleep.” was this really happening? Was she hearing him correctly? That thought didn’t last long at the feeling of his dick poking at her through the fabric of his sweats. His dark eyes were practically black from how blown out his pupils were. Leaning forward, their lips connected.

The kiss was slow and sensual like the vibes he gave off. His lips were soft, the taste of coffee mixed with his natural taste. As the kiss grew more heated, Sam flipped them over, laying the girl gently on the mat. He continued with a trail of kisses, from her neck, collarbone, his fingers massaging the flesh of her hips. His lips gave extra love to her chest, licking and sucking upon the brown sensitive buds.

His open mouth trail of kisses slowly became sucking the further and further he got towards the center of her legs.

“C-careful. Don’t leave- don’t leave marks our else Miyaki might see.” she warned, causing him to pause momentarily. Lifting his head he chuckled some, brushing his thumb against the sensitive area of skin near her upper thigh. Whether or not it’d be visible in summer attire was something she wouldn’t know until she got dressed the next day. Massaging her legs, he leaned up near her face, softly caressing her cheek.

“You’re a smart girl, (Y/n). I’m sure you can figure it out.” she huffed but remained quiet, a pout prominent on her face. A large hand came to rest around her throat, squeezing lightly. " I'd advise you to lose the attitude if you wanna go to bed satisfied." She shuddered at his words but remained quiet, anxiously awaiting what he'd do next.

From the looks of it, he wasn't sure where he was going to take it next. He was eager, lust clouding his brain and thoughts. Sam was now acting on primal instincts alone. He reached for her sleep shorts, peeling them off before tossing them to the side. Keeping the eye contact they had, he guided two of his fingers into the mess that was her cunt. Despite barely touching her, her pussy was beyond creamy, juices dripping out the further he stuck his fingers in. Long, thick digits made their way into her with ease.

He made sure their eyes were connected, his stern eyes in a narrow assertion of dominance while her own (e/c) ones were glossed over as she fought to keep them open and focused on him. It was an agreement that didn't need to be spoken: her eyes were to be on him at all times. Every so often her eyes would jitter close as his fingers nudged against her spot but still she persisted, wanting to be good for him, to prove herself.

Sam removed his fingers, guiding them up to the girl's lips. Her eyes widened, gagging around the digits as waiting tears finally fell. Once he was satisfied he removed them, positioning himself between her legs. Using his thumbs he spread apart her pussy lips, salivating. Her cunt was so plush, clit engorged and pulsating, just aching to be touched.

He wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking on it as he swirled his tongue. The girl reached instantly, hands clinging to his head the best that she could as her hips arched forward. This is something Sam usually wouldn't fly with but he'd allow it this once. An airy moan fell from her lips as she continued to buck against his face, pelvis jerking rapidly at the feeling of his fingers lightly teasing her around her hole.

(Y/n) felt her entire body buzzing with pleasure. Her hands searched for anything to cling onto as her orgasm approached her, making its way to her faster and faster. An overstimulated whimper left her lips followed by her slick coating the older man’s face and mouth which he gladly accepted, the most sinful of noises leaving him as he cleaned her up. Her clench eyes relaxed as her body fell limp to the mat, chest heaving in heavy breaths.

“You tapping out already, princess?” she lifted her head from the ground, propping herself up onto her elbows as she gave him a glare. Kicking him onto his back, she climbed into his lap, aligning the tip of his cock with her entrance, bits of his precum mixing with the reminisce of her arousal.

“Not even close old man.” they both shared a loud groan as she sunk down onto him in one swift movement. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she tried to gain a hold on him, wanting to get the upper hand. However Sam was just so...large. His girth stretched her out greatly, the head of his cock just barely kissing her cervix causing her to let out a pathetic whimper. Sam chuckled some, wrapping his hands around her waist, guiding her own to rest around his shoulders.

“It’s okay baby, I’ve got you. You gotta relax though or it's gonna be a toughy for both of us.” she nodded lazily at his words, tightening her grip on his shoulders, head under his chin. He rubbed at her back gently, feeling as her muscle began to untense around him. “Better?”

“Y-yes just move. Wanna feel you.” he placed a kiss to the top of her head before beginning to thrust, letting out a small ‘fuck’ under his breath. Despite her being fully relaxed and prepped, she was still so tight around him. After a bit of trial and error, he had finally managed to find a good rhythm but even with as patient as he was he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Locking his arms around the base of her spine, he gripped her in his arms, trading out his slow and deep thrust for a series of fast and shallow ones. The sounds she was making for him only egged him on as she babbled and drooled on about how she couldn’t take it, how good it felt.

“O-oh god! ‘M not gonna la-last any longer! Wanna cum with you! Wanna- can we, pl-please!” she cried out, tears mixing with the mess of drool on her face.

“Yeah? Let’s cum together then.” he agreed, not having much left in him himself. With a few final powerful thrust, Sam came deep inside of her, (Y/n) following right along with him. The girl fell forward into his chest, the both of them panting, holding each other covered in sweat. She let out a soft chuckle, looking up at the man who was already staring down at her.

(Y/n) had originally thought it was gonna be a long summer, but this was way different from what she had in mind. She was fucked.

Metaphorically and Physically.

#sam x reader #sam wilson x you #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson x reader #black!reader #black reader #poc!reader #poc reader #captain america x reader #marvel imagines

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