#god i still barely know how to tag on this site

[fizzy-frenzy]

Sketch that I'll do the line art for either tomorrow, orrrr probably never

[art block has been kicking my ass save me pls]

[jealousjersey]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖”come home”⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

☆ tags // mike schmidt x reader, loser!mike x dom!gn!reader,

☆ mentions // mike is a needy loser who begs for your attention, dick sucking, edging, cum drinking, reader doms mike, angst, fluff, smut, needy and desperate mike, reader has like wrapped around their finger., missionary, unprotected p in v (wrap it) minors dni 18+

☆ a/n // i still love writing for mike schmidt this is heaven ty lou

your work has been consuming you, working long hours, barely coming home on time, sleeping all until your next shift and just being busy. your boyfriend, mike, hates it. he hates that you’re never home, he hates that he never sees you, and he hates that you two haven’t had sex in weeks.

he’s been a brat about it ever since you took more hours, and he never took the time to realize that you’re only working so hard to provide for things he’d want, i mean, you are the house breadwinner. ever since his pizzeria secrurity job ended you’ve had to work since he couldn’t get hired anywhere.

as you’re working you get texts after texts from mike. “are you gonna be home on time?” “i miss you.” “i need you it’s been so long” he spams you.

god, he’s so needy. you roll your eyes at the text. if he doesn’t chill the hell out for atleast 3 more hours you’re going to loose your mind, does he not know that it’s hard for you too?

as the hours go by you think of ways to surprise him. maybe some lingerie? maybe a new toy for you two to experiment with? maybe some flavored lube? the possibilities are endless. you count down to the second you get off your shift, simply texting mike “wait up on me, i have a surprise.” as you clock out and go to your car.

you arrive at the nearest mall and get a cute lingerie set from the Spencer’s located within. a black lacy bra with a golden heart charm between the breasts, the bottom piece is a black and lacy with “baby” on the butt written in rhinestones. you knew he would love it but you didn’t expect him to like it as much as he did.

as you’re getting back in your car to drive home, you get a sudden rush of excitement. wondering how he’ll react at the site of you. you even put on red lipstick to top it all off. as you arrive at home, you change into your new set in your car, it fit perfectly around your shape. you swiftly but your work clothes back on. you still need this to be a surprise.

you enter the house and throw your keys on the kitchen table. you walk into your room and mike is waiting patiently for you, god his bulge is showing just by the thought of you coming home.

before he could say anything you strip as soon as you get through your door, watching his eyes gaze at your body in your new set. giving him a spin around so he could see your rhinestone covered ass.

mikes eyes widen at the site of you, a wet spot already forming at the tip of the tent in his sweatpants. “oh my god” he says softly as he stares at your figure.

you stand in your set in front of him, your fingers dancing across your chest, driving him crazy. you get on your knees in front of him and bring his sweatpants down, followed by his boxers. pulling them down just below his balls. his dick springs out of his pants, hot and red at the tip with precum pooling out.

you leave one kiss on his tip as your lips take in his precum. leaving the red lipstick kiss mark on his dick. he immediately groans at the sensation, feeling better than he has in weeks just by the expectation of you giving him head.

but you’re not giving in that easily. you kiss and lick around his shaft, but never long enough for him to get a release from it, your lipstick leaving red stains all around his hard on.

“please suck, i’ve been thinking about it all night please” he pleads with almost tears in his eyes from the overstimulation. it’s so cute seeing him like this but who are you to say no to his request?

as per his request you start, you wrap your red lips around his tip and his hand pushes your head down, it’s almost insulting but god, it’s so needy of him and that drove you crazy. you fully emerge yourself around him and he lets out a sore whimper.

you gag on his dick as you’re sucking, he throws his head back and keeps his hand on the back of your head, gripping on your hair. his dick twitches in your mouth signaling he’s close to cumming. “m’gonna cum” he moans, only the whites of his eyes showing. as his words hit your ears you stop, red lipstick covering the shaft of him.

he looks devastated at your action. “please let me cum, i’ve been waiting so long.” he begs. it’s almost cute how desperate he is for you. you want to keep going for him but you stop yourself. “now is it really fair if you get to get off and i don’t? is that fair? i’ve been waiting just as long as you have.” you say

you push him back on the bed, his dick springing up, tip still red and sensitive. you wrap your hands around him, feeling the warmth of him.

you basically rip your panties off of yourself, positioning yourself on top of him, sliding his dick inside you, grinding on him as you look him in the eyes. “you look so pretty when i’m overstimulating your dick. so, so pretty.” you say as you place a hand on his cheek

he moans your name as he places his hands on your hips, so tightly that you’re certain it’ll leave bruises. you want that, the pain would be a reminder of this amazing night.

your hair flips around your neck, your face flushed with a pink tint and sweat beaming off your forehead. his dick assaults your walls as his tip brushes your gspot causing you to let out a soft moan of his name. his fingers make their way to your clit, moving soft circles along it, making you pant soft sounds.

mike almost cums on contact with your body, but he knows he has to stop himself. he has to make this good for you. he has to make this last as long as he can. “fuck, i’m gonna cum mike.” you whimper. he speeds up, hitting your gspot with each thrust he leads you to bounce on.

“m’so close” you whimper, his fingers bring themselves to your chest, god he loved it so much. especially in that new bra. his teeth graze your nipples, biting them so softly but it feels so much more intense this way. so intimate, yet so dirty.

“can i cum now? please” he moans. how could you say no? “cum in me, please cum in me” you say, and he does. leaving thick white pools in you, the warmth making you shake as you finish, as you remove yourself from on him, you pour out a mix of both of your releases. he brings a finger to your wetness and brings it up to his mouth, sucking on them. he loves the taste of you.

please come home earlier next time.

[muffinrecord]

Current Plans + Musings

I don't plan on playing Exedra to the degree I did for Magia Record, or playing it at all. Because of that, I won't be taking an active role in the community and archiving anything for it. Of course, if Exedra has like amazing gameplay and stories then this is all subject to change, but for now I think I'm done with phone games.

The two youtube channels will stay up and I'll check em periodically to make sure there aren't copyright strikes against the content. I've saved all my raw files, especially for the battle animations, so I can remake them in the future if the music ever becomes a problem for some reason.

Google Drive will stay up until Google rots away. I haven't recorded footage in a long time (as in stories, I do for the character doppels and such), but I'll upload things if they're sent to me.

Magia Union Translations still plans on translating things and making videos, especially leading up to the end, but also for after the game is over for whatever wasn't made in time. I'm not sure what form this will take in the future-- if it'll be manual captions added to the videos or not, but I know it WILL happen.

As for this blog, I'm not going to delete it or anything. However I'm going to be taking a step back. I'd like to say that I'll do liveblogs but I mean... *gestures at blog* I've been saying that for years and the only one I really did successfully was the Oriko one lmao. Ahhh oh well.

I'll have more words later, but it was really fun to be part of a fandom experience like this. I'm excited to work on my own original story projects though and quiet down a bit.

...

When I started this blog, I never expected it to have people actually read it. Or look at it. I just wanted a place to gush about how much fun I was having. I didn't even want to tag the posts with "Magia Record" at first because I was terrified people would be mean at me, haha.

But I'm glad I did. I made so many good friends through this game. I'm glad it existed. And it made me happy to have a place where people cared about what I had to say. Some folks actually got their news from here, can you imagine that? They had notifications turned on for this blog. My god.

Anyways, I'm going to be here for the next two months, and tomorrow I'll start reblogging fan projects and initiatives, plus general news. Maybe this blog will turn into a dumping site for art and fanfic reblogs, who knows. I might watch the remaining stuff and add various thoughts here and there.

Otherwise, you can find me on my main blog @malignmuffin, which only reblogs stuff (I don't talk much if at all there). I have another tumblr blog for my comic, but I think I'll reshare the name once I actually have content you can look at on it. It's pretty bare bones for the moment.

Actually it'll be funny if the end of this game is what makes me finally work on it again. I was in the process of working on it when NA came out, and it totally derailed me. Stopped writing, drawing, just focused on this silly little phone game. Now it's like those five years have gone by and I'm going back to where I started, except I think my lil comic is going to be a bit better than it was before. If I actually make it, that is.

If I ever do actually make my comic and start posting it, I'll be sure to update y'all here. hah

Anyways, thanks for being on this wild ride with me. The memories have been great, and I'm glad I had this experience, even if it had to end.

[jupiter-soups]

a sheep in wolf's clothing

pairing + tag: joel miller x f!reader, established relationship, fluff

summary: joel miller is not quite as scary as the people of jackson believe him to be. at least, not around you.

word count: 1.9k

a/n: kinda been dealing with some writers block and i thought i'd write a cute fluffy one shot to deal with it. please let me know what you think! also, thank you to the incredible @papipascalispunk for beta-ing!

The swing of Joel’s sledgehammer squarely met the metal pole, pushing it down further into the hard earth with a raw strength that made the pair of teens watching grimace.

“God, he’s scary today. Why’s he hulking out so much? Who pissed him off?” The taller of the teens, Nathan, whispers to his friend, whilst leaning against his shovel for support. 

“I don’t know, but whoever it is better get their shit together, because he’s gonna end up snapping. We do not want to be here for that,” Callum responds with a conspiratorial tone, gesturing for Nathan to come closer so he could divulge some gossip.

“Apparently, before he got to Jackson, he was this total killing machine, just ruthless, relentless and bloodthirsty,” Callum stagewhispers, peeking out of the corner of his eye to where Joel was clearly funneling pure rage in each swing of his hammer.

“Why would they even let some mad man in here with us?” Nathan responds nervously, with much less subtlety in how he was eyeing Joel’s movements and his apparent familiarity with swinging a blunt object.

“I guess he adopted Ellie, or something. Maybe that mellowed him out a bit?” Callum winces at a particularly hard swing of the hammer, one that made Joel grunt out in effort, wiping the back of his hand against his forehead as he stepped back, seemingly satisfied with his work.

“Clearly not enough. Ellie’s dad, huh?” Nathan lets out a huff of an exhale, reminiscing on a particularly painful evening where his romantic advances on Ellie were met with a swift and brutally painful punch in the gut. “Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Their gossiping fades away into a terrified silence, as Joel stalks up to where they’re standing, walking slowly and with eyes slightly narrowed. The two practically shrink under his gaze as he approaches.

“You two just gonna stand around all day or get to fuckin’ work like the rest of us,” Joel grits out, the furrow of his brow informing the two that they were nowhere near quiet enough when gossiping.

“Uh, I–”

“We were j–”

“Stop fuckin’ around and dig.” Before Joel even finished his sentence, the pair scrambles back over to the patch of soil they were assigned to clear, working with a vigor that they didn’t even know they were capable of. 

—-----------

Joel had sort of assumed that the rumors about him had died down. No one crossed the street when they saw him anymore. No one even begged to get swapped to a different patrol route when grouped with him, terrified of what he might do outside of the safety of laws and watchful eyes in Jackson. 

He shifts his head from side to side as he walks home on the barely illuminated streets, stretching out the strain from working all day. He holds a paper bag close to his body, trying to keep it dry from the light rainfall that had begun at some point between him leaving the building site and stopping at the bakery. 

A smile breaks through his cold exterior as he finally approaches his house and sees the living room light still on, a beacon welcoming him home.

To you.

In his eagerness to see you, he forgot to take off his dirty work boots, a fact you quickly remind him of with a croaky call of “Shoes!”, the second he turned the corner into the living room. 

“Sorry, baby,” He laughs quietly, tossing the paper bag he was carrying onto your lap where you were sprawled out on the couch, before heading back into the hall to kick off his boots.

You gasp in excitement as you open the paper bag and see three of your favorite caramel cookies from the bakery, immediately regretting it as your throat stung from the act.

The cold that currently had you couchridden under the warm embrace of a thick woolen blanket had also meant that you weren’t able to pick up the rare treats. The bakery only made them once a month, and typically ran out by noon. Your heart swelled as you realized Joel must have gone out of his way on an already busy day, just to get them for you.

“How did you manage to get three of them?” You ask in awe as he reenters the room and moves to join you where you were sitting, lifting your extended legs to rest his back against the back of the couch and placing them over his lap. His hands settled on your legs, rubbing them gently through your thick winter pajama pants. 

“Guess there’s some good in being scary, ol’ Joel Miller,” He chuckles, taking a cookie from your extended hand and taking a bite.

You begin to sit up slightly to take a bite too, but visibly wince when your head begins to spin from the movement. Joel stops you instantly, dropping his cookie back into the bag on your lap to rearrange your pillows behind you into a slightly more seated position.

“You’re still not doing well,” He tuts, disapproval radiating off of him in a way that made you want to roll your eyes. “Shouldn’ta made me go to work today, darlin’, I should’a been here for you.”

“Joel,” you reassure, “I’m completely fine, barely got the sniffles at this point.” He raises an eyebrow at your blatant lie, taking in the sweaty sheen on your forehead and nasally voice before sighing and settling back into his seat. You weren’t in a state to argue.

“So, big, bad Joel Miller scares the town folk into giving him extra cookies?” You tease, drawing a laugh out of the guilty man sitting next to you. His grip on your shins loosens slightly as he begins to actually relax again, much to your satisfaction. He was already stressed enough in the morning when he had to leave you to go fill in for someone at the construction site, almost canceling after you spent most of the night awake, shivering and sniffling. You didn’t want him to feel even more guilty, regardless of the fact that you had been the one who insisted that he goes. 

“You should’a heard some of the stuff they were sayin’ about me today,” He shook his head in feigned disbelief, well aware of his reputation. “Somethin’ about being ruthless and relentless,”

You laugh through a bite of the cookie, “I could see that.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, “Oh, really?”

“At least the relentless part. There’s been more than a few times I’ve had to tap out,” you wiggle your eyebrows suggestively at him, causing him to shake his head at you, trying to fight back the way his lips were turning up at the corners in amusement. 

He watches you finish off the second cookie in a comfortable silence, a faint smile on his face as he observes the absolute glee in your eyes with each bite. His fingers begin to play with the hem of your pajama pants the more he watches you, and you can sense the slight anxiety in his movements.

“Stop worrying, Joel, I was fine. I promise. You know the building team needed you today.”

He grumbles a quiet response that you don’t quite make out, something about ‘incompetent,’ and ‘ill-equipped,’ before turning his annoyance to you, “I already know you didn’t drink enough water.”

You nudge him gently in the stomach with your knee, prompting him to drop it, which he does with a moody sigh.

“How was Ellie today?” He opts to change the subject.

“Not been around too much. She’s still running around after Dina, thinking she's so slick. I know we need to wait for her to come to us about it, but I wish she would just tell us already.” His soft brown eyes betray the unease he felt at the issue.

“I hope…” He trails off in a worried tone that’s familiar to you; the, I think I’m fucking up tone. “I hope she doesn’t think she can’t talk to me about it.” You reach your hand out and grab his, big and warm and immediately squeezing and rubbing your hand within his to warm up your freezing fingers. ”I suppose I can be a little scary sometimes. Those kids down at the site sure thought so,” He chuckles once, humorlessly and self-deprecatingly, reaching over to grab your other hand to warm up that one too.

“There’s no fucking way, Joel. Maybe those kids who’ve never been outside of the walls for a day in their lives were scared of you, but we know you’re a big ol’ softie. Besides, there’s not much that scares Ellie. Definitely not an old man that she could easily beat in a fight,” You tease, relieved when his shoulders seem to relax a little. 

Joel leans forward, cupping your chin in his hand to pull you in for a kiss. You don’t let him indulge, perhaps for the first time in your relationship. “Joel, I’ll just get you sick too. You gotta be back at work tomorrow, remember?” Your heart squeezes at the almost pout on his face, but he doesn’t push the matter, instead starting to get up with a grunt, gently placing your legs back down on the couch where he had been sat. He turns to you with an expectant look and reaches out a hand.

“Let’s head up to bed, darlin’,”

You blink. “Joel, I just said I can’t get you sick. I’ll just sleep down here for the night, the couch is comfy enough.”

His hand stays extended for a moment, before letting it drop. “Fine,” he states resolutely, “I suppose I’ll see you in the mornin’, then?” His voice seems almost too innocent, and your suspicions are confirmed when he drags the warm blanket from your body in one swift motion and starts walking towards the stairs. 

“Joel!” You exclaim, “What the fuck?” 

He pauses part way up the stairs to your bedroom and gives you a nonchalant shrug. “This is my blanket. Can’t go to sleep without it.” He turns back and continues to head up the stairs. You grumble at the real satisfied little smirk on his face as he does so.

“But…” You groan and roll off the warm couch, and begin to plod up the stairs to your shared bed. 

Fine, if he wants to get sick so badly, I’ll let him. 

—-------------

“Shouldn’ Miller be here by now?” Nathan says as he eyes the entrance to the build site nervously, doing his best to appear busy.

“I guess he’s sick today, heard he got a fever or something.” Callum’s words instantly ease Nathan’s rigid posture.

“Thank God for that,” He mutters, letting the shovel in his hands drop to the ground with a relieved sigh. 

“Or maybe,” Callum smiled sinisterly, “He’s out plotting his next kil–” He’s cut off when a hand is smacked down onto the nape of his neck, turning into a painful grip that swivels his head in the direction of his assailant and the project’s latest stand-in worker, Ellie Williams.

“Why don’t you fucks get back to work, hmm?” Her grip tightens on the back of Callum’s neck, and he visibly flinches under her exacting gaze. Nathan gulps and reaches to pick up his shovel as quickly as possible. Joel Miller was definitely not the scariest person in Jackson

tags: @gasolinerainbowpuddles @beardedjoel @huffle-punk

thank you for reading <3 please let me know your thoughts :)

[hellaverseconfessions1369420]

Long confession ahead, apologies in advance.

Look, I don't get heated about shipping. I like what I like, and I look at things I like. If I don't like whatever someone is posting, I'll filter the tags, and if they aren't using the tags appropriately, I will block them. It's fairly easy for me to avoid ships I personally dislike most of the time. I do all of the things I'm supposed to, and yet I'm still having this problem.

There is one singular ship on God's green earth that kills all of my enjoyment for both of the characters involved, and it is radioapple. I have never felt such strong emotions about any other ship before in any of the fandoms I'm part of. It's fucking everywhere. I genuinely cannot use this website if I want to see Lucifer or Alastor fanart/fanfic, and I'm not moving sites.

But God. I'm so fucking sick and tired of seeing "this post contains filtered content: #radioapple." When S1 first came out, I counted 37 blocked posts in a row on top of #Alastor on one given day. I had to scroll through 37 blocked fucking posts before I found ONE that wasn't about fucking radioapple. And that isn't counting all the OTHER Alastor ships, because of course that's all anyone gives a shit about anymore.

I'm on mobile, so I can't use browser extensions to make Tumblr's filtering system actually do what I want it to (delete every radioapple post, forever). I also don't feel like buying a laptop for fucking Tumblr. I've been getting back into HH after falling out of it for a while for related reasons, and I forgot how much angrier and more unhappy I am coming out of #Alastor or (to a lesser extent) #Lucifer than when I went in. Which is super awesome considering they're my two faves.

I wish I was kidding when I say I have actually cried real tears more than once over this. I'm aroace, and I thought maybe for once I'd get to feel at least a little bit included and represented in fandom as a whole. I thought having a canon aroace character would be that for me, at least one tag I could semi-comfortably browse and feel like I'm actually part of shit and not a spectator for once, but obviously not. I don't even get to look at fanart of a character I enjoy without being constantly reminded of how different and alone I am, even when that character is different in exactly the same way as me. Even characters like Alastor that are written to be like me aren't written for me. Because why would anyone create anything for someone like me to enjoy when they could instead jam a little more sex and romance in there?

I once scrolled through #Alastor blocking all the radioapple posters for so long that I reached the bottom of the page. Tumblr would not show me any more posts and I had to reload it. I blocked 209 different blogs, and it barely made a dent. 209. I can't curate my way out of this. I genuinely think I just don't get to like those characters anymore, and it fucking sucks. I want my deer man back.

TL;DR: I cannot enjoy these characters I deeply relate to with how prevalent and fucking inescapable this one ship is, and I'm not sure how to fix it. Frankly I'm not sure it's fixable, but I would love it if this wasn't something else I just don't get to have like everyone else. Someone tell me what to do about this. I want to have fun too.

I understand why you would think that. I’m probably aroaceflux and I can see some alastor in me (aroacewise, not serial killer wise) and why you wouldn’t want to see the ships you don’t like. Unfortunately that’s how many fandoms work, they’ll just keep shipping.

to be honest, I don’t know what to say, but thanks for the confession and I hope things get better for you

[pillarsalt]

hi there!!! love your art first of all!! :)

i came across a rb of your cotton cieling/peaking comic (which i also love!) and saw in the notes how tims have scrubbed the tag since then. it made me curious how widespread the knowledge of their rape rhetoric actually is (since we know how happy they are to spew it when they know only lesbians are reading/listening, but we also know how hard they try to pretend to everyone else that they're tooootally not homophobic and toooootally don't have an incel meltdown at the mere thought of a lesbian saying "no" to them)

so i decided to see if wikipedia had an article on the ""cotton cieling"" (god i could go off on one about how these misogynists think "women are not given equal positions/mobility in the workforce" and "men get told 'no' by women they want to have sex with realllllly badly :-(" are at ALL comparable but this ask is long enough already) and guess what!? they DO but it has been NUKED to all hell.

right now? it's got zero citations/links, zero name drops of any Brave And Stunning men who promote it and write theory about it let alone naming the POS who coined it, barely even says what the definition even is... it's THE shortest article i've ever seen on there.

but look at the history tab!!! it used to be a fleshed out piece that was out and proud about claiming "lesbians not wanting to sleep with men is both oppressive and misogynistic" until at some point they realized saying the quiet part out loud where "normies" might see it was not a good idea and quietly scrubbed the article. (but they still keep it up!! as opposed to that female mod who made literal thousands of helpful factual edits, maintaining their site for free: she got banned the moment they found out she wasn't a handmaiden and all her work is theirs now i guess). and all the while, in the background, they've kept on coercing and pressuring lesbians to sleep with them nonstop with zero guilt or shame.

please for the love of god explain to me how they've convinced anyone who pays attention they're ""the most oppressed minority group who ever lived""???

holy shit anon you're right, that edits tab is crazyyy. They have definitely done a 180° on this subject, at least out loud where the average person can read it. The discussion page is another good read, LauraRichards1981 if you ever read this, you are a star and I love you.

Talking to other feminists and others who used to support genderism but "peaked", I would say at least half of them brought up the phenomenon of trans-identified men insisting lesbians have sex with them or be labeled bigots as at least one factor in their new outlook. It's so blatantly homophobic and I think a lot of influential figures in trans activism have realized how bad it looks for them, and have actively tried to memory hole it. I have even seen some claiming that "terfs" invented the term, which is hilarious because, as portrayed in my comic, I saw it with my own eyes being touted absolutely everywhere online as a way to vilify lesbians who wouldn't go along with every desire of the male trans individuals who had parasitized their communities. The DARVO is real.

[kevotsuka]

rafannadal matchvedev here PLEASE your tags on that jerez video... i definitely think marcs feelings towards pecco and luca are Different compared to marco? pecco esp with his racing in emilios moto3 team and teammates with alex and everything, and luca bc hes... known him for a while, hasnt he...... vales baby brother......... UGH GOD anyway hes known them both for soooo long and much more closely than bezz, right, so i def think where bezz counts as full-fledged academy member One Of Vales Boys, he kinda Missed important... developments... and im sure hes been Filled In but also. hm. pecco and luca def def def... special.......... i always remember that interview marc did where he was asked what his relationship with pecco, bezz and luca is like and he said great with pecco and luca and didnt even mention marco �� literally forgets about him all the time, it feels like, and then bezz didnt really make the greatest effort to be Friendly, has he... apart from liking one million of marcs insta posts up until the divorce happened 😭😭😭 and now what, for a decade bezz has been icy but marc is supposed to care about him? never. he has REASON to care for pecco and luca and even franky, but bez?

@rafannadal matchvedev ,one or dearest tumblrlinas of this site ... You're so right and all your words are soo real

i have so many feelings for cev pecco and marc and they interactions, Pequito looking at Marc with stars in his eyes, to shy to ask for anything but still around him in the box in case of Marc decided talk to him. Marc who see Pecco and 'ow, he's good, he would become better in the future', his future teammate now

and Luca, little honda fan Luca who watches how they take marc since the begging of his career and maybe think 'i can dream with that? i hope one day...' like Vale doesn't ruin every bridge to honda for him (this is related and parallel to the Alex M/Yamaha saga to). Luca who never really ended up in the middle of the divorce, unlike Alex who had to physically push people away to protect his brother Luca always saying nice things about Marc (the Ducati thing? Like he said it just because is a little shit who loves drama, but was a choice and he take it) and Marc chose don't be like Valentino or his people have a part of my heart

And then we have Bez . 'who?' in Marc's books. Bezz who was growing up, he take a side and wants to die for it in the way teens would die for they beliefs and never think about it after that. Bezz who watches Marc win unfairly, because he ruined Vale career, so everything good happen to him would happen to Vale instead.

Bez who wasn't worry about Marc's lession and probably think 'he deserves that' with a bit of more malice than he knows he have inside of him. The honda slowly trying to kill Marc's makes him forgot how good he really is

Bez now is a adult but he never questioned the divorce before, about the evil, the horror bedtime story that Uccio tells to warn them about Marquez. But now he knows Marc, at least one part of him, that one who doesn't feed the press telling what happen that day. He could ruins Marco, but chose don't and that maybe change something, or maybe was when Marco watches him with a good bike again at the point he's LEARNING from him-

and then we have Marc who barely know this fucking guy who yelled at him at one of the most emotional days of his career, the pain of his arm with the last day with his FAMILY in a race who was ruined for someone else and he can't really be angry for that, but Bez?

'no voy a perder tiempo con ese personaje' and he is committed whit it. He don't think about that guy, he barely respond his words and act like bez doesn't exist when he can. For someone like Bez who lives for being recognized

And is all Bez fault, i think is beautiful <3

[mulderscully]

honestly, staying away from tumblr is hard! i still check in every day, but in using it less even for 2 days i'm #realizing that i don't think it's just the anons stressing me out even if it certainly doesn't help. i think i have using this site in a way that isn't healthy or productive to my mental health.

i have been trying to use it how i used it when i only worked part time or when i was in college and that isn't feasible anymore. i simply cannot spend hours giffing daily and watch tv and write and read AND spend time with friends, between two jobs. i have to accept that giffing is becoming a passing thing in my life that i do when it strikes my fancy. not something i do all the time.

i realize i put a lot of pressure on myself to #create so i can #engage like it's some sort of currency and i think that's bad for me. i also put pressure on myself to reblog things people tag me in even if i don't really want to because i don't feel strongly enough to reblog it. like. i don't really like eddi/e diaz, and people tag me in eddie when i barely blog abt him and i then don't wanna be rude and ignore gifsets, or be rude and be like "hey, i don't like this extremely popular character." so i just scroll on or reblog it but i still feel guilty and that isn't healthy? like baby it's just a tv show! idek.

and then i feel guilty for not "evenly" creating for my multiple fandoms! i have been in this rwrb hyperfixation since august and it still isn't going anywhere, so ofc it's what i want to gif a reblog most and then i feel like guilty because i haven't giffed doctor who, or the x files, or buffy or whatever "enough" since i got rwrb brainrot and it's like god, it should not matter this much!

i don't know how my brain became this way but i really feel like i need to change something about how i blog, even if it's just pausing doing anything else and just being honest with y'all.

[katyspersonal]

How me reblogging some fanart goes:

*scrolls*

There is nothing special about this drawing, nothing to stand out, simply academical level perfect painting with perfect shading of just character in Environment, so I won't give it attention

*scrolls*

There is nothing special about this drawing either but the artist is clearly beginner and is currently ignored, I wish to support them!!! *reblogs*

*scrolls*

I could've forgiven drawing his arm turning into tentacles because although it isn't accurate it is still funny and should have been canon, but his hair is black and waving, not brown and straight! Ignored.

*scrolls*

Her ribbon is not like this at all, but this is a cute interaction! Fine, I will reblog..

*scrolls*

OH MY GOD RARE CHARACTER RARE CHARACTER NO ONE ELSE DRAWS HFHFJVGJ IT IS RARE CHARACTER OH MY GOD BLESS YOU OP I LOVE THAT YOU'VE NOTICED THIS RARE CHARACTER VFUYFJFJ BARK BARK WOOF WOOF 🐕 *chews the post a little before reblogging* *+10 HP*

*scrolls*

Ah, funny mem- VARGRAM ERASURE GOD FUCKING DAMMIT VARGRAM ERASURE DO NOT LAUGH RETREAT RETREAT!!!!!!!! Ugh how the HECK even lore-obsessed freaks like me are still doing this?! I don't care that you enjoy neglecting minor characters, Vargram's set is NOT a covenant set!!!!

*scrolls*

Shit, wtf? Why this person still haven't blocked me, after how negative they've been to my friend? Okay scroll carefully to not accidentally press like on Tumblr mobile.... scroll past carefully.... very slowly...... please mobile don't fuck this up...

*scrolls*

This fanart is really inaccurate visually but the concept is perfectly lore accurate! I am definitely supporting this! *reblogs*

*scrolls*

This person's uncolored doodle got 800+ notes in 3 hours when my best and most detailed works are lucky to cross 50 notes... I am worthless and should quit art, the girls clearly like my lore posts more than my ugly art... *sniffs* No wonder, I draw like a child, my faces are ugly, my anatomy is broken, shading makes no sense... *sobs* I bet fans of the characters I draw have cringe attacks when I touch them... God I remember how back in my Mico simping days other Mico simps side-eyed my fanart of him, and it was clear it is because it is ugly... It isn't even a matter of "they want to prettyfy him" because they do reblog and like "ugly" art of him, they just hate MY style in particular because I am a TERRIBLE artist.... *sobs*

*scrolls*

.....what. the. FUCK. Why THE fuck this perfect, amazing, fully colored drawing with hella effort in it barely has notes? Fuck this fandom, I hate this fandom! Nevermind, my art isn't bad, this fandom is just too stingy for support! *reblogs*

*scrolls*

Haha, nice o- VARGRAM ERASURE VARGRAM ERASURE RETREAT RETREAT

*scrolls*

Wow, these sketches are lovely, I want to reblog- *sees the caption like 'some sketches from insta'* Nah, I do not want to interact with artists who otherwise hang out on another site (which sucks and is very toxic to artists btw) and just use Tumblr as a dumping ground or portfolio. I only like people who actually USE this site.

*scrolls*

Good and quality art, but nothing special about this design. It feels like they drew fanart of the fanon! Could have added their own unique vision smh.

*scrolls*

Oh my god, finally! Finally, fanart of the ship I love so much! I've been- wait wait wait. Why Brador is wearing his beast hyde while Laurence is still alive? Brador's beast hyde is explicitly stated to be that of a Cleric Beast, and Laurence was the FIRST Cleric Beast! No yeah, beggars CAN be choosers. Ignored.

*scrolls*

Oh, good art- wait, why this character's eyes are blue? This character has grey eyes! But also this is such a rare character to draw... Fine. *reblogs but points out the eye color is wrong in the tags*

*scrolls*

Good art, but caption is hostile. No one wants to know that you hate this character under the art of this character. Ignored.

*scrolls*

Good art, reblogged.

*scrolls*

Very well done art, but her chest is not that big! In fact, she is boobless. Maybe next time.

*scrolls*

I want to reblog this fanart, but also despite doing so much work on detail and lighting, they forgot those cute accessories by each side of her big brooch! It could not be the laziness, it obviously was using other fanarts as the reference instead of actual ingame screenshots and model!

*scrolls*

Wh... what... oh my god... Oh my god this person drew the idea I suggested.... I've inspired someone? Oh God. Wait a second. Oh no. I need like a full week to articulate my emotions. Oh God I can't. I didn't just contribute something good in the fandom. Oh no *crying cat*

*scrolls*

I feel nothing for this ship, but this fandom is obnoxious when the female character without canon sexuality they've DECIDED is a lesbian is shipped with male character, so I will support this person. *reblogs*

*scrolls*

Good art, but they have this dumb DNI caption under their post. I don't even fit the criteria, I just don't want to carry the whole "panic about contact with ImPuRiTy" attitude with the drawing! When will people learn that some bad person liking their art is not the end of the world? 🤔

*scrolls*

Wow, good drawing!!! *the tags are the wall of passive aggression towards fans with "wrong" headcanons* Well now I am not reblogging it.

*scrolls*

Goddamit, Crow, I know you are desperate for at least any art of your blorbo, but why would you reblog something that is so careless? They clearly like what they could make out of character instead of actual character's appearance! You were just passionately approving of posts like "stop removing his wrinkles!" or "stop giving her huge honkers!" and now this? 🐓🐓🐓

*scrolls*

CROW YOU REBLOGGED VARGRAM ERASURE I THOUGHT YOU WERE BASED BUT YOU...... YOU ARE C R I N G E 🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓

[we-were-so-beautiful]

2. day six

holy shit hi! it's me! I'm back! I will be very surprised if anybody remembers me or this story given that it's been literally six months since I posted the first chapter. my motivation, interest, energy and amount of free time for this project all fluctuate, but... this story feels like it wants to be told, and I want to tell it. so hopefully I'll manage to pop up around here with an update for it every once in a while.

Content warnings for this chapter: box boy universe, pet whump, dehumanization, cages, blood mention. I'm still getting the hang of how to tag these so please let me know if there's anything I missed.

[masterlist] [chapter one] [chapter three]

Vanessa means to wait until an hour before closing time to go to the shelter. Really, she does. She wants to give this guy as much of a chance as he can get to go home with someone, literally anyone, who’s better for him than she is. But it’s lunchtime and she’s already practically vibrating. She’s not even used to being awake by noon anymore, much less having already been up for hours refreshing the site so often it’s making her nauseous. Or maybe that’s just the all-consuming anxiety of suspense.

What if the assholes at the shelter decide that six days is close enough, and take him away before she even gets there? What if she’s fucked up and counted the days wrong, and he’s actually scheduled to die today? What if the subway’s delayed, or the shelter closes early, and she’s too late, and another person dies because she made a stupid fucking mistake?

What if, says the voice in the back of her head that she refuses to listen to, somebody takes him who’s even worse for him than me?

“Oh, fuck literally all of this,” she says to the empty room, and grabs her coat.

—

“Uh, hey, I’m here to…”

“Sign in on the sheet.” The bored-looking shelter employee doesn’t so much as glance up from her phone. Vanessa looks around; the lobby is totally devoid of anyone save for the two of them.

“I just want to know if—”

“Sign in on the sheet.”

Vanessa breathes out through her nose until her hand stops ticking long enough to write. She scribbles her name and the time, and sets the pen down with a deliberate clack on the desk directly in front of the employee.

The woman barely raises her head. “How can I help you.”

Vanessa steels herself. “Is, uh… Do you still have…” God she hates talking about people like this she hates it she hates it she hates it. “Is pet number 414374 still here? I want to…” She wants to choke on the word. “...I want to adopt him.”

The employee’s affect goes duller than ever. “Oh, he’s still here, alright,” she mutters grimly.

Vanessa only realizes how much tension she’s been holding when it floods out of her so fast she almost loses her balance. “Can I see him?”

“If you really want to,” the employee sighs. “But I’m tellin’ you, lady, you’re not gonna like what you find.”

—

“That’s him?!”

“Told you you were gonna be disappointed, lady.”

Vanessa gapes. It’s not like she’s been expecting to be okay with seeing people in cages, but she sure as shit didn’t expect… whatever the fuck she’s looking at now.

The dude is filthy, caked head to toe in blood, dirt and worse. The hair that flowed around him in his picture is matted down his back now, littered with scores of dead and decaying leaves. His ice-blue eyes are dull and unfocused. His breaths are quick and shallow, and the way they rasp in his throat makes Vanessa twitch. 

He’s lying in a heap on the single layer of newspaper between him and the inch-wide mesh of the shelter-standard cage. Vanessa sucks at math, but she thinks it can’t be more than three by three by five. The shelter profile listed him at six foot two.

The employee bangs on the metal with the back of her hand, making a horrible clanging sound that makes Vanessa want to claw her own ears off. “Hey, look alive, refurb. You got one more interested owner. Maybe try to impress this one for a change?”

“Can he even—” Vanessa starts, but the guy surprises her by slowly, painfully lifting his head. The dirt that coats his skin cracks and flakes as he struggles to push himself up on his elbows. He reaches jerkily for the front of the cage, arms trembling violently with the effort, his breathing growing more and more labored as he tries to meet her gaze.

In the split second before he collapses again, she swears he manages it.

—

“I want him.”

The employee has already turned to go, talking over her shoulder as she ambles back toward the desk. “Yeah, so if you're lookin’ for a fancy one you could try the Manhattan shelter, they sometimes—hang on, you what?” She twists back abruptly as the words actually register.

“I want him,” Vanessa says again.

The employee stares at her for a long, long minute. Vanessa can almost see her fighting the urge to blurt out, “why?” Finally, though, she collects herself, with a wildly overexaggerated shrug of her shoulders.

“It’s your money, lady,” she says, and unlocks the cage.

[fishyfishyfish0258]

[LONG RANT ABOUT FANDOM INCOMING I AM SO SORRY]

idk how to open this but ykw fuck it, i'll cut to the chase: imo some ppl in this fandom (mostly with the ppl on r/glassanimals, but its in other sites aswell) dont rlly know how to give criticism that isn't just plain insults

[more below (so it wont clog up the ga tag)]

theres nothing wrong with ACTUAL, CONSTRUCTIVE, HEALTHY CRITICISM dont get me wrong! whenever you like ilysfm or not, imo its important to like, have a healthy conversation, be respectful and be like "I like/dislike this album and imo I think it could've been better if x, y, z " and thats valid! even if its just "this album is/isn't my thing" thats ok! thats alright! I've seen people be respectful and give constructive criticism and have a convo!

I get the frustration aswell! I get that ppl wish for music that they like, and that ga dipping their toes (haha get it) into the pop genre for the second time in a row makes them feel estranged!

but the way some people try and "criticise" album 4 is just.. not it.

do some of yall think that "its not zaba therefore its a cashgrab and its mid and ga fell of and theyre sellouts" is constructive criticism? that's just plain insults with no taste! thats not healthy and doesnt start a good convo either!

like at some point you don't seem like a ga fan anymore and just a zaba stannie!

some ppl acting like zaba is superior and ga owes them more zaba is kinda weird to me cause like, they dont owe you anything! they dont know us! and we only know the parts they want us to see online!

and it's also not the first rodeo! this happened before! (definetly happened with dreamland but not sure on htbahb)

the take of "why are they making repetitive music" while you want ga to make another zaba AKA MAKE REPETITIVE MUSIC is a hypocritical take! It's not a good look I'm sorry!

and the take of "lp4 is full of generic love songs for depressed 13 year olds" that I've seen from a few people ain't good cause like, this album is full of depressing-at-best, toxic-at-worst relationships! just cause it's about love doesn't mean it's instantly generic! the lyrics aren't like "we would be together in the stars we would be so lovey dovey" "i wish you loved me back" "youre the air that i breathe", they're more like "ive been kidnaped and developed stockholm syndrome" "hey i fucking hate your guts but i still lowkey love yo- oh shit the songs ending" "we fell out of love and i cant change that no matter how hard I try". like IDK WHAT TO TELL YOU BRO! like misinterpreting these lyrics so badly my god-

also the fact that some went like "ga should be ashamed and embarressed for releasing this" is rlly sad to me, like I remember Dave saying that this is his most personal work and he had to get vulnerable first before making it, and saying that he should be embarressed for pouring his heart out is kinda :[ to me (maybe because vulnerabillity is a very important trait to me, but moving on)

or the take that "theyre making radio-friendly tiktok music" like what radio would play a song with lyrics mentioning ball gags and being tied up??????

like this is unproductive, lowkey unhealthy, very repetitive and very tiring imo. people are getting tired of the same ol recycled, poorly disguised as "criticism", bare insults. most of the time in the reddit, some here, on twitter, insta and discord. this has been repeated ad nauseam, and it's getting nowhere imo.

so uh yea. that's my thoughts on this whole thing

thanks for reading :] -A

[andydrysdalerogers]

The ABCs of Nick Vaughn - "Z"

Pairing: Reader x Nick Vaughn (Before We Go)

Summary: Children its time to learn your ABCs. And Nick Vaughn is here to teach you the lessons. 26 glimpses in the world of you and Nick Vaughn

Warnings: S-M-U-T!!!! (under 18 please leave the chat!) descriptions of sexual activity including some themes of BDSM, loss of virginity, fluffy bits, pet name etc...

The new upload will probably be Sundays. Have fun kittens! Also, the tag list is open!

A/N: This is the end. There isn't any more.

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Previous: Y - YOLO

ABC Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Z – Zenith 

Def – the highest point or peak 

Six months after the wedding... 

“I hate you!” 

“I know.”  

“You did this to me!” 

“I know.”  

Tears overwhelmed your face as you looked at Nick, who was still holding your hand despite your mean words. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.  

“I know, love, I know.  You’re almost there, my strong brave girl.” He kissed your forehead.  

“Nicky, I can’t do this. It hurts,” you cry as another contraction grips your belly.  

Y”es, you can baby. You’re almost there.”  

“Ok YN, I need a good push,” the doctor says.  “The head is crowning so give me one good one.”  

You bare down and grit your teeth as you push your baby into the world. “Breathe, baby, c’mon you got this,” Nick says.  

Who knew you were 8 weeks pregnant when you got married?  This baby is coming a couple of weeks early but the doctors assured you that they were fully cooked and ready to go.  

“The head is out,” the doctor declared.  “Another push YN and we get to meet your baby.”  

You pushed again and the doctor told you to hold off as the shoulders popped out.  

“It’s a girl!” The doctor held up your screaming infant in the air.  

“A girl,” Nick breathed as your new daughter was placed on your chest.  

“Hi, baby, hi,” your eyes flooded in tears as your daughter’s cries dies down as she felt your skin on hers.  “Oh my god, she’s beautiful.”  

“She’s perfect,” Nick said.  He kissed your forehead.  “Thank you, YN.”  

Eight weeks later... 

Nick’s POV 

I could listen to YN sing to our daughter forever. I watch from the doorway as she moves around the room with my princess in her arms, singing her to sleep.  She put her in her crib and looked over at me, a finger pressed to her lips.  I smile and wave her over.  She exits and closes the door behind her, the baby monitor in her hand.  “Finally,” she whispers.  

“Think she’s gonna sleep for a while?” 

“Probably a couple of hours. Why?” 

“Wanna show you how much I love you.” I kiss her gently on her lips. “I’ve missed you.”  

She smiles as she leans into me. “I’ve missed you too.”  

I scooped her up in my arms and carried her to our bed.  The bed I’m pretty sure we made our daughter in. I sit YN on the edge of the bed, and I look down at her.  Cupping her face, I pressed a kiss to her mouth, harder than before.  She melts right into it before tugging at the hem of my shirt.  I reach and pull it over my head before doing the same to hers.  

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” I tell her as my eyes roam over her body.  This body that carried our girl for nine months, that feeds her every day. I push her down to her back and lift her legs so that I can pull her shorts off. She’s not wearing any panties. “Naughty girl.”  I can see her pussy glistening for me as her legs stay open. “Can I taste you, pretty girl?” 

Your POV 

You would never deny this man anything.  You nod your head, and he dives right in, kissing, licking, sucking every inch of your pussy. You try to keep your cries to a minimum, trying not to wake your daughter, but he is way too talented with that tongue. “Nicky,” you moan. “Please.”  

“Please what, gorgeous girl. Tell me what you need.”  

“I need to come.  Please baby, please.” You are withering on the bed, trying to move as he pins your to the mattress.  

“Let go for me baby, fuck you taste amazing. “He sucks on your clit one more time and the stars explode behind your eye lids.  

“That’s it baby,” he says as he kisses up your body, his fingers still working in and out.  “Fuck, need to be inside you.”  He pulls his fingers but before you can protest, his cock slides right in. “Oh fuck!” 

“Nick!” He bottoms out but still waits for you to adjust. “So big,” you gasp.  

“Still tight as fuck baby. God, I want to rail you but not right now. I want to make love to my wife, the mother of my child.”  

“I love you Nicky, so much.” Nick doesn’t thrust so much as rock into you, letting you feel every part of him. He kissed every inch of skin he could reach until you are about to combust. “I...” 

“Its ok baby, I’m right behind you,” he whispers. “We are there, the top. Its everything I ever wanted.”  

The pinnacle. The zenith.  

On top of the world.  

Just you, your daughter... 

And Nick Vaughn. 

Thank you so much for reading my little musings. Its been fun!

Taglist:

@patzammit @texmexdarling @firephotogrl74 @slutforchrisjamalevans @jennmurawski13-writes @tinkerbelle67

[starlit-hopes-and-dreams]

Chapter 21 ~ Blurry (out of place)

Hidden Depths

Previous ~ Masterlist ~ Next

Also on ao3

Genre: Fantasy whump

CW's: ANGST, omg the angst there’s so much o.o, flashback fun for everyone! 😅, brief nonspecific flashback to csa, panic attack(s), painful wound cleaning, wishing for death, unsure of what is real but not quite unreality so make of it what you will, oh shit-almost forgot: captivity tw, restraints tw :') been awhile since i needed those lol

WC: 4237

Taglist (😱 I remembered this time!): @clairelsonao3, @dont-touch-my-soup, @kixngiggles (i've been having trouble tagging you, but i wanted to put this up here in case you see and were wondering where your tag was)

In which reality is a bit fluid, folks, and no one is happy about it

AN: Including me, I was also unhappy writing this. I need that bunker to protect myself and also to piece my heart back together.

You know that whole bit about how things get worse before they get better? Yeah, that is this :')

Carr

Carr had plenty of time to review her options as she returned to the wreckage of their carriage to search for supplies. 

If she “stumbled” into the camp’s clearing, would the reaction be more favorable if she dressed as a man or a woman? Had it been long enough for the bandits to assume the other people in the carriage had died? Surely they had searched and been curious about the lack of bodies, though. Carr tapped a grimy finger on her lip, barely even seeing the gown she’d found stuck in a bush some ways from the crash site. 

Aside from the cut on her brow, Carr was also fairly sure she didn’t look like a survivor of the kindling strewn across the ravine. Which meant she could pretend to be a runaway, but… from where? Maybe she could get away with not wanting to say. Fuck if she could even remember the places they had visited. 

So. Girl or boy? Child or adult? Found on the outskirts of camp or by the guards on the fringe or just stumbling straight into the camp, bypassing the guards altogether? 

While she could physically pass as a child at first glance, it wasn’t a ruse she could keep up for long, and she needed these people to feel sorry for her and take her in. She wrinkled her nose and smoothed Orla’s dress out on the ground in front of her. It was torn in places, which was fine since Carr wanted it to look like she’d been roughing it for a few days. It would be too short, but not by much, so it might make her look… poorer. The material was still too fucking nice, though. Maybe if she got it dirty enough, no one would notice. 

Carr left the dress behind and returned to the carriage. Or what was left of it. After a bit of digging, she found one of Orla’s headscarves, this one a pale pastel blue. Perfect; the dumb dress was blue, so it would even match. She rolled her eyes at the thought. 

Her hackjob haircut was acceptable for a boy or young man but less so for a woman. She’d never cared about her hair before and wasn’t going to start now, but if she went with the fairer option of subterfuge, she’d need an excuse for that, too. Gods, this sucked. Why did that place have to be filled with what seemed like halfway-decent people instead of a bunch of lowlifes who’d look better with a few more holes in them? 

Which was another question. How many weapons could she get away with carrying? Carr ground her teeth, knowing very well she’d be lucky to justify just one, if it was found. 

Even if she went in posing as a man, she couldn’t carry as many blades as she had on her right now. But she’d all but decided on pretending to be a woman–it seemed more likely she’d just be killed straight off as a man–so one blade it was. She’d hide the others somewhere close to the camp so they’d be nearby if she needed them. 

She tried not to think of the last time she’d donned a dress while she stripped to her underclothes and pulled on Orla’s garments–which were slightly too small in the chest and shoulders as well as too short. 

The clothes she’d discarded served as a wrap for her extra blades; the only one she’d kept was strapped to her thigh beneath her skirts, which ended at mid-calf instead of her ankles. Each breath she took was stifled, and her range of motion was shit. This was starting off just wonderfully. 

It just needed to get her into the camp, she reminded herself. Too small clothes, chopped off hair, small and skinny with a bruised face… someone would take pity on her. They had to. 

Carr hadn’t caught sight of Resh in a day and a half. She’d spent all damned day watching the fucking camp. Now dusk was approaching, and she wasn’t willing to wait another night. She needed in now, and gods help these people if she didn’t like what she found. 

~~~

Resh

Resh’s head hurt–like ice-picks stabbing his eyes, vice-grip around his temples, skull about to crack like an egg hurt. 

The pain about drowned out the red-hot pulsing under his collarbone. The rest of his body didn’t feel all that great either. 

He groaned soundlessly and tried to curl up on his side.

Resistance. He couldn’t move his arms. 

Nothing but darkness greeted him when his eyes snapped open. Which his head appreciated, but his mind not so much. Resh yanked on his arm, but the motion had no effect except to send shards of agony lancing through his chest. Shit, his ribs… gasping shallowly for air, he stilled. 

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

The air went nowhere as everything he thought he knew splintered and warped, aided by the throbbing in his head. He was lying on something hard, in the dark, his limbs tied down, pain splintering through every facet of his being. 

It was a dream. It had to be a dream. He squeezed his eyes closed, willing himself to wake up. To not be back there. The last weeks couldn’t have been the dream. They couldn’t have they couldn’t! 

He started struggling again, hoping he would wake up if he hurt himself in real life, but a voice penetrated the weighted silence, its owner sounding as if the person was moving. Straining his ears, Resh paused, listening.  

“Burning pits, Lox, did you see his forehead? He’s a royal mage, we can’t be stealing royal mages!” 

A royal mage? Horror washed through him at the thought. Is that what the prince had done when he’d branded him? Claimed him for the Crown? Fuck; fuck! 

And who was that talking? No one spoke in his dreams but the prince, which meant… 

His stomach twisted. This was real? But then, the prince shouldn’t know about his magic, not unless he’d used it without realizing… He cringed as a vicious throb tried to liquefy his brain. It felt-it felt like a reaction headache–oh gods, what had he done?

“If such a thing even exists, we could surely ransom him. If not, could you imagine how useful a Kinetic would be? I’m not interested in killing people–I don’t want another such occurrence as what just happened. Robbing people is annoying, sure, but killing them will get us hunted down and exterminated.” 

The unknown voices moved on, becoming indistinguishable before fading away completely. The meaning of the words barely penetrated the fog of Resh’s panic, but one thing stood out. 

Ransom? But–he tugged on his wrists, wincing as coarse rope chafed his skin. Everything felt muddled and upside down and wrong and–Carr! Killing people? Carr killed people, but… that’s not what that person had meant, now was it. Resh’s heart was beating so hard he thought it might break through his chest. His eyes couldn’t penetrate the darkness, his thoughts couldn’t…

Flashes of memory, purple light flooding a carriage. He had tried so hard to cushion them with his magic… Lightning speared through his head, obliterating the memory. Resh cried out, nothing emerging but a puff of air. 

Hot tears trickled down his temples, tracking down into his hair as his breathing quickened. He’d failed. If killing people was bad, if they wanted him so it wouldn’t happen again–it meant he’d failed, that Carr and his sister were–were dead. 

He keened silently at the thought until the pain in his chest left him too breathless to continue. His mind twisted again as he lay there, panting through the waves of physical and emotional agony. 

But was that–was that real? The carriage, the crash–had that happened? Or–he pulled on his arms again–was he still in the prince’s torture chamber, awaiting the man’s next godsforsaken sadistic whim? 

Resh shuddered, his heart beating erratically while his skin flushed hot then cold, leaving him clammy and even more uncomfortable. He couldn’t–he couldn’t… His thoughts scattered, his mind shutting down. 

As pain and despair dragged him back under, he couldn’t decide which reality would be worse. 

~~~

Carr 

Branches whipped past Carr as she ran, one etching a line of fire across her cheek when she misjudged the distance in the waning light under the Seleni Wood’s canopy. Shouts echoed behind her, and an arrow whizzed past, barely missing as it embedded into a nearby tree with an ominous thud. 

Fuck fuck fuck. She’d meant to get close enough to the camp to approach one of the women, figuring she’d have better luck appealing to them than just walking into a bandit camp and looking stunned, an easy target for archery practice. 

The perimeter had been guarded more heavily than she’d been able to tell from afar. Now, she was a moving archery target. Less easy, surely, but fuck it all, not ideal. Her heart thrummed quickly enough that the individual beats were indistinguishable as she ducked under a low-hanging branch and swung around a tree, heading deeper into the underbrush. She could get away, probably. But that would defeat the purpose, so she needed to allow herself to be caught. Without getting killed, preferably. 

But the men chasing her would tackle her, take her down. The thought made her skin crawl–would they stop there, buy the not-so-much-an-act she’d put on, or would they prove to be the brand of bandits she’d originally thought they’d be? 

It’s for Resh. She repeated the thought over and over as she “tripped” and curled up on the ground, covering her scarf-wrapped head. Her body quivered for real as she awaited either an arrow to the back or rough hands grabbing her. 

Thankfully–but also not–callused fingers wrapped around her wrists in a bruising grip, forcing her arms to the ground by her head as a large man dressed in patched leathers straddled her body. 

“The fuck,” he said, staring down into what Carr supposed were her saucer-wide eyes. 

Eyes that rapidly filled with tears as she put up a weak struggle against his hold. It took everything she had not to wrap her legs around the man’s waist and flip him off her–would’ve been hard to do in the stupid too-tight dress anyway, and moreover, would’ve been suspicious. But gods. 

“What’ve you got?” another male voice called from somewhere to her left. 

“A fucking woman,” her captor responded, gripping her wrists even harder. He moved, placing one knee between her legs, which effectively pinned them in place within the prison of her skirts. 

Carr went limp, focusing all her energy on convincing her body not to fight and flee. Her heart was beating so hard she was sure the man could hear it. 

“Are there more?” a third voice asked. Crunching followed their question, the person moving with no care through the detritus of the forest. 

The man cocked a dark brow at her. “Well?” 

She shook her head frantically. “N-no. No. Please–” Her voice cracked, and she snapped her mouth closed, swallowing against the tears thickening her throat.  

Rotten breath wafted across her face while a hand swept under her skirt. 

“That’s right, be a good girl now and I’ll be nice to you, I promise.” 

One hand pinned both her wrists now while the other swept over her body, then beneath her skirt, unerringly finding the blade strapped to her thigh. 

She shivered beneath the too-large body, her cheek throbbing where he’d already hit her, her wrists aching beneath his hold. 

Her wrists ached beneath the man’s hold as he held up the dagger and laughed. “Do you even know how to use this?” 

A mixture of rage and shame set her face aflame, and the cut on her cheek throbbed. Her breath caught. 

Dark hair curled around his face, framing amused blue eyes that quickly darkened with concern. “Hey, are you alright?” 

The hand covering her mouth after she’d screamed for help was too big. It covered her nose as well and she couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathe couldn’t 

She couldn’t breathe, the air she sucked in between choked-off sobs going nowhere as she battled her past to stay in the way too similar present. 

“Shit.” The man scrambled off her, calling out to his friends. 

The words he exchanged with them made no sense through the ringing in her ears. Pinpricks of white flashed before her eyes, and aside from tucking her hands beneath her chin, Carr didn’t move–couldn’t move.  

Memory flickered in and out of her mind’s eye–no matter what, it was always this one she was thrown back into. This one that haunted her dreams. This one that paralyzed her, highlighting how fucking helpless she’d been–

Carr pushed up with a wheezing gasp, flinching as hands reached out to help her. She was not helpless; she was just pretending. Pretending pretending pretending

A hand moved over her back, up and down, up and down, and she trembled, desperately trying to keep still and allow this strange man to comfort her. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” he murmured. “I’m sorry about before, we thought… it doesn’t matter what we thought.” Leaning forward, he caught Carr’s eyes. “You with me now?” 

She nodded, averting her gaze so he wouldn’t see how much she wanted to turn and rip his hand off. Her skin prickled. 

“Look like you’ve been through it. You need help?”

Not trusting her voice, she nodded again. 

Someone scoffed. Movement caught in her peripheral vision, and she twisted her head, rearing back. The man’s hand moved, tightening around her shoulder. 

“Just gonna take her at her word? Probably some thief putting on an act.” 

Her captor-turned-protector pulled her back against his chest. She made herself melt into him, pulling up her legs to make herself smaller while the new bandit glared at her suspiciously. 

“You didn’t see her when I had her pinned. No one puts on an act like that.” Her bandit’s voice dripped with derision. 

Carr couldn’t decide if it was directed towards her or the other man. Didn’t matter, long as he decided she was worth helping. Take me back, take me back, take me back, she chanted in her head. Her body shaking like a leaf was entirely unfeigned; the reaction disgusted her, but she didn’t suppress it, letting her fucking weakness serve its purpose.  

“She needs help.”  

“So bring her some supplies and send her on her way. We gotta get back to our post,” the suspicious one said. 

“More help than that!” her bandit responded hotly. 

Carr let a small whimper escape, pressing a hand to her mouth after in a show of embarrassment. Her bandit held her closer, and she closed her eyes, trying to imagine he was Resh so she wouldn’t do something stupid like pull his dagger and slit his throat. She wanted to crawl outta her skin. She couldn’t. Couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t.

“You gonna take responsibility for her?” another voice cut in. There was an extra layer of meaning beneath their tone that Carr didn’t trust in the slightest.

Shit, she’d forgotten about the third bandit. She snapped her head around, watching that one’s approach closely. Tall and slim, with toned muscles evident beneath gear in better condition than the other two, they moved fluidly through the brush towards her. Both her bandit and the suspicious one went still, waiting quietly as they studied Carr. Clearly, that one was the leader and would be the deciding factor on whether she was getting into the camp or not.  

Carr dropped her gaze when they crouched before her, jabbing their bow into the ground to lean upon. Their gaze felt like tiny bugs crawling across her skin, and she shivered. 

After what felt like forever, they finally nodded and stood, strapping their bow over their shoulder. “Fine. Let’s get back. Lox’ll have your hide for this, just so y’know.” 

The suspicious one huffed, sounding dissatisfied.

A thrill went through Carr as her bandit assisted her to her feet, but she kept her eyes wide and expression fearful. 

“C’mon,” he said gently, settling his arm around her shoulder. 

Ugh. But she leaned into him, allowing him to lead her back to the camp. Her eyes snagged on her dagger, shoved without care through the man’s belt, and her fingers twitched, itching to thieve it back. 

Not yet. She had to pretend a bit longer. For Resh. 

~~~

Resh

A cool cloth brushed over the sensitive skin of Resh’s forehead, waking him. 

His head didn’t hurt as badly, but gods, he felt like he was on fire, his flesh burning, set aflame from a single pulsing point on his chest. 

Subtly, he pulled on his arms, only to find they were still restrained. A shiver went through him, and the cloth pulled away abruptly. 

Resh cracked open his eyes to find a stocky figure sitting beside him, the lamplight flickering over their shoulder-length blond hair. He caught a flash of green as they turned their head to the side, and his insides froze over even while the heat scalded his skin. 

“Good, you’re awake,” the figure said, turning back to him holding a wooden cup. “You need to drink.” 

He shook his head, even though his mouth was dry, so so dry. No. No no nonono he wasn’t back with the prince he wasn’t he wasn’t he–

A hand gripped the back of his head, forcing it up as the cup was pressed to his lips. Liquid poured in, and he choked, unready. It kept coming anyway, so he forced himself to drink through the coughing. It was that or drown. 

“Good, that’s good,” the prince said. 

Resh sobbed as he was released, then pressed his lips together to suppress another bubbling cough. He squeezed his eyes closed, unwilling to look at the rest of his surroundings. Unwilling to see white limestone, the final confirmation of his delusions. Real, this felt so real. Too real. 

But so had everything else! Carr, finally, finally talking to him in that meadow. Her small hands removing his gloves, resting against his cheek, soothing him after a nightmare. 

His sister, healthy, her hair growing, her skin losing its pallor. Laughing and joking and enjoying their journey. 

Had it really all been a figment of his imagination? A fever dream? He certainly felt like he had a fever. His heart cracked, the pieces crumbling as he came one step closer to believing the torture chamber was his reality. Maybe he would actually die this time, and it could all just be over. 

“He looks like shit,” a different voice said. Deeper. 

“Yeah, well. You shot him. Don’t know what you expected, really. Don’t think it hit a lung, at least, or surely he’d be dead by now.” 

He wished he was. Gods, how he wished he was.

“I need your help. Need to wash the wound out again, but he always fights, even restrained. Tore the stitches out once already.” 

A sigh, then hands clamping on his shoulders–his bare shoulders–pressing them flat against the hard surface he laid upon. Pain lanced through his chest, and he cried out soundlessly, trying to pull away. Another figure straddled his hips, pinning him down even more. 

“We’re just trying to help you!” one of them shouted at him, but he didn’t, couldn’t trust the words, especially as the liquid poured over his chest. 

He could feel it bubbling in the wound, the fire multiplied by a thousand, burrowing in to burn him alive inside now as well as out. He would’ve screamed, had the prince not ripped even that away from him already. 

“I know it hurts, and I’m sorry, but I have got to clean out the wound.” 

Lies. He wasn’t sorry. Resh shook his head from side to side, straining, desperate to get away from it. Lies lies lies lies

“He hasn’t made a single sound, but he looks like he’s screaming.” 

“Have you seen his chest? This guy has been through some shit. I don’t like doing this, Lox.” 

“It needs to be done, or he’ll die. Do you want that?” 

The words washed over Resh, a haze of agony coating everything. They didn’t make sense. Who the fuck was Lox? But he blinked as the pain died down a little, saw the prince bending over him, and didn’t know anymore. 

What was real? This pain was real–but was it? Sometimes it wasn’t, he remembered, but then more liquid poured and his mind whited out under the blistering pain and his throat strained to make sounds it was no longer capable of producing. 

When he came back around, the shape of familiar words flying off his lips–please, no more, please, no more–someone was gently patting at his chest, saying the last words he expected. 

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts. I’m trying to be as careful as I can. Sorry.” 

Exhausted, Resh laid his head back down. His shoulders were no longer pressed down, and there was no weight across his waist. He opened his eyes but allowed them to skim past that person who was the prince who wasn’t the prince because they kept apologizing every time he flinched. 

A flash of blue caught his attention, just past the large man blocking most of the doorframe across the room. The room with whitewashed wooden walls, not stone. Or was it? Oh gods. He blinked. Hazel eyes peered under the man’s–Lox’s?–arm, there and then gone so quickly Resh wasn’t sure he’d seen correctly. 

But he’d know those eyes anywhere, and his heart leapt. 

It just didn’t make sense. Nothing was making sense. 

The cup was pressed to his mouth again, and Resh swallowed this time instead of choking, grimacing at the sticky sweetness left behind on his tongue. The other man was gone by the time he finished, and so was the person in blue. 

It couldn’t have been Carr, then. 

It couldn’t have been anyway because if this was not the torture chamber, then Carr was dead. Orla was dead. He had as good as killed them, making them travel across the country with him. 

Resh turned his head away from the cup when it was offered again, and this time the prince not prince didn’t push it on him. 

He watched dully as they dimmed the lamp, then left the room, the sound of a lock snicking closed horribly familiar. 

And yet, he didn’t care. 

Worse, he decided as the room began to waver in his vision. As his heart caved in and left what felt like a jagged, fist-sized hole behind. As his chest heaved with the silent sobs he no longer bothered to hold back. This was so much worse. 

His crying sparked lancets of agony radiating across his body from the burning wound under his collarbone. Every stuttering gasp felt like inhaling shards of broken glass. He welcomed the pain. 

But whatever had been in the water fuzzed his mind, and his eyes eventually drifted closed, his breathing leveling off. The tears tracking down his temples followed him into his drugged sleep. 

~~~

Carr

Carr’s bandit marched her straight into the biggest of only three cabins in the bandit’s little valley, past the watchful eyes of probably most of the place’s inhabitants. 

Demex, he’d told her his name was.  

Well, Demex bore up against the scrutiny well, even as Carr cringed away from it. Maybe because she cringed, which he could very well tell with his arm around her shoulder, dragging her body into his side. She permitted it. She had no choice, now did she. 

For Resh. 

Demex bore up less well under Lox’s scrutiny. Carr flattened herself against the wall, ostensibly hiding behind her bandit while he got his ass handed to him, but really the positioning allowed her to see under Lox’s arm into the room he was trying to block with his body. Kind of. 

She caught flashes of someone moving around a bed. What looked like medical supplies on a nearby table, some bloodied bandages. 

And then–a pair of red-rimmed brown eyes. Their gazes met for all of five seconds before the person at his bedside blocked her view, but Carr was certain it was him. 

Her heart sped up, her breaths quickening. So fast! She couldn’t believe she’d found him so quickly. And he was alive. Her knees buckled as relief sluiced through her, and all that saved her from sliding down the wall was Demex’s hand slipping around her waist. 

“Hey there, you alright? Rowan is a little busy right now, but they can check you out in the morning, if that suits?” 

“Alright,” Carr said faintly. She willed strength back into her legs. “Wh-what now?” 

“What now is you get to talk to me,” Lox said, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.  

The only thing that stopped her from snatching her dagger back, burying it in this guy’s chest, and bursting into that room to get to Resh was that it appeared as if they were caring for his injuries. 

And the small matter that a move like that would certainly get her killed. But she would’ve done it regardless, if she’d thought it necessary. 

Not yet, she told herself, staring up into the eyes of the man who’d chased their fucking carriage down.

Next

[lamarckianenterprises]

On Alledgely Intelligent Machines

All of this reminds me of like, two to three years ago when AI Dungeon 2 was this hot young thing and 'respectable' gaming news sites were posting opinion pieces about the wild unrestricted adventures they were having on it and how it would change the way they roleplayed forever, even though it was this bumbling, lawless thing that could barely find the plot to lose most of the time.

And then fast forward a year or so and we find out that the algorithm isn't magic, and that prompting it with 'the end' specifically outputs a 'thanks for reading, please donate to my patreon' message lifted from all of the thousands upon thousands of poor schumcks who had the misfortune of deciding to share their work online for other people to freely read.

All of this 'AI is progressing too rapidly and will one day very soon develop into real AGI that will change the world' malarkey is just jingling keys. I think it's called Longtermism, they want us to fret and fuss about how this will affect the lives of our great great great grandchildren commutting to Mars 200 years from now, and not about how this is affecting real people today.

"Think about how neat it would be to have an AI that can answer all of the questions left in the universe for us" Sam says, as his company hurriedly cuts ties with the underpaid Kenyan workers manually sorting and tagging the database his LLMs are based on.

"Look at how well it rhymes now, this will definitely distrupt the Poetry Industry which definitely is a thing that exists in real life I am a real scientist I know these things," his employees say, in a research paper hyping up their own product while they improve its ability to deepfake images that gradually erodes any trust we still have in our society.

All the while touting the most mediocre, average examples of just about any creative field as proof of its rapid, inevitable and perpetually explosive growth as if it was the figurative Antichrist heralding the coming of the Son of God and the Kingdom of Heaven.

I miss when we just let these things run rampant without a single care for consistent style and realism because we enjoyed witnessing what utter insanity it came up with, I miss when it was just a 'neat tool' that could maybe provide a freaky background or add trippy dogfaces to your clouds, I miss when we were wondering about what all of this weirdness said about what understanding language and having pattern recognition means when it's divorced entirely from reality instead of wondering how quickly we can refine and normalize its output well enough to mechanize all forms of artistry.

And above all else I miss not hearing about it, because honestly it still isn't that good. The slightly uncanny photos, mass art style plagiarism module and extremely resource intensive shorts are neat and all but, when it comes to prose, and DMing?

Well let's just say that AI Dungeon 2 crawled so that ChatGPT can sorta aimlessly waddle around in those babywalker things that seem neat and helpful, but are actually deathtraps that can cause long term health and developmental issues by actively preventing your child from spending the time they need to crawl around and develop the motoric skills and musculature needed to stand and fail repeatedly at walking. (Which is why they have been banned in Canada since 2004.)

_____

Maria D.R./Lamarck is an Indonesian writer whose boomer mother has talked about how great AI is to me and everyone in her social circle every damned day since ChatGPT was released.

[carb0n-m0n0xid3]

Dear God, this took forever to write

Ok so, I made a short story to submit into a writing contest (maybe). I am still deciding whether to put in that story or poems (as that is the choice). But Here it is, I hope you guys enjoy it :3

It was an ordinary day for the centaur, locked up in his cell with thick, cold chains rubbing his skin raw. He had grown used to such troubles though, as he had others far worse to deal with in this harsh facility. He had long forgotten his old life, practically raised in these cruel conditions since being abducted nearly two decades ago.

“Subject 70424!” called Dr. Shridener, a scientist, hitting his cell door with her clipboard to wake him. She had done so successfully, watching his fright with an annoyed expression..

He awoke startled, stretching up from the old dirty mat he had called a bed, dusting off his medical robe. He had wished so dearly to wake with the rising sun rather than by someone inhumane screaming orders at him. But as of now that was just a silly dream, perhaps once a distant, fading memory.

“Yes, ma’am” he anxiously muttered, hesitantly approaching the cell’s door. He held his lanky arms out to her through the bars, guessing she'd want to see the progress of his healing skin grafts.

“Ahh” Dr. Shridener said with some hope, snatching the centaur’s arm in a tightening grip, causing slight winces to escape him. She hummed whilst observing the old scarring, though her smile faded in disappointment. It was unfortunate for her to see the start of an infection along the site of the grafted skin that his own had rejected.

“Another failure, I see..” she hissed, releasing his arm from her grasp. The centaur retreated back with a flinch, watching her scribble some notes on her clipboard. He sighed, knowing this meant more tests. Why were they even doing this, seeing what skins are compatible with his own? He had no clue, but surely he would find out in the future.. right?

He was then transported by Dr. Shridener towards the medical bay, though already knew the way from the amount of times he had gone. Down the hall and take a right, down that long hall… then past the dreaded “extermination chambers”. He never dared to think of what was done there, fearing for his life each time he was near that section of the facility. It was occasional to hear the wails of innocent creatures from within, though he tried to ignore such terrorizing sounds of annihilation.

Once in the bay, the centaur was guided to a room, knowing what would happen within. Eventually came in another scientist to conduct the procedures on him, one whose name tag read “Dr. Favela”. 

He entered without a greeting, a rather stern, plain look on his face. He adjusted his gloves and brought out a kit, one all too familiar to the centaur. From within the kit, he drew out some appliances, preparing anesthesia to momentarily sedate the centaur. The poor creature had grimaced, still uneasy at the sight of needles despite how often he had seen them.

He inhaled sharply as the needle penetrated him, slowly numbing his frail skin with its liquids within. His eyes began to grow heavy, faltering and shutting once succumbing to the substance.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o

A few weeks had passed since the operation, the centaur’s arm currently bandaged with gauze, cleaned daily with painful antibiotics. He could barely sleep with the agony, though whenever he could, it never completely satisfied his fatigued state. He dreamt daily of the wilderness, clips and blurs of his past memories blended together. He was tired of these same cold gray walls, the thick bars containing him, and heavy chains that prohibited freedom, or even slight movement.

“Subject 70424!” yelled Dr. Shridener, once again slamming her clipboard on the cell door. The centaur awoke with a shudder, already forgetting the sweet serenity of his fantastical dreams. He approached, the chains clanking along the floor as he trotted a short distance to her, rolling up the grimy sleeves of his robe to reveal his bandaged arm. She unwrapped the gauze with one gloved hand, the other holding his arm tightly. 

He watched her with a growing sense of anxiety, as Dr. Shridener was never one to smile, even less one as wide as this. He glanced down to his arm, seeing the patch of grafted skin beginning to heal with his own. It.. worked? After all this time, it finally worked?

“Dr. Favela will be thrilled when he sees this..” she said, releasing his arm and grabbing her clipboard, unable to wipe the grin from her face. 

The centaur sighed shakily, not really knowing how to feel about this. The graft worked, but now what? What were they going to do with this? With him? As of now he was just led back towards the medical bay, taking the mundane route towards the room. He followed Dr. Shridener down the hall and to the right, watching her strides. He was led forward and past the extermination chambers, feeling that same uneasy feeling in his gut.

She was the first to enter the room, glancing around with the same smile.

“Dr. Favela~ Oh doc-”

“I am busy.” he snapped, turning in his chair from his computer. His expression was the same as always, dull and tiresome. After glancing between the two he sighed and rolled his eyes, turning back to his computer.

“The grafts worked” Dr. Shridener said, pulling the centaur in and revealing his arm to the scientist.

At this Dr. Favela finally perked up, leaving his chair to observe the arm. The centaur couldn't understand what the whole deal was with his skin grafts. Sure, it was different and interesting, but why did they need this information? Being lost in thought he missed their conversation, but knew he was going to go somewhere different. 

This time he was led through the facility by Dr. Favela, following the man closely. The hall trailed throughout the building, finally ending at two towering doors. The centaur shuddered at the sight, entering the cold room. There were several machines, ones he did not recognize, and have never seen before. 

“Come” said Dr. Favela, motioning for him to approach one of the benumbed machines.

“They are just larger, modified CAT scans and X-rays” he said in a monotone voice, seemingly annoyed at the centaur’s fear.

“But I suppose you know nothing about machines, due to your lack of knowledge.”

The centaur approached with dreadful submission, shaking with fear at what might go wrong. The scientist was right, he didn't know what these machines were, or what they even did. But he listened to the instructions, finding out that getting these “scans” as Dr. Favela says, was a pretty harmless task.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o

After nearly two months of scans and blood work, the centaur was deemed “ready” for a plan.. one he still wasn't informed of. All he knew was that it was a surgical procedure, but that only terrified him further.

“Oh Subject 70242” Dr. Shridener called, this time waking him without the whacking of her clipboard on the cell door. It was abnormal for the centaur to see her in such a positive state. But he stood and approached still, heart racing in a fretful manner. 

She had gathered him and led him to another new area, going straight down the hall from his cell. The walls seemed to fade from a bland gray to a soft blue, bringing a sense of serenity to the centaur, though he was still troubled at this uncertainty.

They had finally approached a pre-op room, about four other staff within the room. Dr. Shridener gave orders to the nurses before leaving, the four now glancing over to the centaur. They began to approach, some holding needles and others disinfectants. He failed to back away, bumping into the wall while nervously clutching the medical robe’s sleeves.

“What's going on?” the centaur finally sputtered, feeling an uneasiness deep within himself, as if passing the extermination chambers.

“SPOS? Surgical Process of Separation? Did they not tell you?” One nurse said, rolling her eyes as she paused. Another had begun to approach the centaur, raising the needle in his hand closer to the shaking creature.

They were going to separate his.. what? He could barely think straight when informed of this operation. How would he be after? They are posing a major risk to his life, just to see what might happen? Just to make him “normal”? He froze in his spot, clutching his chest as the four came closer. This was it. His life could all end here if he did nothing. Was there anything he could even do? 

The centaur snatched the medkit on the counter beside him, throwing it at the nurses as a quick distraction before bolting out of the room. His hoofbeats echoed throughout the halls, nearly matching with the speed of his racing heart. He could only try to focus on escaping, fleeing from this inhumane facility as horrid questions flooded his head. Why would anyone propose such an idea? Is that why they needed the scans? The successful grafts? What if I get captured? Would they return me for the surgery, or worse, extermination?

Alarms began to blare throughout the building, red lights flashing as a voice came upon the speakers:

“SUBJECT 70242 ATTEMPTING AN ESCAPE, HEADING TOWARDS SOUTH-EAST LOBBY.”

The centaur could already hear the sounds of security approaching, their footsteps growing louder as he rounded the corner, seeing the emergency exit just ahead. Closer and closer he got, heart pumping at speeds he never knew were safe, spreading fear and terror throughout his frail body.

“STOP RIGHT THERE” He heard guards yell, running towards with guns aimed at him. But he continued on, disregarding their threats. His breath grew quick as he raced down the hall, finally bursting through the emergency door with gunshots echoing behind him, some just skimming the hems of his robe.

The night's cool air refreshed the centaur for a moment, something he hadn't felt in forever. He threw off the robe while darting throughout the lot, seeing a dense forest just ahead. His throat burned and his lungs ached, but he persisted, hearing the shouts of others fade behind him. The thoughts of being captured continued to fill his mind, fueling his terrorizing dread and perseverance to keep on racing through the forest.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o

After hours and hours of treading, the centaur finally slowed, his body giving out from fleeing such a great distance. He grew exhausted and lied to the forest floor, joyfully weeping at his deliverance. Grasping the wet grass with tight fists he laughed, feeling as if in one of those dreams he had whilst in captivity. It all felt so unreal, the newness of the woods overwhelming him with glee and tranquility. He took a shaking breath, watching the sun slowly rise with its glory. A widening smile began to grow on the centaur’s face, the first genuine smile he had experienced in a very long time.

[miscfandomwrites]

Mama Chapter Twelve

A/N: Inbox is open! And please let me know if you want to be on the taglist for this series. 

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Mom! Avenger! Reader

Warnings:

Words: 1.4k

Tagging: @tyler-t0t

~~

“You’re joking!” Wanda exclaimed loudly enough for me to shush her and remind her that Lillith was taking a nap. 

She leaned closer to Natasha and yell-whispered : “Please tell me you at least got a photo of that!” 

Natasha just grinned and showed her the phone screen, which made Wanda gasp and grab it to show me. 

Apparently Bruce and Tony did something in the lab because both weren’t wearing shirts. And from what I could glimpse of the photo before Wanda whisked it away again, was that both of them were covered in a blue powder. 

“Do I want to know what happened?” I asked as I dumped another cup of flour into the bowl. 

“All I heard was yelling and then when I went to look, both of them stood apart from each other covered in it.” She replied. 

I hummed as I worked the yeast mixture in with the flour, and then returned the flour back into the cupboard. Getting the oil and salt from the same cupboard, I turned and quickly measured it into the bowl. I knew I had some work I wanted to get started on soon but with the meeting tonight and the fact that Clint wasn’t here and he asked specifically for me started my anxiety ramping. I had a feeling this was one of those missions that he was pulled aside by the team for and told that someone else would step in because it was too dangerous, and that he’s got a family, and since I’ve barely been on a handful of missions since I joined the Avengers (Due to time and Lillith) this would be a major one. 

That’s not to say that I was more replaceable than Clint was ; I understood the need for me to go on this mission despite my daughter. I was a supersoldier, and I’ve been through hell and back several times. It was a proven fact that I could survive things a normal human couldn’t. 

I remember one of the mission briefing folders I went over when I first joined. I had spent about a week gathering information beforehand on the team. One of the files I pulled was about what was priority if a mission went south really quickly. The main goal was for everyone to walk out alive, but in this case it was Sam and Clint first, because both didn’t have a full metal suit protecting them all the time and weren’t wearing decent armour due to their skillsets. So those two would be first, then it would be Tony and Wanda. Tony because despite the tin man’s suit, he was still a regular human. And a slightly old one at that. Wanda because she was deemed the best ‘asset’ to shield, with her set of...abilities. Then it would be us, the soldiers, then Hulk and Thor. 

Honestly the reports and such on how the missions were supposed to be conducted were pretty smart, and would be extremely effective if anyone actually paid any attention to them. 

I mixed in the ingredients and shook out some flour from a bowl onto the countertop. God, I love having a kitchen island. Bread is so much easier to make. I dumped the bread mix onto the counter and put the bowl in the sink, and started the process of kneading the dough until it was a soft, squishy ball. 

Wanda and Natasha discussed what exactly happened in the lab, and if Stark and Banner might be trying to hide something from the rest of the team, and I turned my focus inwards, trying to remember the list of tasks I needed to finish for this job. 

They wanted it color coded and be able to run the site the same on mobile as on computers, as well as the possibility of an app. Man, an app would take awhile to make. How much are they paying me again? If it’s not over-

“Oh. Hi everyone!” Chirped a slightly sleepy voice from the right of me. I turned my head to see Lillith, a blanket around her shoulders and hugging her wolf close to her chest. I smiled at the site of her blearly rubbing her eyes before checking the clock on the far wall. She’d slept for almost two hours. 

“Hey, babydoll.” I said as she came up and peered over the counter to see what I was doing. 

“Bread!” She exclaimed, jumping up and down.

I laughed, “Yes, bread.” I said as I slapped it down again and started folding it into a ball.

“Hey Lillith, you wanna watch some movies?” Wanda asked her.  She nodded and followed her into the living room as I put the ball into a greased bowl and covered it with a damp towel. 

Natasha was still on her phone as I cleaned up the counter and washed my hands, and then as I switched laundry. 

I moved to my working area near the bay windows and set a cup of coffee down and booted up the system, as I stretched and glanced at the clock. 

Better get going. 

~~

The next few hours were busy, and ended with me getting up to get another cup of coffee only to learn that there wasn’t any more. And it was almost seven. Wanda had made some dinner and Lillith was watching a disney movie with her on the couch, and Natasha was on her laptop-When she went and got it was beyond me-at the kitchen counter. 

I put my hair up and washed my hands, then took preheated the oven and floured the table.

“Mind if I ask what you’re working on?” I asked her as I shook the dough out of the bowl. She looked up at me and raised an eyebrow,

“Honestly nothing much. Mostly just research for tonight’s meeting.” She replied as she sipped her water.

“Should I be worried about it?” I asked her. 

She shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. Our last mission scratched the surface of a bigger Hydra hole, and from the look of it, it’s gonna take several outings to exterminate them all.” 

“Damn. That bad?” 

“Unfortunately, yeah.” She replied. 

I shook my head and started to work the dough. Finally getting it to the consistency I needed, I greased and floured a bread pan and dropped the dough in it. The beep from the oven told me it was ready to be put in, and I set the time for twenty five minutes. I cleaned up the counter and did dishes, then went and switched some laundry and busied myself until it went off again. 

Finally the timer went off and I took it out of the oven and turned it off, and let it cool off before I transferred it to a cutting board. 

I washed up in the meantime and setup another movie for Lillith. Kissing her forehead, I left with the girls to head to the meeting.

~~

“In English, please.” I told Steve as he finished his story about the previous mission. 

“Basically we uncovered a long-term operation by Hydra. We thought it wouldn’t take much but it got to the point where we had to retreat because of how overwhelmed we were getting. And now we need to go back to finish the job, if they haven’t moved on yet. That, and the fact that we know there are two secondary locations we will need to ‘visit’ later.” Bucky summarized.

“And my role in this is..?” I asked. 

“You’re taking my place.” Clint said. He was on call with us, and I could faintly here the kids in the background.

“How bad are we talking?” I asked him.

“Angel of Death bad.” He told me. 

I took a deep breath and steeled myself, letting the process of my instincts take over. 

“Okay.” I replied.

“Angel of Death?” Bruce asked.

“Back when I was in the Marines, my callsign was ‘Angel of Death’. When I was put onto my…special squadron the name carried over. It’s one of the reasons why Fury asked me to join.” I told him.

“Are we talking like my bad, or how bad does it get?” Bucky asked. 

I looked to him. “If I switch into that headspace it’s going to be bad.” I answered. He nodded in response.

“Let’s go over the plans again. We’re leaving at four tomorrow morning.” Steve said.