#i’ll do that thing where if you vote i’ll draw you something

[lulublack90]

Prompt 18 - Floo

@wolfstarmicrofic September 18, word count 571

Previous part First Wolfstar part

“What if I go ask father? He might be able to set something up,” Sirius chimed in the argument Remus and Regulus were having about how to lure Voldemort out into the open so they could plan their attack. 

“It can’t hurt,” Remus allowed. “He’s been an asset so far.”

“No,” Regulus glowered. “He can’t be trusted, especially not with something as important as this.”

“You’re just sore because he never made you the heir,” Sirius scoffed. “Right, who votes I go see Orion?” He looked around their gathered group, all of them put their hands in the air apart from Regulus. 

“Traitor,” Regulus glowered at James.

“Rorbey!” Sirius called, and a little pop alerted them to the elf’s arrival. 

“Yes, Master Sirius,” The elf said, bowing. 

“Is my father alone in the house?” He asked. Rorbey shook his head, his ears flapping slightly. 

“No, Sir. Mistress is there,” Rorbey replied.

“Could you come back and get me when he’s alone?” Sirius asked. Rorbey nodded yes. “Great, thank you, Rorbey,” And the little elf vanished. “Well, that’s that then,” He grinned, clapping his hands together. 

“Well, let’s hope, Father is more concerned about you than the Dark Lord,” Regulus scowled at Sirius and left the meeting, dragging his traitorous boyfriend behind him. 

It wasn’t long before Rorbey was back and apparating Sirius into the main drawing room, where Orion sat reading the Prophet. 

“Sirius!” He gasped, jumping to his feet and hugging his son tightly. “When you didn’t come after Rorbey had told you it was safe, I thought you wouldn’t come back,” Sirius could see the sadness in his father's eyes, and he tried to ignore it. 

“I’m sorry, I would have if I could, but there wasn’t the opportunity to get away,” His explanation softened the blow some but withheld the vital information that he couldn’t share. 

“Barty Crouch has changed his tune,” Orion changed the subject. “He seems less inclined to go out on the muggle hunts the others like to organise. He seems almost as though he doesn’t want to be a death eater any more,” Orion looked pointedly at his son. 

“Wow, who’d have thought it,” He said, taking a leaf out of Regulus’s book and forcing his face into an unpenetrable mask. Orion sighed. 

“Don’t shutter your face like that. You used to do that when you were trying to hide things from your Mother. I won’t ask anything, don’t worry, just don’t look at me with that blank face,” Orion's face fell as he pleaded with Sirius. Sirius let it crack a bit, and Orion’s smile returned. “There’s my handsome son. Now, why are you here?” 

“We need to know how to get Voldemort away from his followers and out in the open,” He told his father. Orion blinked at him in shock. 

“I’m not sure about that, son. Let me look into it, and I’ll send Rorbey to you with anything I come up with.”

“Rorbey, come here. Orion, where are you?” Walburga’s shrill voice broke the silence. Orion and Sirius jumped in their seats, Orion reacting first. 

“Quick, use the floo,” Orion urged him, pushing him towards the fireplace and summoning the pouch of green floo powder. It took him a precious second to figure out where to go, but once he decided, he stepped into the fire, tossing the powder as he went and calling out the address of Peter’s flat. 

Next part

[actualori]

LILAC HUSBANDS PROPAGANDA!!!

VOTE JAUSAGE !!!

PLEASE

[saphronethaleph]

Snooze Cruise

Anakin’s head was whirling as he got into the speeder.

The Chancellor was a Sith. Chancellor Palpatine was a Sith.

The man had been a close friend for – well, since Anakin had left Tatooine, really.

And he was a Sith.

It was… too big. There was too much to grasp.

Anakin backed his speeder out of the parking spot, turned to fly to the Jedi Temple, and yawned.

This led to him nearly crashing into an air lorry, and he skidded abruptly to a halt in mid-air before shaking his head and groaning.

“I can’t believe it,” he said, out loud.

He needed to speak to someone about this.

He should probably speak to Padme about this.

Turning the speeder, Anakin took the air way to their apartment instead, doing his best to concentrate on flying instead of on the fact that Palpatine was a Sith.

The door opened, and Anakin raised his voice.

“Padme?” he called.

“Ah!” C-3P0 said, coming in from one of the rooms leading off the entrance hall. “Sir, I am afraid that Mistress Padme is not currently in. She is involved in a meeting.”

Anakin almost demanded to know if that meeting was with Obi-Wan, before shaking his head as he remembered that Obi-Wan was on Utapau.

“Should I… let her know you want to see her?” C-3P0 asked.

“No, Threepio,” Anakin waved the offer off. “I’ll just wait for her to get back. It’s… something I need to think about before we talk, anyway.”

“Oh, I see,” C-3P0 decided. “Or, rather, I don’t. But I’m quite used to such things. Do you want something to eat, Sir?”

Anakin waved that offer off as well. “No thanks. I’ll just sit down.”

He divested himself of his cloak, hanging it up on one of the hooks by the door, then went through to the main living area and sat down on the couch.

Within a few minutes, four days of no sleep had caught up with him, and he passed out.

Mace Windu glanced at the time – almost eight in the morning – and then flicked on his comlink.

The first comm code he called produced no reply, even after a wait of several minutes, and he frowned slightly before switching to a new combination.

That one, fortunately, produced a response almost immediately. Senator Padme Amidala answered the call.

“Master Jedi?” she asked. “This is Master Windu, yes?”

“That’s correct, Senator,” Mace confirmed. “I was wondering if you knew where Anakin was. I’ve called his comlink, and he hasn’t answered.”

“I don’t know where he is, no, I’ve been involved in a meeting all night,” Padme replied. “Master Jedi – did you know about the Abolition Act?”

Mace blinked.

“I’d heard of it, yes,” he said. “So far as we’re aware, it’s a legal mechanism to try and dissolve the Jedi… we’d believed it was a scheme by Darth Sidious, an attack against the Jedi.”

He glanced in the direction of the Council chamber. “That’s one reason why Obi-Wan launched his attack on General Grievous on Utapau. We hoped to draw Sidious out.”

“I don’t know if that’s what’s going on, but the Chancellor just announced that the Abolition Act was coming up for a vote,” Padme said. “I didn’t have a clue why, but if Sidious is involved… do you think he managed to get to the Chancellor?”

“It’s possible,” Mace admitted. “When is the vote?”

“It’s outside normal order, so… now,” Padme answered.

Mace turned, striding to the doors of the council chamber, and Kit, Agen, Sasee and Coleman looked up from their seats as he entered.

“Something’s happening,” he said. “Senator, can you keep us updated?”

“I’ll do my best, Master Jedi,” Padme promised.

“How important?” Kit asked.

“As important as it can get,” Mace replied. “The whole Order needs to hear this… I can feel it.”

The vote counts began coming in, and Palpatine tried to suppress a nervous twitch.

He was having to improvise. Improvising in the end game was a difficult thing to do, especially when he had no idea why his gambit had failed.

What should have happened was that he would have his new apprentice, or he would have an open break with the Jedi Order… which would earn him his new apprentice anyway.

But as of now, he had neither. And without his new apprentice, he didn’t have nearly as good an excuse for an open break with the Jedi Order… he could not very well have Anakin give his account of how the Council had been planning to bypass and replace the Chancellor.

If he was going to get his empire out of this, he needed that break. Order 66 could not take place without some kind of reason behind it, something he could point to, and yet it had to take place as soon as possible… the war was entering its final phase, and within days the Jedi would be returning home. Away from their loyal soldiers… away from their hidden assassins.

So be it.

If there was anything that would force a break with the Jedi, it was this. And, as the votes rolled in, Palpatine saw that he had managed it… at a great cost, but he had managed it.

At least four factions in the Senate had been persuaded that they had to vote in favour of the Abolition Act despite Palpatine’s professed wishes to keep the Jedi around. Two of those factions had been persuaded by Palpatine himself arguing that their votes were necessary for political reasons, and that the Act would never pass anyway.

“The motion is carried,” Mos Amedda declared.

“I bow to the wishes of the Senate,” Palpatine announced. “And now that it is law, I am bound to carry it out. The Jedi Order will be dissolved, effective…”

Immediately? No. He needed enough time for them to act rashly, not enough time for them to think.

“...as of ten in the morning, today, Coruscant time,” he decided.

The Senator for Naboo signalled to speak the instant it became possible, and her pod floated out into the central arena.

“I have a reply from Master Windu of the Jedi Council,” she said, without preamble, and Mace Windu’s holographic head appeared in projection from her systems.

“Sure,” Master Windu said. “The war’s basically over anyway.”

Palpatine blinked.

“...what?” he asked.

“The war’s basically over anyway,” Mace repeated. “An hour to pack might be a bit tight, but I think we can fit everything into some of the freighters.”

“Are you saying you’re going to just leave?” Palpatine asked, not quite sure what he was hearing.

“Yes,” Mace confirmed. “We have all been working very hard for years, often without much of a rest, and we would very much like a break. If you don’t want to keep us around, we’ll do it elsewhere.”

The image wavered, and a second hologram appeared next to it.

“We’re with you, Master Windu,” Clone Marshal Commander Bly stated. “Voting’s going on now, but I’m sure of it. All of us are – we quit. We’re your army, not the Republic’s, and that’s how it should be… you won’t waste our lives.”

“You were listening in?” Mace asked, sounding amused.

“If it affects all the Jedi, it affects all of us,” Bly declared. “And speaking for myself, Master Windu… we would very much like a break as well.”

Palpatine was staring at the holograms.

“...you are all listening in?” he said, then decided he was never going to get an opportunity better than this one. “Initiate Order Sixty-Six!”

Commander Bly just looked confused.

“Chancellor?” he said. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’d like to know that myself,” Senator Amidala admitted.

It took all of Palpatine’s immense self-control to avoid reacting to that bit of news.

Hiding Order Sixty-Six in the biochips of the clones forming the Grand Army of the Republic was the greatest bit of deception and complex planning the Sith had managed in-

Palpatine’s train of thought screeched to a halt, backed up, and examined the proper nouns involved.

...the clones weren’t part of the Grand Army of the Republic any more, or of any direct successor organization involved. They’d quit.

Someone, presumably someone Kaminoan, had simplified the programming by using a function definition that didn’t apply in this situation, and he was now buggered sideways with a lightsaber.

Anakin yawned, stretching, and his hands touched metal.

“Mwuh?” he asked, blinking a few times, then rolled over on their couch and fell onto a metal floor.

That got him the rest of the way awake, and he looked around with surprise.

He was on… a starship, with a blanket half-tangled in his legs. There were crates packed and stacked haphazardly around the bed he was on, and the quiet murmur in the Force of sentients elsewhere.

“Ah!” Threepio said, appearing at the door. “Master Anakin, sir. It is good to see you are awake. Shall I inform the rest of the Council?”

“What’s going on?” Anakin asked, touching the hilt of his lightsaber. “Where am I?”

“I’m not an expert at hyperspace navigation, sir,” Threepio replied. “That is more Artoo’s department. But I believe we are about halfway between Coruscant and the Yavin system. A lot has happened since you fell asleep.”

“Including me being moved into a spaceship?” Anakin asked.

“You were very deeply asleep, sir,” Threepio confirmed.

“…you quit?” Anakin asked, ten minutes later, looking between the holographic forms of the other Councillors – and the half-dozen Clone Commanders who were also on the call. “All of you?”

“The Senate voted to disband the Jedi Order,” Mace told him. “The Order’s not part of the Republic, but it could have caused us a lot of problems. So… we left.”

“Our ally, the Force is,” Yoda said, nodding sagely. “Helped with packing, it did.”

“The only thing we’re not sure about yet is why the Chancellor said what he said, during the meeting,” Rex told him. “We’ve been trying to work it out since we hit hyperspace. Politics in the Republic are very confused right now.”

“I could… probably help with that,” Anakin said. “Though I guess first I should say… is Padme okay? We’re – we’re married.”

That resulted in a ripple of laughter through the call.

“We know, sir,” Rex said.

“All of us,” Mace agreed. “You moved in with her.”

“It was actually causing a problem,” Ki-Adi-Mundi informed him. “Students were asking if marriage was really not allowed or just that we were supposed to pretend it wasn’t.”

“Clearly the second option,” Sasee opined. “Clearly.”

“...do you also know that the Chancellor is a Sith?” Anakin said. “He told me.”

“Okay, that is new,” Obi-Wan admitted. “Perhaps we should tell your wife. She might find it useful to know.”

[oddballwriter]

Personal Nurses

Summary: You get sick with something and need to stay home, and so your lovely boyfriends take up the job of nursing you back to health.

Warnings: Mentions of being sick (sore throat, stuffy nose, and fever). Taking medicine. Half Google translated Spanish, my high school Spanish is really rusty the grammar may be weird. Other wise a nice wholesome sick comfort fic.

Author’s Snip: Fun fact, this was originally going to be a fic where it was about Abi (the reader and system’s daughter that have a bit of an unofficial series with) getting sick. But I decided to make it about the boys taking care of you because I got a nasty cold a while ago and wanted to see this.

Notes: Again, the grammar in Jake’s Spanish speaking might be not so good because my Spanish is rusty as hell.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word Count: 692

Being sick wasn’t that great. Sure, it got you out of needing to do things, but you also had to deal with actually being sick. And that’s never great.

You went to bed last night with a tickle in your throat and runny nose that you thought would pass in the morning, but then you woke up dying for water, barely able to breathe through your nose, and now you were burning up like a whore in church.

When Steven eventually woke up and found you in the kitchen you could tell he knew. You made an attempt to brush it off by saying “I’ll just drink some tea and sit under an air conditioner today.” but you could see Steven and the rest of them in that brain vote no on even letting you get out into your work clothes.

So now you get to wallow in bed and have three personal nurses.

Since Steven was the one who woke up with the body, so he was the one who set everything up. He politely shooed you back into bed, placed extra pillows, called your work for you, made you your tea and breakfast, and brought all that to you in bed with a cold rag and medicine. He also checked your temperature which, of course earned an “Oh, love. That’s no good.” that seemed more like him thinking out loud.

Steven was the one mostly in charge of your comfort and doing things for you when you’re sick. If you wanted an extra blanket, you got one. If your fever rag got lukewarm, he made it cool again. Do you want more water or tea? You got it. Is it too bright? He’ll draw the curtains for you. If anything he was more of a bell boy than a nurse. But it still made him blush a little when you called him that.

Marc was the one in charge of making sure you got your medicine in, and he was on top of it. Apparently, when you were taking a nap after eating breakfast, Marc took the body to go to the pharmacy and get new medicine and vitamins because “The one we have isn’t strong enough.” as if he was able to tell just by looking at you. When he came back, he had you eat some bread, saying “So that it doesn’t mess with your stomach if it's empty already.” and also “It helps it stay down. It has something to stick to.”.

“How do you know all this?” you questioned, to which Marc simply said “Trial and error,”, “Now take the vitamins. It helps your immune system fight it off.” Marc orders. You just shrug and comment “Whatever you say, Nurse Spector.”.

Jake was dead set on making food for you, making Marc go to a whole different market while he was out, just to buy ingredients for the soup he wanted to make you.

“Qué no, Marc. No puedes compras los sopas enlatadas.” Jake said to himself with a laugh. “Mind letting me in on the joke?” Marc asked as he watched Jake cut up the ingredients from the reflection in the soup. “You couldn’t buy them canned soup, Marc. Canned soup doesn’t do it. You gotta make it.” Jake explained, clearly referring to the whole ‘make it with love’ thing. “Well, that’s what we would have,” Marc mentioned. “Because that’s all we got.” Jake said back, “But not for them.” he added as to pointed to where you were resting. “They’d do the same for us.” Jake stated confidently.

When the soup was settled and done, and cooled down enough, Jake brought the bowl straight to you in bed. You thought he was going to bring a little table like Steven and Marc did, but it was clear when Jake kept holding the bowl and took up a spoonful of it and held it towards your mouth. You say his name with a scoff and he smiles. “Come on, mi amor. Steven and Marc got to play nurse today.” Jake teased. You roll your eyes and decide to humor him and let him feed you.

[mouwrites]

Craig tucker x gn!reader plss where reader is emotionless like craig and he’s absolutely smitten w them

Yes ofc!! Sorry for the wait!!

Word count: 736

South Park - Craig Falling For an Emotionless Reader

Craig glanced at the clock for the umpteenth time that hour, sighing deeply at the minute hand that seemed to be slacking that day. The teacher drolled on about something or other; he wasn’t really paying attention. If it wasn’t already obvious, he was bored out of his mind. And he wasn’t the only one—looking around, most students were either doodling in their notes, texting underneath the desk, or straight-up nodding off.

“Y/n!” The teacher barked suddenly.

Craig’s eyes scanned the room, trying to figure out who they were talking about. No one looked like they heard their name being called; they all kept their bored expressions, apart from the few who were looking around too.

“What?” A student near the front of the room didn’t look up from their notebook. Craig was sitting close enough to see that they weren’t taking notes, but doodling idly.

The teacher’s face soured for half a second, but a devilish smile curled their lips after. “Can you tell me which U.S. state was the first to grant women the right to vote?” They tapped the board, which read “suffrage” in large letters, with their pointer.

“Why don’t you tell me? You seem to be eager to share.”

The teacher’s face dropped. “I’m not sure I like your tone.”

The student looked up at last. “What’s wrong with it?”

Craig tilted his head. There was no malice or mischief in their voice; it was flat, curious if anything.

The teacher, however, was much less appreciative. Their ears were turning red as their hands curled into balls.

“You think this is funny? Well, I’ll tell you what I think is funny. Detention.”

“Why’s that funny?”

The teacher fumed. Long story short, the student earned themself detention. And to make an unrelated but equally long story short, too, Craig had already been sentenced to the same fate earlier that day.

So it was that both students found themselves seated next to each other with a bored teacher pretending to care what they were doing.

The student was drawing again. Craig examined their expressionless face, their eyes that seemed bored with everything. They were rather pretty eyes, he reflected, wondering in the same moment if that was a strange thing to think.

“Your eyes are nice,” he noted.

Y/n glanced at him. “Oh.” They didn’t flinch, going back to their drawing.

Craig had said it objectively, and that's how they seemed to have taken it. It wasn't often that Craig found himself being understood like this; he was intrigued, to say the least.

“You’re not very expressive, are you?”

“People tell me I’m not.”

“They say the same about me.”

Finally, a reaction. Y/n put down their pencil and turned to face Craig. “Really?”

Eager to find a like minded soul and emboldened by the attention, Craig was compelled to speak. “Yeah. It’s gotten me in trouble so many times. I guess people take it as rudeness.”

“It’s the same way for me!”

“Hey! Quit whispering over there! This is detention, not a sleepover.”

Both students blinked, turning silently back to their “work.”

Craig's mind was buzzing. The image of Y/n was burned in his mind as if he'd been staring at the sun. He was trying to remember little details. Were there freckles on that nose? Were the eyelashes long, or short? He craved another glance, but restrained himself, feeling the teacher's eyes on him.

A moment later, they finally looked away, and Craig found a folded piece of paper being placed discreetly on his desk by a s/c hand. He found himself admiring the hand as it moved; it was beautiful. The most beautiful hand he’d ever seen… Was that a strange thing to think? Probably. Yeah, no, it was totally weird.

He shook his head, unfolding the note.

Do you want to have an actual sleepover? lol

Craig looked up at them. In the half second their eyes met, he nodded once.

Another note came a second later.

Cool. Just text me when ur free :) (xxx)-xxx-xxxx

Craig stared at the number. His cheeks suddenly felt warm, and his heart drummed at the mere notion of spending more time with this mysterious yet kindred. The smallest of boyish smiles quirked up the corner of his mouth, and he stuffed the note in his pocket. He was so texting them the minute he got home.

Thank you for the request! And thanks so much for reading, take care you beautiful souls <33

(divider by saradika)

[writeyouin]

Mirage X Reader – Private Little Thoughts Part 2 of 2

Overstimulation

A/N - Okay, it took me a little longer than expected, but I listened to the vote and I used the top five or six kinks to make this a little better than my older works.

Warnings – NSFW. SMUT. PORN.

Rating – M

‘I’m gonna fuck you in Noah’s garage. Please let me fuck you.’

That was what Mirage had said, and now here you were, waiting for him to do what he wanted with you. You couldn’t say that you didn’t also want him. You did, but until tonight you hadn’t thought  Cybertronian-human relations possible.

Initially, you thought that you and Mirage might take things slow as you both tried to figure out what would and wouldn’t work. As it was however, you were now sat in your underwear, your hands bound behind you with a bungee cord that was tied off on a divot in the floor.

Evidently, Mirage was a bot with many kinks, and he didn’t know where to start first; you had also found that he had seemingly learned a lot about humans from some pornos he had seen through people’s windows.

“See, the good thing is that we’re not all that different. You have a valve, I have a valve and I spike. Other than that, we’re basically the same.” He had explained hurriedly as he tied you down.

You waited a few more minutes while Mirage paced around you.

“Do you want suggestions, or…?” You trailed off sardonically, bored of waiting for something to happen.

“Just wondering where to start,” Mirage answered, stroking his chin.

“Well, if you could start soon, that’d be great. I haven’t got all week, and I’m getting cold.”

“There’s just so much I wanna do to you, and you’re so small and soft, I gotta figure out some logistics. Should we have a safe word? I feel like we should have a safe word.”

You looked around for objects that might bring a safe word to mind.

“What about cables?” You suggested, feeling particularly un-creative when put on the spot and starting to shiver.

Mirage shook his head, “No good. I’ll want you to pull on mine, so I’ll be using that one.”

“Okay, how about Noah?” You asked, thinking about how mortified you would be if your mutual friend walked in to find you fucking in his garage.

Mirage’s engines revved, “Oh no way, you don’t get to mention that hot piece of aft. It’ll just make me overload too fast.”

“Are you serious? Is it like, all humans with you? Because I thought this was just kind of an us thing.”

“Hey now, I only have feelings for you, but you can’t sit there and pretend that Noah isn’t sexy, yeah?”

You tilted your head to your shoulder in a shrug, “Yeah, okay, you’re not wrong.”

“Oh, I got it,” Mirage stated excitedly, “What about E.T.?”

“No,” You deadpanned.

“What? Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to be covered in jizz or something and have to scream out E.T. It’s weird.”

“Okay, fine… How about pyjamas?”

“Why pyjamas?”

“Because pyjamas were what you were wearing when I first realised I wanted to try this with you,” Mirage admitted, blushing slightly.

You also felt heat rush to your cheeks as you realised that the Autobot had been watching you at some point in your home. How much had he already seen of you?

“Okay,” You relented. “Pyjamas.”

“Great, ‘cos I want this to be good for both of us. I don’t want to hurt you (Y/N).”

“I can stand a little hurting.”

Mirage shot you a measured look. You didn’t shrink under his gaze, meaning what you said. Then, for a moment, Mirage questioned himself, wondering whether what he was doing was sane. It was his idea, and he most definitely wanted you, but if the others found out about this… Well, he knew what they would say. They would say the things they always said to him, that he was reckless and foolish, and that one day he would hurt someone.

“Hey,” You called, drawing him from his reverie. “It’s okay.”

Mirage’s expression softened. You were right, everything was going to be okay. He mentally shook himself, trying to get things back on track by saying, “No, it’s going to be better than okay, ‘cos you’re fragging hot. Like seriously, you know how hot you are?”

“Tell me,” You grinned demurely.

“You’re so hot that I wanna watch everything as it happens. In fact, with your permission…” Mirage trailed off, gesturing towards a camera which you previously believed was turned off.

“You want to record this?”

“Not just record it.”

Mirage flicked a button on the camera, then pulled a piece of Cybertronian technology from his subspace and attached it to the camera. Suddenly, the two of you were everywhere, projected onto the walls and ceiling.

“This is what you’re into?” You asked somewhat doubtfully.

“I don’t want to miss any expression on that pretty little face of yours, and there’s going to be a lot to see,” Mirage said suggestively. “And now that that’s sorted…”

Mirage leaned forward to kiss you, pursing his lips so he could peck yours.

“Let’s get this started.”

As it turned out, between Mirage’s size and all the things he wanted to do with you, the bindings that held you in place weren’t a good idea, and so he freed you from them relatively quickly. There might have been a time for them later if things worked out and once you got used to one another, but for first times, they weren’t helping things. Mirage proclaimed that a mighty shame, as he had enjoyed seeing you tied up; when he told you that, you had retorted that you would like to see him gagged since he wouldn’t be able to use that smart-ass mouth of his.

“You’ll like my ‘smart-ass mouth’ soon enough baby, I promise you that.”

“Shut up,” You smirked, shaking your head.

“Make me.”

“Gladly,” You retorted, climbing onto Mirage’s chassis to kiss him.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, after which Mirage looked at you with hooded eyes, “That was good, but I prefer my kisses a little lower.”

You rolled your eyes but took the hint as his interface panel slid open, revealing a blue spike, dotted with silver bio-lights along the sides. It took a moment for you to shift downwards, but you managed it and immediately began pumping your arm into his valve, rubbing at his inner walls and finding the bundle of nerves that formed his anterior node.

Mirage groaned, “Fuck, you found that fast. Should I be jealous that you know what you’re doing? Please don’t tell me you’ve been screwing around with Optimus or-”

He sucked in a sharp vent of air through his systems, as you clutched the node in your fist, working your hand over it.

Mirage had had hand jobs in the past, but only from Cybertronians and those were around his spike. Nobody had ever been small enough to work his anterior node like that.

“I like seeing you like this,” You smiled.

“What, hot as fuck?”

“I was thinking more like a hot mess,” You chuckled, making Mirage cry out as you toyed with him.

“Well,” Mirage managed to pant, “At least we agree on the hot part.”

You grinned and bent your head to suck at the tip of his spike.

Mirage’s face contorted while he tried not to overload. He was known for his stamina and prowess, but damn, if he was hot, you were lava coursing through him, burning him up, till he felt like he could explode. When he had imagined doing this, he hadn’t considered that you would be his undoing. He adored you, and he was dangerously aware of how much you humouring his human kink was affecting his feelings about you.

Later, he was certain he would have to remind himself that this was either a one-night stand or that you two were only friends with benefits, nothing else. Primus, he hoped it was the latter; he didn’t want to think that this would be your only time together, especially as you rubbed your hands down the length of his spike while sucking him off.

For a while, he was greedy, letting you service him, but when he came far too close to overloading, he decided to return the favour.

Now, you were beneath him, your hands balled into fists against the floor, frustrated there was nothing to grab as Mirage finally put that mouth of his to good use.

“Fuck, that’s good,” You keened.

“Glad for my mouth now?” Mirage mocked playfully, taking a minor break from his work.

“No,” You said to spite him. “Wishing it was Optimus, actually. He has to have good jaw strength from all that scowling.”

For that retort alone, Mirage scraped his dentae against your inner thigh, making you yelp, though it didn’t hurt so much as shock you. With such a large tongue lapping at your insides, devouring your pussy, and making you writhe beneath him, you knew you wouldn’t last long. Mirage also seemed to sense this, as he would work you up, massaging your breasts with one digit whilst eating you out, then he would stop and make you wait, coming down from your high.

You cursed him more than once, but that only seemed to amuse him more.

“Damn it,” You huffed, after being denied an orgasm once again. “Why won’t you let me have this?”

“I don’t want you to cum until you’re riding my spike,” Mirage replied with an over-confident grin.

“Then let’s just fucking do that!”

“Oof, you wound me,” Mirage placed an offended servo over his chassis. “You really want this to be over so soon.”

You pouted, thinking about how you wanted an end to your torment. You wanted to be able to cum, and you were already so overstimulated, you knew all it would take was just a few more light touches to your clit.

“How many partners have you had?” You asked incredulously, annoyed that Miragae was so good at what he was doing.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, that’s dangerous territory there,” Mirage dodged the question, thinking of the multitudes of Cybertronian partners he’d once had. The truth was that he was rich, and they wanted his money; there were never any real feelings involved, but you… you didn’t know any of that stuff about him, and you liked him anyway; why? All you had wanted was to go for a race, and now, the only thing racing was your pulse… Well, your pulse and his spark.

“Then what do you talk about during-”

“Like I said, how I want to fuck you till you’re sore. Now c’mon, get on all fours for me.”

“Whatever you say,” You replied coolly, “But please, be gentle.”

Mirage softened at that, his optics drinking you in.

“Always,” He promised.

When you turned your back on him, he was almost relieved. Your eyes were going to break him, he just knew it. He took a minute to examine you, knowing full well his spike would be too large for you, despite what he had said about wanting you to ride it. Instead, he popped his smallest digit into his mouth, sucking on it till it was slick with coolant.

He worked at your anus, stretching, tugging, pulling. He wanted you to be ready for him when he fucked you. Finally, you seemed ready, so after asking your consent, to which he received a weak nod, he entered you, pumping in and out with his finger.

Although you still had to use one hand for purchase, you managed to reach the other underneath, stroking your pussy while he fucked you. The sight, played back at him from all angles, made Mirage’s spike twitch; his trans-fluid dripped onto the floor from both that and his valve.

Since you were taking his digit so well, he had a feeling that if he were to properly prepare your body over multiple sessions, then you would be able to take his spike one day. When that happened, he knew he would want to take you from the front. He imagined rutting into you, over, and over, one overload hitting after the other until his trans-fluid filled you all the way up and your belly swelled with it; then it would leak over his spike and down your thighs.

Mirage opened his mouth to swear at the thought, but all that came out was over-excited static.

He tried to keep his hand from thrusting into you too hard, his mind and body overstimulated with thoughts of all the things he wanted to do with you. You were an impossible being. He had worked himself up before imagining a myriad of lusty situations, and now that he was actively carrying them out, he was already thinking up more.

Mirage reached down to his wanting spike, working it with his free hand. Now it was just a matter of who would overload first. Mirage had more experience, but he wanted you so badly. More than that, he wanted to climax first. He had to see you covered in his trans-fluid.

He pumped at his spike harder, gripping it almost angrily, multi-tasking, as he worked both you and himself into a frenzy.

It wasn’t long before his hard work paid off, especially when you begged him for more; he liked the sound of you begging. His trans-fluid splashed over your back and ass, making you wet, warm, and sticky. Suddenly, you buckled, falling onto your elbow, your legs quivering as your orgasm finally hit.

“Shit,” You rasped. Then you repeated it, unable to form other words in your haze.

Mirage was right. That was a much better use of your time than racing.

“That- That was-” You were trying to come up with something better than amazing, but you were cut off by Mirage, whose mind had no limits.

“Yeah,” He supplied for you. “Good, ‘cos there’s some other things we gotta try next time.”

“What?” You deadpanned, wondering how he was already thinking of next time.

“How do you feel about nipple clips and electric shocks?”

You didn’t reply, exhausted by his energy; it was going to be difficult to ever keep up with Mirage.

[yridenergyridenergy]

Welcome! This is a special invitation to take the whole Dir en grey community for an enthralling ride into the Schadenfreude universe! 

That song’s lyrics are highly poetic, and seeing as it is a long song, we have even more to feed our imagination. These lines suggest an imagery, but far from forcing a specific one onto us, they peel at the layers of our creativity. 

We would love to see your approach on what those lyrics evoke for you. Some of you are incredible talented and this contest is less of a competition than it is an opportunity to create a gallery of amazing art dedicated to Dir en grey’s Schadenfreude!

Prizes

Still, as an incentive, you can expect not just many kudos and my heartfelt appreciation, but a couple of prizes! 

Two guaranteed prizes are sets of VIP & exclusive goods from Tour23 Phalaris Vol.II, which contain: portrait set (photographed during Tour23 From Depression To____ 25th Anniversary), drawing book (Perfume of Sins artist photo outlines), colouring pencils, wristbands set, and a large pouch. 

What’s more random and undetermined is that, on top of that, honestly, there are probably things that I would be willing to do or to depart with from my own collection. Whether it’s something in Photoshop, or you’re a fan of x member who is missing something, we’ll work out an extra prize that I can include in your package!

(Voting method and presentation of the entries to be determined - probably dependent on how many entries there are, if artists prefer to be presented anonymously or something, etc. I definitely won’t be making the decision myself, but I also want it to be as fair as possible for all participants!)

Deadline

I don’t want to rush creativity at all, but please submit your entries no later than July 7th 2023 at 11:59PM EST. Let me know if you find this too restrictive!

Here is the Google form to register your artwork:

https://forms.gle/BeBSzvgTj9GDvUfF7

Entries

You can enter as many entries as you wish to share! There are so many inspiring lyrics in Schadenfreude that would be difficult to mix into a single piece of art. At the same time, there isn’t necessarily strength in number in this case, since there will be at least two winners anyway. This is meant to give you flexibility rather than to force you to make a difficult choice on just one segment of Schadenfreude to illustrate, but don’t spread your efforts thin on too many pieces!

What medium? As long as it’s a still image, go wild with digital, paper, paint, clay(?). 

Literally no other theme than just: “Bring to life a part of Schadenfreude’s poetry”. The lyrics mention scenery for the most, but you could include a person in your artwork too. 

Do keep in mind the tone and way those lyrics are sung, as well as the surrounding melody, of course!

Tips?

This may be more distracting than helpful as it could create bias, but below the break, I’ll include some descriptions of how Schadenfreude was portrayed live by the band. 

Before the hidden break though, good luck to all and thank you to anyone who participates! If you can, please spread the word about this contest!

The lighting for Schadenfreude is overall very much blue and red, but I think there were scenes of red and green too. 

In the background, the accompanying video shows 3D graphics of: gnats, a featureless person praying on their knees, a corridor of material resembling inner linings or organs that leads to a wide room where a faceless branch being sits on a throne, the Devil with its horns, scorched paper, a devastated forest but also a jungle with a giant skull-shaped rcck or monument. Other parts of the video showcase sketches like those of the artist behind the Agitated Screams of Maggots and Rinkaku PVs, displaying a mage or a ghost. 

[tiptapricot]

1,000 follower celebration!

Ty for everyone who voted on what to do :-D I’ve decided to take the top two choices so people can do things depending on their energy levels, so!

Draw/Write/Create this in your style:

Make something based off, expanding, or rewriting the prompt(s) below and either submit it via the ask box or make your own post and tag me! I’ll also be checking the hashtag #1000 tip fruits if you’d just like to put it there :-) You can make fic, art, meta, headcanons, collages, whatever you’d like! There is a general prompt that can be used for fandoms, OCs, or however you want to take it, as well a few fandom specific prompts. You are welcome to do any you’d like or combine a few if you’re interested in a crossover!

Ask Game:

My ask box is open to general Q’s about me, my writing, specific fics, characters, fandoms, etc! I won’t answer anything intimate about myself, but am open to nsfw hc asks about characters or ships as well :-) Any headcanon posts will be shorter than my normal ones but I’ll still try to give a good batch of thoughts!

Both these “events” will be open until the end of September! I’ll be reblogging stuff people make, but it’s a loosish period as there’s no contest or raffle or anything at the end and I mainly just want people to have fun :-)

💕 Thank you all for being here in my goofy corner, and I hope we can continue to vibe and grow as we continue to in our own lives :-D 💕

(Prompts below cut)

General prompt: Small things make up love languages. Intent with care, wanting with direction, and sometimes even just a reminder that one party values the other. It’s not a science, really. Everyone is different.

Moon Knight (comics or show): Jake often finds himself in the middle of disagreements, caught between Marc’s militaristic necessities and Steven’s push for comfort and collection. Today, however, he’s taken a firm side, and no one will make him budge.

WWBN (marvel special): With all the universes out there, the line between hunter and monster often blurs. It’s odd to see a case, however, where everything has been swapped while staying so closely the same.

TLB: There are many nights Michael doesn’t remember from the summer of 1987, more now that he’s grown into grey hairs and spotted fingertips. Sometimes he still tries to imagine what it may have been like between flickers of firelight and the flash of fangs, if nothing than for his own amusement.

BnT: Ever since they grew far enough out of trick or treating age that it felt strange to go door to door, Bill and Ted have been trying to establish a new Halloween routine. Ted’s not so sure about this idea, though.

Spider-verse (characters and/or ocs!): An anomaly manages to break free in HQ, spreading a mass of glitches through the building that send several spider people tumbling into dimensions not their own. Whether via escape or rescue, there is a mess that needs cleaning up, and fast.

DC (comics, cartoons, live action, whatever!): It’s not the first time heroes from the future have met heroes from the past, but it may be the first time they’ve managed to get lunch without a world ending event hovering on the horizon.

[frenzyarts]

Could you talk a bit about how you design your OCs from a visual level? I really love their designs. Only if you have the time and energy of course <3

Thank you so much omg 💕 I was trying to think of a good way to answer this question, but the truth is my methods are very nebulous and hard to define! I’ll do my best though 🥳

Some characters come to me very easily, some go through a few revisions, and some go through a meat grinder of revisions lol. Rune was easy, her design was just in my head right off the bat from years of drawing/thinking about demons. Yorick was a little different. Awhile back I played a ttrpg and designed this character:

Look familiar? This is prototype Yorick!! (I have this on my portfolio at a higher res if you wanna zoom in or something idk) She was a character who was kind of elfin and was a clown who controlled shadows. When I started pinning down the stories and characters of A Slowly Beating Heart I KNEW I had to put a demonic clown in there, and I thought of this design.

A phase I go through when designing characters when im not sure how they’re gonna look is doing a bunch of iterations based on vibes. Here’s some of the earliest Yorick sketches I could find, you can see how they don’t quite look “right” yet:

Like the vibes were there but that’s not our Yorick! Here’s what I think might be the first or second sketch I did where they look right:

I used the old Yorick I had designed but finally modified the outfit and design in a way that pleased me. I went with this design, and went through some minor edits with the colors, and boom, the demon clown was born! (Though even in this image they aren’t quite right, in the final comic I got rid of the lines on their horns and saturated the green parts of their eyes):

Melody is another story. Versions of Melody had also been living in my mind for almost as long as Rune, but never as a solid design. I have a zillion sketches of Melody that don’t look at all like how she looks now. It wasn’t until right before her appearance in the comic that I actually decided to refine her character design. Since I had never quite solidified how she looked in my mind, getting her on paper was quite the task. Her hairstyle was already on my mind, but I did a bunch of different versions of her halo and outfits. I put a bunch of designs together and sent them out to my friends to ask them to vote on their favorite outfit to help me decide 😂:

In the end Melody’s outfit didn’t quite look like any of these, because they’re all somewhat complex, and I need things to stay really simple for comics. Once I had designed the outfit the struggle still wasn’t over, cause now I had to do colors. Here’s just a small sampling of the color pallets I went through:

I guess if I was gonna break down my process into steps, it would be like this:

1. Sketch a bunch of ideas based on vibes

2. Choose my fav and then refine it further by tweaking the outfit/hair ect

3. Try out a lot of different colors and keep adjusting them until they look right

4. Give birth to my Art Child 💃✨🙌

I don’t always do all that, and some of the design processes for certain characters happen a little differently. But that’s basically it! Sorry this was super long, I hope it helped!!

[docholligay]

Doc's Quarterly Patreon Book Thing: Fantasy

Okay, so, I've been trying to think about how I want to do this, which is basically letting my patreons force me to read a book. I have picked three genres I would say I do not read a lot of, but I know y'all do, and then the fourth quarter will be either open season or as a children's book for children, I haven't decided.

SO. Nominations will be opened on the Patreon Feb 1st. RULES AND THINGS TO KNOW/HOW THIS WILL WORK:

It will be pitchless. You don't need to pitch me! Just Title, Author.

One nomination per person. Your first nom will be considered your nomination, all others will be ignored.

Must be available in print

For this quarter, the genre must be FANTASY. Below, I point out some fantasy novels I have enjoyed and negative-enjoyed, which'll give you both an idea of what i like and what I might consider fantasy. Just good faith effort.

Must think I would like it. You don't have to think it'll slay me and change my life, but this isn't 'let's clown on Doc'. I am doing this in good faith and I assume you will nominate in good faith.

I will RANDOMLY DRAW FIVE of the novels. These five will then be PUT TO A VOTE on patreon. I will not read the comments so if you want to pitch, the comments on that poll will be a good place to do it.

Whatever wins the vote, I'll read.

Okay, then, FANTASY BOOKS I REMEMBER TRULY ENJOYING OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD, AS AN ADULT

The Once and Future King by T.H. White

His Dark Materials Series by Phillip Pullman

Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

The Dresden Files by Jim Butcher (the first 4 or 5 anyway)

A Song of Ice and Fire Series by G.R.R. Martin (the first 4)

The Gunslinger by Stephen King

The Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter

FANTASY BOOKS I REMEMBER DISTINCTLY NOT-ENJOYING OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD

Eragon By Chistopher Paolini

Harry Potter Series by JK Rowling (This is 10000% not a solidarity thing or anything, I fucking hate these books and think they are Not Good. I would not put something I decided to hate for author's politics in a guide for recommendation)

A Wizard of Earthsea by Urusla LeGuin

Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

The Wheel of Time Series by Robert Jordan

The Night Circus by Erin Morganstern (In full fairness, i loved this one until the fucking bullshit eyerolling ending)

See?? Despite being an insufferable hater, I do like things! This list of course doesn't include anything where I was like, "That was perfectly fine!" It's made to show the highs and lows.

Does this make sense? I'll put the nomination post on Patreon Feb 1!

[bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus]

Bloodhound. (A Ghost x AFAB!reader fic)

Act One, Chapter One: No Moksha

Slayyy! We're here! I hope you all enjoy!

For context, the reader is AFAB but I included gender neutral pronouns :).

Ah! I'm so excited, I've never written something like this before!

Apologies in advance for any grammar mistakes, I have proofread this to death but things always slip under the radar. There is also a poll at the end of this for you to choose how this should go- majority vote dictates the direction the reader takes!

Word count: 5,718

Warnings: Strong language, horror elements, mentions of blood

The night you had arrived at the base of the Mexican Special forces, right on the outskirts of the cartel-owned city of Las Almas, the sky was starless, and the weather was muggy. The air had felt heavy, slightly suffocating, so much so that you had this unnerving feeling that the heavens may open any minute now. A storm was going to arrive soon, you just knew it, and that storm would most certainly bring lightning. It was humid after all, and thunderstorms thrived on humidity. You were grateful that you had shelter to retreat into should there be a raucous downpour, and that was all thanks to Kate Laswell. 

The CIA Station Chief had taken pity on your circumstance as a runaway from the Red Room, and thus, elected to temporarily take you under her wing. Once she felt secure that you had removed all implanted trackers, the woman allowed you to take refuge here in the base for the time being. You were briefly- though not properly- introduced to 141 and soon realised that they were in a similar situation, except they weren’t running away from a shadow government organisation. Instead, they apparently were going rogue due to some infighting within their own team and superior. You hadn’t heard the full story, but a few familiar names were dropped and you had an idea of what had happened. Anyways, you didn’t really care, 141 seemed amicable enough and that was all that mattered. You had decided that it was best to keep out of their way, provided they do the same for you. You weren’t looking for trouble, you were just looking for a few moments to breathe. 

Soon, though, you’d change your mind and decide that maybe dipping a toe into some idle conversation and seeing what became of it wouldn’t be a bad idea either. 

“Hey!” A friendly voice called from behind. 

You turned around from where you had been kneeling in front of your rucksack, to see a man with a black mohawk waving at you from a few feet away. He had a friendly face. 

“Hi.” You replied, subtly eyeing him. 

He took a few steps towards you, holding out his hand. 

“I’m Sergeant MacTavish. But most folks call me ‘Soap’.”

You smile. 

“Y/N. I’m Y/N.”

Soap quickly found you had a firm handshake. A very firm handshake. As he pulled away, you spotted him nursing his wrist, drawing it close to his chest as he continued to strike up conversation. 

“Quite a handshake you got there!” He remarked, chuckling. 

“Comes with the training.” You shrugged.

“Training?” Soap asked, “Laswell never mentioned you being military.”

“I’m not military.”

“Ah, I see. So, where are you from, then?”

“That’s classified.”

He nods, almost to himself. Another mystery man on the team. 

“I’m not on the team either.” You said absentmindedly as you turned back to grab your canteen, “I’m just staying here for the moment, I’ll be gone soon.”

When you got up, you noticed Soap was staring at you, mouth hung slightly open. He seemed to have a mixture of expressions going on, one of confusion and another of… surprise. Well, it was more like poorly-hidden shock. 

“What?” You tilt your head to one side, flinging your rucksack over your shoulder.

Did he… He could have sworn he never said that comment aloud. Or… Or maybe he did? Soap mumbled a “nothing”, letting you walk on ahead to the barracks. Sometimes his mouth was three steps ahead of his mind and he was known for occasionally letting things slip that he really should have kept in his head. It could happen in a flash, with Soap not knowing he’d said something stupid until he’d see heads turn and brows furrow. 

“So, how long are you crashing with us, then?” He asked, picking up into a light jog to catch up with you. 

“Uh… I’m not sure. Pretty much however long it takes for Laswell to kick me out?”

You both rounded a corner and entered a long hall lined with beds on either side.

Ah… yeah. This wasn’t ideal. Sure, you had expected to be sharing the sleeping area with one or two other folks, but this looked like the entire base was here. You pull your lips into a thin line. Everyone was here! Everyone. The sounds of idle chatter filled your head as you tried to find an empty bed to claim. You hoped you wouldn’t have to fend anyone off to keep it, not like back in your old living quarters. You think it was when you were about seven when you first realised the laws of that place. Some girl had taken your bed and slept in it and when you tried to nudge her off, she ended up attacking you. Once the fight had ended, she had gifted you with two new scars. In return, you had blessed her with a black eye and no bed for her to sleep in. Luckily, she had found another. However, since then, you had become vigilant about where you slept and what you slept on. 

Which was why it surprised you when you saw Laswell raising her arm and waving at you, before pointing to the bed across from the one she was sitting on. 

You walk down the aisle, occasionally looking at her for reassurance that you were headed in the right direction. Soon enough, you had plonked yourself on a slightly hard mattress with a creaky metal frame. Swivelling round to face Laswell and her companions across from you, you inch a little closer to the edge, hoping the background noise wouldn’t take away from the conversation you sensed was coming. 

“How are you feeling, Y/N?” She asked, taking a sip from her thermos.

“Fine.” 

Kate Laswell accepted the answer, and your little circle went quiet for a moment. 

“So…”  a man with mutton chops spoke up suddenly, only to then fade into silence. 

Laswell elbowed him lightly. 

“Just because they can’t tell you much about their background, doesn’t mean you can’t introduce yourself!” She shook her head, “Go on! Be polite!”

He shot her a dirty look before holding out his hand. 

“Captain John Price.”

“Y/N.”

You took it. 

“Just Y/N? No rank? Not even a surname?”

You shook your head. 

“Proper mystery you are, eh?” Price chuckled.

A younger man, sitting next to him, peered round to get a better look at you. His eyes wandered about for a bit before he honed in on something which made his eyebrows raise. 

“I like your tattoos.” He pointed to what he could see from your rolled up sleeve. 

You looked down, almost as if you were reminding yourself that they were still there. 

“Thanks.” You mumbled. 

He leaned forward, trying to get a better look at them, only for Price to place a hand on his chest. 

“Don’t be getting in their space, Gaz. Let ‘em breathe.”

“Sorry,” Gaz gave an apologetic smile, “I was just wondering where you got ‘em done. They look really cool.”

“I can’t tell you where I had them inked, I’m afraid.”

“Fine. Keep your secrets.” 

“I will.” You grinned, letting out a small laugh. 

You could see Kate was beginning to relax a little as you and Gaz exchanged smiles. Sure, you weren’t going to be here for long, but it would make a heck of a lot easier if you got along well with your short-term roommates. 

Soap came and sat himself down on his rucksack in the small, askew circle you had found yourselves in. 

“So,” he began, scooting himself a little closer in, “you guys managed to get any intel on Y/N here?”

“Tough nut to crack.” Price remarked, feigning a solemn headshake, “Won’t even give their rank.”

Soap sighed, “Damn. Don’t even know where you sit in the pecking order… that’s gonna make allocating food tough.”

Your eyes widened. 

“Allocating what now?” 

“They’re just messing with you.” Laswell rolled her eyes as the men let out hearty laughs, “You’ll get an equal ration don’t worry.”

She patted your back as you laughed nervously with them, feeling a bit foolish.

“Can you not scare them off please?” Kate barked at Soap as he wiped his eye, “The last thing I want is them running off and disappearing off the face of the Earth.”

“Sorry, Laswell! Couldn’t help masel!” 

“Of course.”

The laughter soon quietened down and people started looking up. A shadow had fallen over you, darkening your field of view. 

You looked up to see what was eclipsing the lights. 

A tall, masked man was looking down at you… and you kept looking back up at him. 

The both of you narrowed your eyes. For a brief moment, you thought a staring contest was going to begin, time slowing down for a fleeting second. And then, suddenly, the world sped up back to its usual pace as he turned to the rest of the group and asked:

“Who’s this?”

“That’s Y/N. The runaway Laswell told us about yesterday.”

“Oh.”

Oh? You tilted your head to one side. Was that all he had to say? “Oh?” 

Fine. Just ‘oh’ me, I guess. You shrugged to yourself as he walked past you to take a seat by Soap. 

“This one’s a proper mystery. Some shadowy government agent from Laswell’s lot.” Price whispered, loudly. 

“Yeah, you can take your tin foil hat off, Captain.” Laswell groaned, “Y/N’s information is just classified to you.”

“What about you, Kate?”

“Oh, I know almost everything about them.” She leaned back a little, smug. 

“They got as much classified information as Ghost?” Soap looked between you and the masked man. 

“Probably not. Since, you know, we have the privilege of seeing Y/N’s face all the time, unlike someone.”

Gaz let out a snort as Ghost rolled his eyes. 

Ultimately, it was true though. If it were down between you and Ghost on who looked more trustworthy, it would be you by a mile. You didn’t have a mask on for a start and he did. Not to mention, the man’s stare was unnerving. Intense. You were almost certain that if he tried, the sheer power of his glare would turn you into stone. The man would have made a fine Gorgon, all staring eyeballs and no friendly smile, or at least no visible friendly smile. 

“Y/N,” Gaz paused to let out the last of his giggles, “I got a very important question. What’s your favourite colour?”

“Uh…” You just pick one off the top of your head, “red?”

“Great! Now we know more about Y/N than our old pal Ghost! They officially have less classified info than him!”

Soap went to put an arm around his shoulders, only for Ghost to shrug him off. 

“Very funny.” 

“Oh, lighten up, Riley! You’re the one who refused to give a straight answer, unlike Y/N here.”

“Maybe because I have better things to do than pick a favourite colour?”

“Hey!” You light-heartedly snapped back, pointing an accusing finger at him, “There’s nothing wrong with having a favourite colour.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with not having a favourite colour.” He retorted. 

“Yeah!” You folded your arms, “Perhaps if you’re not interesting or fun enough to have one.”

Soap let out an ‘ooohh’, awaiting Ghost’s reply. 

Only for the man to just huff and get up. 

“Pass me your canteen, Johnny. That’s what I was here for anyways.”

“Could you fill up mine too?” Gaz asked, raising his water bottle up to Ghost. 

“Fuck off.” 

“Rude.” 

“Now, now, lieutenant, that’s no way to be talking to your sergeant.” Price snickered. 

“My apologies, Garrick.” Ghost said, exaggeratingly. 

“Apology accepted.” Gaz smiled, getting ready to hand him his bottle. 

“But I still ain’t filling it up.”

With that, Ghost left the barracks and left Gaz hanging. 

The men erupted into laughter once more as Gaz wibbled his lower lip, acting as if he was on the verge of tears. 

“Welcome to 141.” Kate smiled, “They’re idiots when they’re not on the job.”

You found yourself genuinely smiling, something which you hadn’t done in a while. 

“Well, Laswell. I’d rather have these idiots than a bunch of arseholes.”

Kate placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

“You’ll do just fine around here, Y/N. Just fine.”

You hoped so. Even if this was a pitstop, this was your first taste of freedom. This was the first time you were going it alone, meeting people who you were choosing to meet and talk to. This was not a matter you took lightly. Every moment you had with these guys; you would be savouring it. Perhaps this was also the time to start learning about how to make friends as well. 

The laughter you were currently bathing in set alight a gentle warmth which you had seldom felt back when you were at the Red Room. 

There’d be no harm in saying that this bode well. 

***

He was still getting used to the sights and sounds. This world he had been reborn into was… overwhelming. It hadn’t changed though; it was he who had been augmented. 

Graves sat perfectly still as he watched the whitecoats around him do their thing. He had regretted having not chosen to sit in a more comfortable, slouched posture for this, but it was too late to change his position now. Any sudden move made would result in a swift sedation or a prompt branding with whatever silver cruelty they had on them. 

He let out a resigned sigh as one of the doctors made her way round him and placed a lead onto his temple, pressing down to make sure the adhesive would stick. 

“Arcadian 3’s vitals are up now.”

The team dropped whatever they were doing and huddled around the small monitor next him, where the various wires that were attached from his head to his arms, hands and his chest all led to. 

“Look at that!” One of them gasped, pointing at something on screen that seemed to have the vague shape of numbers as well as a wiggly line that Graves usually attributed to hospital equipment, “No sign of deterioration at all! Heart rate of 60 beats per minute, average for a living K9.”

“Blood oxygen level is 97.5%. That’s pretty good.”

“Okay, great. I’d say… I’d say we can send him over to the Red Room’s guys.”

There seemed to be a unanimous hum of agreement as heads nodded and people patted each other on the back. 

The doors to the lift parted and Phillip Graves was greeted with a compartment full of other men, looking about as drained as he did. Some were already wearing their armour, whilst others were in their base layers like him. All eyes moved to meet him, and Graves felt himself recoil inside. 

“Get in, soldier.” A woman called from behind and he felt the dull end of her weapon gently nudge his lower back. 

Reluctantly, the man stepped over the threshold and into the lift, sandwiching himself between two other brutes. 

“Once you reach the Academy, you are to turn right and follow the lamias waiting for you to go get your masks fitted. Under no circumstances are you to enter the Academy without one of those things on. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” They all said. 

The doors creaked shut. 

The air was heavy here, the humidity only rising with each breath let out. The sighs released from those slightly frowned lips of the soldiers in this cramped space came out in the form of steam: a small, fleeting moment of white which dissipated, leaving only the mere sensation of its presence. Not wishing to make eye contact with any of his companions, Graves elected to keep his eyes on the small screen above, which indicated the floor number they were on. 

Slowly, the value on the screen decreased. The lift would jerk a little and its lights flickered in response. Only the distant echoes of metal scraping against metal and clanking machinery filled the silence. There were no voices. Graves had tuned into the soft whirs of the lift, which were more audible when the damn thing wasn’t acting like it was as old as time itself. He found it bizarre that something which looked so well-maintained would sound as broken as it did. This lift was inarguably spotless, the metal for the buttons polished and shining, the floor looking glossy, and the walls were this pristine blue grey colour. Maybe his ears had gotten sensitive too? 

Graves had noticed his sight and sense of smell most certainly had; what would be the subtle scent of men’s perfumes, deodorants and aftershave mixed with dull metal was an almost overbearing concoction for his nose. Phillip was doing all he could to not just clutch his face and splutter. It was like the smell was slowly filling up the inner volume of his skull, desperately vying for all his mind’s attention. As for his eyesight, well, he gathered that this lift’s lights had been especially lowered for him and the men around him because he could actually see clearly. Graves didn’t have to squint for once. 

Someone yawned and another scratched behind their ear. 

There was this shared sense of discomfort. No one wanted to be here, and they could sense that desire in each other. 

Graves found himself being compelled to yawn. As he did so, he realised he had to give himself a moment to realign his jaw so his teeth wouldn’t sit uncomfortably on one another. Oh, the joy of having lengthened canines! He truly, truly hated what they had done to his body. 

Finally, the lift creaked, groaned and then grinded to a halt. Doors parted and the men stepped out. They were greeted with a set of armoured women, who kindly guided them down the corridor, herding them into a room just off the side. 

There were worktables lined with masks and various articles of armour. 

“Find your mask. See if it fits and put it on. If you don’t have armour, the bits on the tables are yours. Your pieces will be identified by your number. It’s your full number, not the last digit.”

They obeyed, not uttering a word, and dispersed, splitting into smaller groups and huddling round the tables. Graves wandered about, looking at each and every piece, hoping to find one with his serial number. 

7223. 

7223. 

Come on! He gritted his teeth. Where’s 7223?

Eventually, he found his stuff, sitting on the table at the far end of the room, near a guard who was posted at the corner, watching them like a hawk. First thing the man did was put on the gloves. Then, he picked up a pair of braces, branded with his number on the inside, and strapped them to his arms. Kneepads went on next and finally; it was the chest plate. It was familiar but strange at the same time. 

The woman at the front who had been instructing them spoke up again. 

“Remember when you put these masks on, you need to bite down gently on the mouthpiece inside. Once you all have your masks on, we’ll show you how to insert your blood canisters.”

Graves stared at the helmet in his hands. The reflections of the ceiling lights rolled off its featureless, glass face. He knew the stuff it was made of was most certainly not glass, nay, it was most likely something much stronger than whatever materials the standard army possessed for their protective gear. However, it looked fragile. Strange. Alien. The smooth glaze of this visage was coloured black with this undertone of crimson which revealed itself when occasionally catching the light. With a resigned exhale through his nose, Phillip turned it around to find the button to crack it open. Feeling around his finger, he eventually came across a change in texture and took the plunge. It hissed and soon the segments were levering themselves either upwards or out to the sides. 

He put it on and found the mouthpiece. A hunk of what felt like plastic, again, he knew it most likely wasn’t, hit him square on the nose. As he lowered the mask onto his face, he managed to move it over so that it was hovering over his lips. He took a deep breath. Then, he opened his mouth. It was horrible. 

Remember that feeling when the dentist shoves that chunk of plastic and terrible, mint-flavoured stuff into your mouth to take a mould? Everything was clearly too big for you, the bits of plastic cutting at the insides of your cheeks, the urge to gag rising but nothing really coming of it? 

It was that. He was not having a good time. 

He bit down on the piece, desperate to try and find a way to make this tolerable. 

“Looks like everyone’s got their masks on. Great. We’re handing out the blood canisters now. Nobody try slotting them in until all of y’all have your canisters.”

One of the lamias came round with an unzipped duffel bag, which jangled as she walked. On each table she set out a pair of canisters per person. Eventually, she made her way to Graves’ table and placed before him and his company, six transparent, sealed tubes. Each one housed a red liquid, which gushed about against its glass walls, causing pink froth. It looked like blood, but it clearly wasn’t. The liquid was too thin, too artificial. 

“Raise your hand if you do not have a pair of these.” The head lamia raised an example in her hand to show to the group. 

The lack of response suggested they were all set. 

“Okay,” she began, “Feel the lower half of your helmet for a slot on either side. Once you have located your slots, take the canister- there should be one labelled with ‘R’ for right and ‘L’ for left- and put them on the correct side.” 

The room was once more filled with the quiet rustles of people doing as they were told. 

Graves looked down to see the new pieces of equipment which had been placed before him. He picked one up, bringing it close to his concealed face. Examining it, Phillip’s eyes narrowed. 

In accidental union, each soldier there took their canisters and plugged them into their masks. The sound of unanimous, mechanical hissing replacing the ambient quiet like the rising pre-chorus of some holy choir. 

As soon as the parts clicked in place, a smell began to fill the air in Phillip’s mask. At first it was faint, but soon it gained strength. More and more and more, it began to overtake him. 

This was blood. This was some form of blood. And yet, it was sweet. Delectable. He could almost taste it. Every time he inhaled, Graves was met with this wave of satisfaction, like he had just eaten the best meal he’d had in ages. It almost made him feel faint, his head starting to feel light and his eyes heavy with each blink. Graves leant forward, resting his hands against the worktable, trying to steady his breaths. 

Opposite to him, a guy was clutching his helmeted head, groaning. He looked almost drunk, his feet threatening to give way as he swayed side to side, like the thin stem of a plant caught in the wind. Another man, in between Graves and the wobbler, standing along the shorter side of the table, was giggling a little, unsteady on his feet too and resting some of his weight on the table like Graves. 

THUMP!

Those who weren’t completely inebriated whipped their heads round to the source of the sound. Someone, at the table near the door, had just collapsed, body giving way completely. A couple of lamias grabbed hold of him and promptly dragged him away like this was nothing. 

Graves furrowed his brows. 

Was losing consciousness a common occurrence here? 

“Do not remove your masks whilst in the Academy! These pieces of equipment are to stop you from attacking our lamias-in-training and your teammates when you’re working. You’ll be given further instruction on these when you are sent out on your first missions!” The main woman instructed, “You are now ready to enter the Academy. The gorgons at the front will direct you to your assigned lamias-in-training.”

She gestured for them to start heading out the door. As he had been doing for the entirety of the time he had spent here, Graves followed the crowd and left the room with the group. 

They trekked down the hall in silence, almost like zombies, the fumes these canisters were filling their lungs made them feel drowsy. Sluggishly, Graves walked with the others in time, doing his best not to be blinded by the ceiling lights overhead. 

The vague shape of two figures came into view at the end of the hallway, holding guns close to their chests. Once they saw the men approach, one turned and scanned her palm. The three segments making up the blast door parted and they were ushered inside. 

Now, Graves found himself in a queue. 

From an arms room to what looked like to be a line for the bank, Phillip just accepted the circumstances he was in. That’s what he had been doing this entire time, ever since he had found himself in this place… he had just accepted. It was what he had to do. After all, they could very well just kill him if they thought he wasn’t going to be of much use and then his second chance at life would be taken away. All it took was for him to look the wrong way at someone and bam! Silver bullet through the brain and no more. He may have not liked this, being poked at by whitecoats, having to watch poorly made instructional videos and being herded like cattle, but he was alive. Right now, that was all he could think about. 

He was alive. 

Three weeks ago he had been dead. Three weeks ago he was a corpse, still as a lake, empty. Phillip Graves three weeks ago didn’t exist. 

And yet, he had been willed back to walk this Earth once more. 

He knew he’d eventually find himself feeling disillusioned, being forced to become a soldier once more, unable to pick his battles but right now, Phillip knew that this organisation had his loyalty for a while. Much longer than the US could hold it for. 

“8540. 8540. Come to the front. Your lamias are ready.” An automated voice announced over the intercom. 

A man, a few heads in front of Graves, watched his number appear on the screen. Then, he left the queue and was led past the set of doors to whatever lay beyond them. 

More numbers were called and more men were led away. 

“7629.”

“8913.”

“7152.”

And then, finally:

“7223.”

He did as he had watched and removed himself from the queue and walked towards the set of doors. The pair of guards on either side gestured for him to follow. 

To Graves’ surprise, the man found himself in a canteen. It was a large mess hall. Tables were dotted around, some long, reaching almost the length of the hall, whilst others were smaller islands, with personnel huddled around them. 

He was led down the aisle between a pair of long tables, coming to a stop about two thirds of the way. 

“Sit.”

The guards pushed Phillip onto a chair roughly. Then, one left and one remained, taking a seat next to him. Across from the man sat two girls who were in base layers similar to what he was wearing under his armour.

One of the girls leaned back, looking him up and down. As she did so, Phillip realised the strange markings both had lining their forearms, seemingly coming up to their necks, the patterns peeking through from under the edge of their base layers. 

“This is 7223.” The guard said, gesturing to him, “He will be overseeing you from now on. So, I suggest you three get acquainted. They’ll be deploying your party within the next twenty-four hours.”

***

You couldn’t sleep that night. The warmth had worn off and you were back to being worried. They were coming for you, you knew it. They probably already were making moves to your location. Yes, you had removed the trackers which had been either grafted into your armour or implanted under your skin but really, you had to admit, it was more as a means to self soothe than actually something practical. You could tell Laswell knew that too. 

The both of you had smashed them into smithereens or chucked them into boiling water (much to Price’s dismay, having had to retrieve a new pan to cook his dinner in) but, again, it served no real purpose other than getting you one step closer to… well, closure. 

This was a game of cat and mouse, call and response. You knew you weren’t going to make the first move- now that’d be foolish! However, you also knew you couldn’t say huddled in the little burrow you had made for yourself here at the base. They’d sniff you out eventually. The Foundation had some fine K9s which the Red Room would employ and those K9s were only getting better. Once you got even the slightest hint that they were nearby, you’d be gone in a flash. No need to keep the lion waiting in the tall grass. At least then, you wouldn’t give the bastards the satisfaction of giving chase. 

Dirty fucking dogs. 

Rain pattered softly against the windows as you navigated your way through a darkened corridor. Those who weren’t on night watch had been advised to confine their activity to the barracks, for the sake of keeping track of who was where and when, but… you couldn’t help yourself. You needed to wander and quietly pacing back and forth, hoping not to wake your sleeping roommates, simply would not suffice. It was not like those on night watch would catch you, you were one sneaky little sonuvabitch. At least, you hoped they wouldn’t find you. Even if they did, what was the worst that could happen? A mild bollocking? Pfft! You could handle that. And what of potential threats?

The answer was your gun. You had your trusty assault rifle with you, one which you had stolen when you made your escape. Luckily, you had yet to use it and you preferred to keep it that way. Your motto right now was to injure and run. You wouldn't aim to kill; you couldn’t risk lingering to see if the job was done. Besides, the kind of folks you usually tangled with typically got back up after a bullet to the brain, if you gave them a few minutes. 

The sounds from outside began to dampen. 

Soon, you found yourself in a patch of quiet. 

Right now, it was like you were walking in a big black void, only the vague shapes of what lay ahead along the path could be made out and even then, there was no certainty as to whether it was something tangible, or a mere shadow. 

Isolated, once more, with your thoughts. 

You wondered if sunrise would come soon, though, you soon thought that was a stupid question to ponder on seeing as it was so dark. This was the dead of night. 

And it was so, so quiet. 

Thunder gently rumbled overhead, but it sounded distant, almost muffled. 

You swallowed hard, drawing your gun closer to your chest. 

Maybe you would have been alright with pacing back and forth in the barracks, afterall. At least, back in the barracks, you’d have the sounds of snoring to ground you in reality. You knew your imagination would start to run wild, soon. 

WHOOSH!

You felt a chill wind sweep through your body. Something was here. 

A rustle!

Movement. 

Your breaths grew a little shaky as your finger moved to hover over the trigger. 

Was it them?

Oh God! Did they find you already?! How?! So soon?! 

You can feel your blood rushing through your veins, your pulse pounding in your ears. 

Your hairs stand on end, and you feel something bristle against your back. 

Dirty fucking dogs. 

Like a crescendo, awaiting the climax, you feel fear rush through you, propelling you as you spin around, gun pointing at whoever wanted to get a piece of you.

You flicked on your torch as you did so, and the face of your hunter was revealed. 

Two piercing eyes, reflecting the light of your flashlight back at you.

You let out a scream. 

“Hey! What are you doing?!”

It grabbed the muzzle of your gun. You fought against it, squirming against it as the thing tried to take control of the weapon. 

That’s when you noticed the hand wrapped around the end of your gun was gloved, with five very human looking fingers gripping the weapon. Your eyes trailed back up to meet the figure, only to see he was wearing a balaclava… and those ‘two piercing eyes’ which you had initially thought belonged to some animal… were plainly human. 

His brows furrowed as you stopped, and he let go. 

It was… Oh what was his name? 

Phantom? No… it was something short… Ghost? Yeah! That’s it!

“Oh my God!” You covered your mouth with your hand, only to then let go of your gun, leaving it to hang by its strap around you, as you placed your hands on your knees. 

You turned back to him. 

“You scared the shit out of me!”

Ghost seemed indifferent, staring at you. 

“What?” 

“Your safety’s on.” 

You looked down, sighing, still trying to catch your breath. 

“Go back to the barracks.” He said, almost sounding inconvenienced. 

You watched him walk past you, not even bothering to acknowledge the fact that he had just given you a heart attack. Taking in the last of your shaking breaths, you turn, hands still resting on your knees, to see his figure slowly vanish into the dark. 

You’ve got to be quick if you want to say your piece, or he’ll disappear out of earshot. 

[xxmissarichanxx]

✨XMACX Monthly✨September 2024

September is here! I always think of this month as my sister’s month because she was born in September lol. Anyway, I was lowkey happy Beau won the character poll because it means I get to dedicate September’s cover art to my sister’s fave color: yellow. Happy Birth Month, lil bro~ Big Love!

You can read the update on XXMISSARICHANXX.com or under the cut below!

What’s Happening in September?

Well, the poll this month will be a little different. Usually, we vote on who next month’s cover model will be. This month, however, I was thinking — since the whole month of October is basically Halloween and peeps dress up — we could vote for Kaimana’s Halloween costume this year? Last year I put ‘em in an ATSV Spider-Man 2099 costume, hehehe. This year, IT’S UP TO YOU! It’ll be fun. It’ll be GREAT. To the left are the options, all tsunderes because I’m so weak for tsunderes and I consider Kai to be one as well lol. Poll drops this Friday, September 6.

A) MCU Wolverine (zaddy u///u) B) Vegeta (my prince u///u) C) Bakugou (my hero u///u) D) Asuka (my queen u///u)

Other than that, I’ll be continuing to stitch Froot Basket White together and draw Ippon! pages. I’m hoping to finish adding all the voiced lines so I can work on drawing/cleaning stuff up in the coming months! You can read about my progress below!

VN Dev | Froot Basket White

I now have all the voiced lines for Sutoro and Azrael! I’ve been inputting them into the current build. Check out a preview of Sutoro’s voiced lines!

I also received some track samples from our composer! I can’t show you right now, but, trust me. It’s a banger and a chill cafe bop for sure! The composer I’m working with went to town on it! I’m so happy with how it’s turning out! It’s got lyrics and vocals too!

I adjusted one of Sutoro’s poses because the anatomy seemed off. BUT! I also wanted to add more poses to make Sutoro a little more lively to match Jesse’s performance. Here’s some of those new sprites I’m working on!

Comic Creation | Ippon!

I haven’t talked about Ippon! in a while, mostly because I haven’t been spending a lot of time on it. I… went back and adjusted some previous panels, and I keep going back and forth between adding more pages to adjust the pace or not…

One of the things I changed, for example, are the shape of the panels on page 4 (above). I noticed as I was drawing that I tend to have a lot of dynamic panels. There were so many, that I thought it became hard to read or even look at the pages… It bummed me out a bit, so I had to stop drawing for a bit lol.

Another thing I learned: having to really think about how two pages sit next to each other. I saw online somewhere that comic artists plan out their page turns. That’s something I’d like to keep in mind too.

Other than that, I’m trying to learn to pace myself better. Some pages take longer to complete than others. For me right now, this action page (above) is taking a lot out of me. I expected it would because I’m trying to figure out where everything is situated — the anatomy, whether or not the action makes sense, etc.

I was thinking about adding the name of the move somewhere, kinda like how in shounen action series characters name their moves and whatnot or have it written out on the page or something. But I’m not too sure exactly how I’m going to go about doing that…

Cover Story | Meet Beau!

Sweet, energetic, loving Beau. In the Froot Basket series, he’s the player character Jordan’s childhood friend and neighbor! They played basketball together in baby days and continued hanging out and growing together in high school! Beau loves eating, gaming, reading comics, and playing basketball with his pals! He also has a big crush on Jordan and a big dislike of bananas — they’re mushy!

Along with Sutoro, Beau was one of the first characters I doodled when I came up with this lil series. He and Sutoro were best friends. He was meant to be a sorta delinquent character, hence the piercings and dyed undercut hairstyle. But as I developed him more and more, he just seemed like a sweetheart through and through.

I tried to include a bunch of yellow things in the background and in the illustration’s design. I’m hoping it displays Beau’s fun-loving personality! A few Easter Eggs: Beau’s playing Froot Basket Valentine on his handheld console and Froot Basket: Dark Chocolate on his desktop.

Other News…

Momotarou Post-Mortem

Momotarou was the micro-visual novel I impulsively made in July for O2A2 Jam. I managed to write the post-mortem for it late last month! If you’re interested in my thought process for the project’s creation, read it here!

I can’t believe it’s already been 50 days since I released the micro-visual novel! Time flies… A few peeps have play-throughs that I’ve very much enjoyed! Thank you so much for playing! I also received some really great feedback and observed some peeps getting confused. I’ll be updating the game with a few sentences referring to Froot Basket Valentine, the game whose events immediately precede the events of Momotarou.

Thank you again to everyone who played, commented, and left reviews! I really appreciate it!

Kaimana Zine

I released a Kaimana Zine filled with sketches and illustrations of Kai between 2019 and 2024! It’s 5 USD or pay-what-you-want and you can find it both here in my shop or on Itch! It contains explicit images not meant for minors, so please be responsible.

Next Month?

I will be in Japan the second half of October! I’m excited and can’t wait to have a bunch of fun and eat a lot of food! I’m planning to wear pink every day! I hope I’ll remember to take OOTD pics instead of just food pics… I’ll try to have the cover art for November done before I leave, but whatever will be will be.

Anyway, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s instead have a relaxing September!

Aloha nui, xxAri

[nekoannie-chan]

Secrets Chapter 12: Wish I May, Wish I Might

Pairing: Jack Rollins X OFC.

Word count:  1083 words.

Summary: Sometimes keeping secrets can be dangerous or a heavy burden, which is what Kathleen has been doing for years. She will also be in charge of guiding Steve Rogers into this century; meanwhile, S.H.I.E.L.D. will be looking for a way to kick-start the Avengers Initiative by integrating her as one of the superheroes, but that won't be the only danger they face.

Warnings: Mention of smut, nothing explicit.

A/N:  Thanks to @azulatodoryuga​​ for this idea. After long time working on this longfic, I finally post it. If you wanna be added to the taglist, let me know.

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. 

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too. Secrets masterlist. Previous chapter. Next chapter.

Jade put her hand on the knob of her new office. She had never believed that she would rise through the ranks in S.H.I.E.L.D., but most of all, she liked the fact that some of her colleagues had been angry when they announced that she would be promoted.

The only thing she didn't like was that she had to work with the STRIKE team. She had heard a lot about them, especially from the new Commander and Sub-Commander, but that didn't matter. No one was going to stop her.

Jade observed the roles of the new mission. It was not the type of mission that he was used to in his new position. That was up to other teams. Fortunately, there was no need to bring recruits, as this would be the first mission of these. However, in those last few days, there were too many missions and practically all the agents were busy; I would also leave work for recruits.

There was something he didn't like about the mission; he had to work with certain members of the STRIKE team. They usually work with the captain. In less than two hours, he would have to leave to meet with his teammates and start the mission. He had to hurry to finish reading the file.

She looked at her watch. They were five minutes late. She knew she hadn't left because she had all the equipment they were going to need. She didn't want to turn around. She knew that if she saw them, she would claim them, wait until they were in front of her, and of course, they would have an apology.

However, she was surprised that as soon as a man arrived, she was sure that he was not Rumlow, but there was something that caught her attention, although she could not tell at the time what it was.

"You must be Blake," Jack said, standing in front of Jade with an unfriendly gesture.

Jade Blake, Commander of the Recruit Team, "corrected him," squinting. She couldn't believe he was so rude. She was starting to draw a lot of conclusions in her head.

"Jack Rollins," he said, not taking his gaze away from her.

"And Commander Rumlow?"

"He had to go on a last-minute mission with Rogers, but I'll handle this," Jack said.

Jade saw it from head to toe. She was not entirely convinced. However, she would have to adapt to make the mission work. What she least wanted was to have problems or to believe that she was not suitable for the position.

The mission was successful, although Jack didn't seem to be someone who talked much, or maybe he was angry. Jade had already grown tired of Jack's attitude, even though they were a good team.

"It bothers you that a woman is in charge," Jade said.

"No, it doesn’t."

"You lie," Jade snapped, "she had lost patience. She had never worked with anyone like him.

I don't usually trust anyone, but I think you do it very well. "But I don't understand why you were sent on this mission if you are the commander of the recruits," Jack said without flinching.

"Because you have to recruit someone else," Jade joked, or maybe she had been startled for no reason. Jack looked at her incredulously. No, we don't have to recruit anyone, but it seems like all the agents were busy.

A few hours later, they decided to stop at a fast-food restaurant. Jade saw that things were changing and Jack's behavior was beginning to change, even seeming friendlier.

"I've heard a lot about you and Rumlow," Jade commented, then ate the bite.

"No one really knows us. Everything you've heard is probably a lie.

As the weeks went by, Jack and Jade spent more time together. Whenever they could, they went out several times, especially to the cafeteria near the Triskelion.

"So, who is Jack Rollins?" Jade asked before taking a sip of her milkshake.

"I am," Jack replied, with a nod of obviousness.

"No, I mean, what's behind that bad boy face? Why did you join SHIELD? "

"My sister."

"Your sister also works for the organization," Jade said as if it were confirmation.

For "No, she doesn't... it doesn't matter," Jack wasn't sure if he should tell her the real reasons. Few people knew about Leah.

"Jack, you're hiding something, even if it doesn't seem like it. You're very easy to read.

"Did you know that SH.I.E.L.D. has great health insurance?"

"I assumed, given the kind of work we do, there could be any kind of injury. This is a very risky job, I think you know that," Jade replied.

"It also works for relatives."

"I don't understand."

"I'm in SHIELD because of my sister." "She needs a lot of care," Jack finally said. Jade looked at him and then understood what was happening.

I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked, I'm just making you uncomfortable. "

"Only two people had discovered it. You are the third. "

"I hope one day I'll be able to meet her."

"I think he's going to like you."

After dinner, Jack accompanied her home. Jade got off the bike, took off her helmet and smiled at her. They walked together to the door of Jade's apartment.

I had a great time; I don't know if you want to pass or you have to leave... "

Jack kissed her, closing the apartment door behind him, fiercely taking off her clothes as they walked into the room. For several hours of the night, the bodies danced in ecstasy.

Jade opened her eyes and smiled as she noticed that she was lying on Jack's chest. She had never felt anything like it before.

"Hello."

"Last night was..."

"Fantastic."

I was going to say phenomenal, but I like fantastic. "We have to go to work, so I'll go for a bath, in case you want to join me," Jade said as she winked.

Jade bit the top of the feather slightly. She had never felt anything like it, but now she needed to know that it was exactly her and Jack. She was startled to hear someone knocking on her door. She frowned when she saw that it was one of the recruits. Then she saw the watch. She was late for the tests that were going to be administered to the recruits that day. In fact, she had completely forgotten. After that, she would talk to Jack.

Ꭲꭺꮐꮮꮖꮪꭲ:

@saiyanprincessswanie​​  @sinceimetyou​​ @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad​​

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[asirensrage]

Mise en Place - A "choose your own adventure" style fic - Part 4

Fandom: Punisher AU Rating: Mature Pairing: Billy Russo x OC Warnings: Dark!Fic, threats, murder, obsession, swearing, violence, blood, and likely more to be added... Summary: Nadine thought her biggest problem was helping to keep the restaurant she worked at afloat as the neighbourhood starts being bought out from under them. A chance meeting in an elevator with an old fling proves differently…

Notes: There's a lot of...blood in this chapter. Heed the warnings. The last vote had Billy winning by a landslide! Let's see what that leads too.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

previously: Nadine incapacitated the intruder...what now?

She looks around quickly, but the lights are still off and in the moment of facing the guy, she wasn’t really looking where she kicked her bag. It’s here. Somewhere. 

The man groans, drawing her attention back. 

She should call an ambulance. She should call the police but searching for her phone is going to take time and–is he the only one? Don’t animals hunt in packs?  He was the only one in her apartment but that’s no guarantee that he came alone. Things like this usually happen in pairs or threes. At least, she assumes they do from the movies she’s seen. Fuck. 

She starts pacing, shoving back the hair out of her face. Her options are limited and reality does not include a fictional detective. Does she call the cops? Is she going to be arrested? What if they think she lured him in to kill him or this is some kind of domestic dispute? How would she prove she doesn’t know him? Though, she’d be a terrible killer if that was the plan. Would she be arrested? What would happen to her work? The restaurant is still standing by sheer will and her refusal to give in to whoever is buying the places around them. This could be held against her and her work. 

Fuck. 

Her face scrunches up in realization. She needs help and her best option is the man she ran from earlier. Billy is involved with…something, but they parted on good terms and he’s made it clear that she’s welcome back into his bed and life when she wants. At the very least, whatever he’s involved in might give him an advantage. It might give her one. He might have a better idea of what she should do next. Still, it’s not enough. Why was he even here? 

Nadine crouches down. “Hey,” she nudges the man. “Hey! I’ll call you an ambulance, just tell me why you’re here. Who sent you?” 

He sneers at her. “Fffffuck you, bitchhh.” His words slur together as his eyes roll to the back of his head. The hand that was pressing the wound on his leg drops. 

“Hey! Hey!” She reaches out and shakes him but there’s no response. Inwardly cursing, she stands. There’s no point arguing with a dead man. Especially one who can’t respond. “Fuck!” She wipes her face with the back of her hand. She’s still holding the knife. She drops it. She stares down at the knife and the way blood pools around it. “Where’s Sam Spade when you need him?” she laughs wildly. Maybe they’ll think she snapped. Like a postal worker only the chef version. 

The man doesn’t move but that doesn’t stop her from keeping an eye on him as she creeps to her door. The reminder of the threat of another killer sits in the back of her mind. She’s already picked up the knife again, aware that it probably wasn’t a good idea but needing to be armed anyway. It would be worth it if she needed it. 

She unlocks the door and pauses, listening, but the hall is silent in response and the only thing she can hear is the way her heart pounds in her ears. There are no shadows in the crack between it and the floor. She opens the door slowly. The hallway is eerily empty. The chaos of her apartment hasn’t stretched this far. 

As soon as she’s sure that no one’s there, she books it down the hall. Billy’s door feels like a beacon of hope. She nearly slams into it and starts knocking. Repeatedly. Her panic and fear finally start to make itself known and she can’t stop looking down the halls, expecting the man’s partner to appear and try to kill her in return. 

“Hold on!” she hears Billy in his apartment. “I’m coming!” 

She can’t stop knocking. 

The door swings open. “What?” His anger melts into confusion at the sight of her. She must look insane. “Nadine? What the fuck happened? Are you okay?” 

She shoves her way into his apartment and he lets her. “No! There’s a man in my apartment! OR there was. I think he’s dead now. There was a lot of blood. I mean, I’d dealt with animals before but not–” her throat tightens. “Not like that.” 

He straightens, ducking his head out his door as he checks down the hall before he closes it and slides the lock shut. He turns towards her, coming forward slowly with his hands in plain sight. “What man?” 

“I don’t know! He was just there!”

“Okay, it’s okay sweetheart. Come on, sit down.” He ushers her to a chair. She sits automatically.

“I can’t–Billy, he attacked me! I don’t–I didn’t call the cops. I just…I don’t even know where my phone is. I needed help.”

“And you came to me,” he sounds satisfied. “I’ll take care of it, okay? You need…let’s get you into a shower. Wash off the blood. I’ll go to your apartment and get some of your things. You can’t stay there, you shouldn’t go back.”

There is a steadiness to Billy and the way he’s confident about taking care of everything. The fear eases in this place. It’s bright and familiar and while nothing feels safe really, she feels like she can breathe. 

“Shouldn’t…shouldn’t we call the cops? Tell them?”

Billy nods. “Come on. Once you shower, you can rest, okay?” 

“Okay.” She lets him lead her to his bathroom. The adrenaline is starting to wear off and she’s almost too tired to shower but the moment she looks in the mirror, she realizes how much blood is on her. A glance down proves she’s left footprints. Maybe they won’t need to call the cops. Someone else might beat them to it. 

She’s used his shower before. It’s the same layout as her own bathroom but somehow it feels different. Maybe it’s the way the water is tinged with red, or how everything smells like him. She hears Billy step into the room, leaving clothes behind and throwing her previous ones into a bag. He doesn’t press for anything else. 

She’s not sure how long she stands there under the water but she still doesn’t feel entirely clean when she gets out. Exhaustion has hit and it’s worn her down. She dries off, wraps her hair up in a towel, quickly lathers on cream and gets dressed in the clothes that he left for her. Thankfully, it’s some of her own. 

She opens the door slowly, fear still lingering enough to make her cautious now with every action, every step. When she turns the corner, she catches sight of her lockscreen as Billy places her phone in a drawer and closes it. He looks up, catching sight of her. Before she can ask what he’s doing, there’s a knock at the door. 

mise en place tag: @muchadoaboutcj @koiwrites @chrissymunson  @nageill

oc taglist: @raith-way @arrthurpendragon @veetlegeuse @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse @endless-oc-creations @stanshollaand @wordspin-shares @chrissymunson

billy russo tag: @wheresthesunshinesblog @muchadoaboutcj

[womenareonline]

Woke, Art, leftist dirtbag

This is in response to the discussion of Matty Healy on The Adam Friedland Show and about leftist dirtbags.

A few months ago I went on a date with a guy and my first text to my friend once I was home was: he is too woke. My friend and I have an ongoing joke where we talk about people going on TikTok and explaining why we shouldn't study Picasso a man who has been dead for over 40 years. Yet a few days ago I saw Chris Brown was the headliner for a festival. Do you see the issue here? I think a lot of people are talking about the over wokeness and canceled culture and how it does not work. I agree. Canceled culture is dumb and there are still a lot of people doing far worst things than Matty Healy.

What the leftist dirtbag loves to do is make fun of gen-z woke culture. Because they turn around and vote for Bernie Sanders, and that's great. We love Bernie. But voting for more leftist politicians does not give you a free pass to be racist and sexist. I get it, you are making a joke out of woke culture or of “locker room talk”. Here is my question to you: What do you gain from this? What exactly do you gain from spending an hour talking about the most bizarre and random stuff, mocking accents, and objectifying women? If you are so mad about gen-z not taking issues seriously but instead focusing on the language they use, isn't it a bit hypocritical if you sit down and make fun of them instead of helping? Great you voted for Bernie, but you are still going online and making degrading jokes about minorities. I get it, I really do. I don’t think you are racist or sexist, but I also don’t think this is the way to stay woke or to help the ongoing issue in society.

I always believed there is a balanced to everything. You can be woke and you can still focus on the important issue. I personally believe that standing up for women's rights so we don’t get murdered on our way home is far more useful than spending 10 minutes talking about Ice Spice dms. But that's just me. I’ve been online for probably the same amount of time than these guys, so I understand there is a lot on the internet and I grew up into the internet and not on the internet. I have also developed critical thinking to understand when to draw the line when joking and when to be “woke”.

Here is the thing about these jokes: POC and women have spoken up and said this isn’t funny. We do not enjoy this kind of humor. Why aren’t you listening to them? I understand your jokes and satire, but if someone is telling you it's making them uneasy, should you stop? What's the point of satire if it offends people? Why are you telling people to “take a joke” when you are joking about their own culture? We heard enough about this when it's not a joke and outside of art, and we are telling you: we are very tired. We are tired of white men telling us how to feel. We are tired of men telling us “it's a joke”. I know you are joking, I get that. But tomorrow I’ll wake up and a man would catcall me for wearing a skirt. I am tired even when you are joking.

About the whole concept of this being art. I get art, I really do. I adore art and would always try to understand the most bizarre and random art. I don’t judge it for what it is. I like to believe I try different forms and genres of art because I don’t believe in listening to criticism or mouth-to-mouth (I even listened to the podcast I swear). They are saying art is supposed to challenge us and this is for you to think and to step outside. I love that concept of art. I really enjoy watching something new and experiencing new music (like The 1975!!). But I don’t understand what is so challenging for white men to sit for an hour to talk about other races and women. Isn’t that what we see every day? Is that literally what politics is like? Men telling women what to do with their bodies? I think it is more challenging when men stand up for women because we don’t see that every day. I think it's braver when we talk about the killing of POC and transgender people. Why isn’t art about that? I think that's a challenge because the status quo is men speaking for women. Are white people telling other groups how to feel or who to be? I think the challenge in the art should be to those in power. Let's make fun of those who are in power and who marginalized others. I believed Matty Healy did an amazing job portraying this in Consumption on his last tour and I loved that. He was a white man, calling out men. I am tired as a Latina woman to see men talk about us but not about themselves. There is more value in a man telling another man they are wrong. Two of my favorite writers are Isabel Allende (Chilean) and Gabriel García Marquez (Colombian) they both write about the issues in Latin America. They both explain what is wrong in our culture. That's more valuable and challenging than men talking about other races and genders.

I’m closing this by saying I had and maybe still do a great admiration for Matty Healy as an artist. I think he is brilliant: his music is amazing, he is a great songwriter, the shows are all created by him, an amazing frontman (i saw them live back in 2019), and has an amazing meme curation. But i don’t get why he blur the line into I don’t want people to see me as too woke. I think it might be a “trauma” response to being canceled so much. I get it. But I don’t think that's where we need to direct the conversation.

[imjustheretoseetheprivateblogs]

Burnt Cake

@smquickies2023 here's a little sumthin sumthin for the prompt "Desserts". It's a tad late but I hope it comes up to scratch. Enjoy

The storm rumbled outside, thunder in the distance and rain against the window pane. But inside the Makoto’s apartment, there was no room for the chill.

The Soldier of Courage and Beauty herself bustled around her kitchen, mixing ingredients together. She’d been struck by inspiration late last night: double Dutch black forest strawberry cake. But she’d need to keep an eye on the oven, or she’d burn the Strawberry filling.

“Mako…”

The deep melodic voice of her boyfriend brought a smile to her face.

Nat lay stretched out on her sofa, in a particularly “draw me like one of your French girls” style. He’d invited himself over that day (a habit he’d picked up since they’d started dating), only to show up at her door soaked to the bone. They’d managed to get his clothes into the dryer without being too handsy, before he retreated to the couch where he had stayed silent until that moment.

“Mako…” he crooned again.

As much as she would have liked to have snuggled up against his chest, she had bigger fish to fry. Or maybe bake, in this case.

“I need to watch the oven,” she said, “I didn’t like how last night’s Ziti came out.”

“Tasted fine to me.”

Makoto raised an eyebrow his way as she shut the oven door.

“Really?”

Nat paused, mulling over something in that beautiful head of his.

“Alright, it was a little burnt around the edges.”

Makoto shook her head fondly and went back to her work. Really, there were some days her boyfriend could be too much.

Normally, she loved how he just lavished her with attention and compliments, but today she was a woman on a mission. If this cake was going to come up to her usual standards, then she couldn’t let her oven scorch this cake, not if she wanted to share the recipe.

Unfortunately, her attention was broken by the pair of strong arms that wrapped around her waist and the unshaven cheek that nuzzled her’s. Makoto spared a glance towards her boyfriend.

“Uh-oh. There’s that look again.”

Nat’s smirk only grew.

“There’s that look again,” Nat parroted.

Nuzzling her, Nat pressed a line of kisses along her jawline to her cheek.

“Did I ever tell you I was voted the most desirable human being in high school?”

Makoto rolls her eyes, a smile still gracing her features.

“I’ll bet,” she said.

His smirk returning, Nat leaned in with while cartoonishly puckering his lips. Makoto laughed and held up a hand, which he kissed with exaggerated hums.

“You goober!” she laughed.

Breaking out of his grip, Makoto dashed across the room, laughing while Nat chased after her. The two tumbled to the ground, narrowly missing the coffee table as Nat wrestled for kisses and cuddles all the while. It would have been heaven just to stay like that.

Unfortunately, Heaven didn’t have a rather dark, acrid smell to it.

“Mako,” Nat said, pausing in giving her attention, “do you smell…”

“The cake!”

Jumping up and dashing for the oven, Makoto barely had any time to throw on a pair of oven mitts before she pulled open the oven door and to her horror saw tendrils of smoke rising from the top of the cake. Jerking it out, Makoto sat it on top of the stove and stared forlornly at her handiwork. Her boyfriend soon joined her at the stovetop.

“It’s ruined,” she said.

“No it isn’t.”

Walking to the freezer, Nat retrieved a carton of vanilla ice cream. Grabbing a large spoon and two plates from the dishwasher, he walked back over to the stove, where he put a scoop of ice cream on one plate, followed by the cake.

“See?” he said, holding up a spoonful of warm cake and softening ice cream, “Looks good enough to eat.”

Looks were one thing. Taste, in Makoto’s humble opinion, was everything. Leaning in, she took the spoonful between her lips and chewed thoughtfully. It still tasted a little charred but the ice cream did do a good job of masking that, and the contrast of warm cake and cold ice cream was always delicious. In spite of herself, Makoto hummed at the sensation.

“What did I tell you,” Nat said, smiling.

“I’ll still need a new oven,” Makoto said.

“New ovens can wait,” Nat said, kissing her neck, “you look like you could use some loving.”

In spite of the terrible segway, Makoto’s baking ego had taken a critical blow and she could use some of her boyfriend’s patented TLC.

“Mmmm… do your worst,” she said, leaning into his touch.

Nat hooked a finger on the neckline of Makoto’s shirt and pulled down until his favorite of her body parts hung out, each cradled in a pink lace cup.

“You went shopping with Mina,” he said.

“Well,” Makoto said with a bashful blush, “we saw this set in a store window and they actually bought it for me.”

Nat nodded with a smirk and leaned down.

“Hello, girls,” he said, “hope you got a good night’s rest.”

“You’re such a dork,” Makoto laughed.

Nat chuckled with her and placed a kiss on the swell of each breast before reaching over to ice cream.

“Squeeze your breasts together,” he said. It wasn’t a command. It was too airy, too half-thought out, but considering that certain look on her lover’s face, Makoto followed his words.

For a moment, Nat just admired the view before he unceremoniously dropped a spoonful of Ice cream onto her collarbone, causing Makoto to yelp. Nat followed the melting cream with his tongue, lapping it and kissing where it had fallen in her cleavage, the vibrations of his chuckles sending shivers through Makoto’s body.

Makoto responded in kind, burying her hands in his hair and trying to think of some way to return the favor (and maybe make him as sticky as she was).

Her eyes landed on the cake he’d cut, sitting in its own puddle of melted ice cream. With a devilish grin, Makoto reached over and picked up the plate.

“Nat,” she said sweetly.

Her boyfriend left her breasts, looking up at her with a lovestruck expression so tender, Makoto almost felt bad for what she was about to do next.

Shoving the cake in his face, Makoto laughed at the surprised noise he made.

“Sorry,” she chuckled, “I couldn’t help it. Here…”

Before he could say anything, Makoto leaned in and began to lick and kiss all across the smeared dessert on his face, draining the tension that her little prank must have put into his shoulders.

It wasn’t long before her ministrations turned into a heated open mouthed kiss between the two of them, and soon both of them had thrown away their tops and were smearing each other with cake and ice cream.

“God, this kitchen’s going to be a mess,” said Makoto.

Nat looked up from where he’d been giving butterfly kisses to one of Makoto’s nipples and smiled.

“I’ll help you clean it up,” he said simply.

Neither of them got to cleaning the kitchen until late that night.